Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(79)
The moment between us could be eternal. Every shift of her glassy eyes between mine, every breath she takes, every motion of my thumb as I caress her cheek. It all embeds itself into my memory. “Okay,” she finally whispers, and I try my best to give her a reassuring smile. I lean closer. Press my lips to hers. And then I let go.
We pull our clothes back into place. Fix the bed. When we’re done, Rose moves to the door but hesitates. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she replies. “Are you?”
I smile, though it’s faint and probably not very convincing. “I will be.”
Rose gives me a nod, her eyes tracking toward Cranwell’s body and lingering there before returning to me. “Thank you, Fionn. I … I’ll see you soon?”
“Yeah. It’ll be okay. I promise.”
With a final glance that carries the weight of fear and worry behind her eyes, Rose turns away and leaves.
It’s not until I’m sure she’s gone that I make a phone call I never thought I would make.
And then I wait, standing in the center of the room like I’m one of the mannequins, an unmoving statue among the mayhem and madness. It could be five minutes that passes. It could be an hour. I replay every moment of the night on a loop until the sound of approaching footsteps breaks me away.
“Well, well, well,” a voice says from the darkness. I’ve only heard him a handful of times, but I’d recognize the devil anywhere. “Out of everyone, yours is the call I least expected, but the one I most hoped for.”
Leander Mayes steps into the light.
I stand straighter. “Thank you for coming.”
“You Kane boys are so different, and yet, so much the same,” Leander says as he saunters closer. He’s completely at ease in the midst of chaos, much like he was the first time we met. I’d looked up to see him enter the room as I stitched Rowan’s split lip. Lachlan still had his belt gripped tight around our father’s neck, even though his final heartbeat had long since passed. And Leander grinned then, much in the way he grins now. “You’ve always looked out for one another. Always had each other’s backs. I’m assuming that’s why I’m standing here right now and not Lachlan or Rowan, isn’t that right?”
“I thought you might be more … efficient,” I say, though that’s only a half-truth.
Leander’s gaze pans around us and his smile stretches. When his eyes snag on the mannequins hung up on the wall, Matt Cranwell’s closest to the corner of the room, he laughs. “Oh dear. You’ve been having some fun.”
“Not exactly.” My words feel like a lie.
He makes his way toward the body, slowing his steps as he passes by. He raises his hand, a photo pinched between his fingers. In the picture, Matt and I stare into each other’s eyes. Me with a lethal glare. Matt with shock and fear painted across his face. At the bottom of the image is the knife in my hand, lodged deep into Cranwell’s belly. “A souvenir,” Leander says, and slides it into the interior pocket of his jacket as he gives me a wink.
I watch as Leander saunters toward Cranwell. He stops within reach and tilts his head as though he’s contemplating a work of art. And suddenly, I feel like the beast I’ve been desperate to unleash has just found itself in a whole new cage.
“Very precise,” Leander says, motioning toward Cranwell. “Surgical, even. Made a bit of a mess though.” He leans closer to the body, inspecting the blood-soaked shirt and the torn flesh. He prods the wound with a gloved finger and Matt’s bowels and intestines tumble out of the slit, pink ropes that glisten in the dim light and drop to Leander’s feet, his shoes covered with waterproof booties. “Intestines make me hungry every time I see them, even despite the smell. Reminds me of sausages. Does this place have hot dogs?”
When I don’t immediately answer, Leander turns just enough to look at me over his shoulder.
“Yes. But the food stalls are all closed.”
“Shame. I’d really like a hot dog.” Our gazes remain pinned to each other for a long moment, and then Leander turns his attention back to the body on the wall. When he removes the burlap sack from Matt’s head, he barks a delighted laugh before leaning in close to examine the dead man’s face. “Wow. Impressive. That must have been a hard blow,” he says as he flicks the bulging eye. He pokes a finger into the other orbit where the glass eye once was. “I’m going to assume there was a prosthetic as well, yes? Where is it?”
My skin turns to fire. When Leander turns and raises his brows in a question, there’s nothing I can give for an answer.
“Don’t recall where you hit him so hard his eyes popped out?” Leander says. I shake my head, and the corners of his lips curl. “Pity. No matter. I can have a scent dog brought in. We’ll find it.”
He whistles and two unfamiliar men enter the room wearing hooded coveralls and carrying toolboxes and bags of supplies. “So, what did he do to deserve this fantastical and very fitting end, anyway?”
I think of Rose. Her face. Her fear. I think of the incandescent rage that consumed every cell in my body. The relief and excitement when the blade pierced Cranwell’s abdomen. The feeling of his flesh splitting open and the terror in his scream. “He started it.”