Page 23 of Where's Molly

She jumps, justthe slightest, then hurries to continue removing the woman's leg at the hip.

“Where's the boyfriend?” she questions, her tone stiff.

“With Legion. I’m sure I’ll be delivering his body soon.”

She nods, moving to the second leg.

“And the girl?”

“Probably at aZlocation.”

Her head turns just enough to give me a hint of her high cheekbones and plump lips. Redness mottles her pale flesh, darkening the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks.

“Find out for me?” she asks quietly.

Something about the young girl's situation has struck a nerve with Molly, which only further ignites the burning curiosity to know more about her past.

“I can do that,” I promise, satisfying her enough to where she resumes her bloody task.

The pigs behind me are creating a ruckus, the scent of blood getting them excited.

“Is there a reason why you want me to look into her?” I question, desperate for even a crumb.

She doesn't respond. Not until she's finished completely removing the limbs from the woman's torso.

“Doesn't matter. I'd just like to know she's safe.”

She’s evading my question—keeping me in the dark—which only stirs the demon lurking inside my soul. A beast who doesn't like to be kept in a darkness it can't manipulate.

I already feel the blackness unleashing into my system, and my fingers crack with how hard I clench them.

Thethought of anyone hurting her, especially if it was in the same way that little girl was hurt, will easily turn me into a bloodthirsty monster. The worst part is that Iknowshe was hurt. I know whoever kidnapped her didn't bring her to a place that respected her body.

She may have already disposed of them. But if not, I'd love nothing more than to kill them myself.

“Molly,” I warn, my tone deepening with anger.

She freezes, much like she did when I first shared the woman's crimes against her kid.

“Did the same thing happen to you?” I ask boldly.

My obsession won't let her get out of not telling me every little fucking detail about her life. About her past and all the reasons she ran to Alaska, and the reasons she decided to come back and make a living out of feeding pedophiles to her pigs.

I’ve held off long enough and refuse to hold back the burning questions any longer.

“It doesn't matter, Cage,” she bites out, tearing the protective glasses off her face and tossing them on the table. The white teeth marks beneath her eye are brightened from the redness of her skin.

A testament to the horrors she survived.

She won't look at me as she picks up the severed head and stomps over to the pen with one monstrous pig inside and nearly launches it in.

The pig wastes no time cracking open the skull. I’m standing right beside its pen, so I shift a few feet away to avoid the spray of blood while Molly angrily marches back toward the table. I watch her silently as she repeats the process with the torso and both legs.

I’ve lost my patience by the time she snatches one of the arms from the nearly empty table, then stomps back toward me, preparing to throw it in one of the pens. I grab onto her bicep before she does. Whether it's instinct or because she likes to beat people with spare limbs when she's pissed, her arm whips out, and the bloody arm comes careening toward my head.

I duck out of the way, though I'm not spared from blood spattering across my face. I grab onto her wrist, meeting her searing glare.

“Did I say something to piss you off, my little ghost?” I ask wickedly.

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