Butcher & Blackbird (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #1)(81)

And then she lowers the gun.

“I was wondering when you’d finally make your move.”

Her smile takes on a dark edge. A sharp edge. One that slips right between my ribs.

Sloane doesn’t look at me. Not even a glance in my direction. She keeps all her attention on David, warmth and wonder in her eyes, that fucking dimple a shadow next to her lips.

I want to rip his fucking skin off.

“I admire your work,” she says. “The South Bay Slasher. I assume you befriended Thorsten while you were in Torrance, am I right?”

David smirks before raising the glass to his lips and taking a long sip of wine, then he sets it on the counter next to the mandolin and crosses his arms. “So, you’ve been stalking me. Can’t say I’m entirely surprised.”

Sloane shrugs. “I like to know who’s out and about.”

“I know. I’ve been doing some stalking of my own. I’m aware of the caliber of prey you hunt. You’re here to kill me.”

“If I was,” she says as she raises the gun and examines the barrel, “I would have done it already.”

David lets his gaze travel the length of Sloane’s body. There’s a flash in his eyes, a flicker of all the things he wants to do to her, all his depraved desires. “I was watching your special little moment with this asshole a couple of hours ago, don’t forget. I know pain when I see it. You could say it’s my specialty.”

“And it was a very convincing performance, wasn’t it.” Sloane shrugs and keeps her finger on the trigger as she rests her elbow against her hip and points the gun toward the ceiling. “I’ve been watching you, too.”

“Little lies will catch you in a web, Orb Weaver. You should know that better than anyone,” David says through the dark, predatory smile that creeps across his lips. “I shut down the security cameras.”

Though David edges a little closer to her, Sloane remains relaxed. Nothing about her stance changes when she says, “Tsk, tsk, David. You must not have counted all the video feeds. That one there?” she says as she points the Glock to a camera in the corner of the room that’s aimed toward us, its red light still on. “That one is mine. I’ve been watching the whole time.”

David’s smile falls as he realizes she’s right.

Sloane’s smirk is triumphant as she gives him a wink. “Like I said. If I wanted to, I would.”

In a whip of movement, she aims the gun at David, the muzzle pointed at his forehead. He stiffens and drops his arms.

“Pow, pow, pow,” she says in a staccato rhythm. Her grin spreads before she lowers the weapon to her side. “Just kidding.”

I can only see David’s profile, but he can’t hide that gleam in his eye.

He’s fucking enraptured.

And Sloane eats it up, her face lighting in an indulgent smile. “Did you befriend Thorsten to find me?” she asks with a flirty tilt of her head.

“More like to defend myself. I had an idea you might come for me someday. I figured if I made friends with someone like us, I might have a buffer every August when people of our… nature… tend to wind up dead. Of course, Thorsten didn’t know he was being hunted, so I suggested I could pretend to be his fucked-up servant for the night while he scratched his itch with the serendipitous appearance of two seemingly perfect victims.” David takes a drink and studies her before he leans against the counter. “You know what they say: teamwork makes the dream work.”

Sloane beams. “Indeed. But sometimes it takes a while to find the right team.”

David tips his glass in her direction. “Very true.”

“Blackbird…” I say.

She sighs and pins me with a lightless glare. “Stop with the ‘Blackbird’ already.”

“Sloane, love, please—”

“Love?” Sloane’s head tilts. Her eyes are black in the dim light. “Love…? You really thought that’s what this was? You said it yourself—I’m a fucking psycho, remember? A monster. This isn’t love. It’s boredom. It’s competition. And by the looks of things,” she says as she lets her gaze travel from the corkscrew and down the steady drip that flows to the pool of blood on the floor, “I’ve already won.”

I shake my head. My voice is only a strangled whisper when I say, “He is going to do brutal things to you, Sloane.”

“Oh, you mean like maybe he’ll wax poetic while pounding balls-deep into my ass? Is that the kind of thing you’re thinking of?” Sloane rolls her eyes. “I think I’ve proven I can handle that.”

Every pain in my body is eclipsed by the one in my chest as my heart incinerates. She watches it happen, just the same as I did to her. But I don’t sense even the smallest shred of remorse or regret, only disgust in the way her lip curls before she looks away.

Sloane’s expression smooths as her eyes lift to David. “You know, I’m really in the mood to tear up the town, if you catch my drift,” she says to him with a wink.

His returning smile is ravenous.

I beg, but it’s like they can’t hear me. Thrash in my chair, but they don’t see.

Tears burn my eyes. I know what he’ll do to her, my beautiful Sloane. He’ll fucking destroy her. Strip bits of her off. Eat them in front of her, just like he’s done to me. And so many other horrible, hideous, fucking monstrous things that I can’t bear to imagine, but I imagine them anyway.