“How many?”
“Just one tonight.”
Without a word, she twists on her heel and disappears inside the barn.
My heart is pounding, and I'm not even sure why anymore. Anticipation has gathered between the crevices of my bones, as if I'm gearing up to commit the worst of my crimes.
Maybe I am. Yet, I can't find it in me to give a fuck.
Just like last time, I drag the corpse out of my trunk and carry the dead woman into Molly's barn. She's dressing in her protective suit while I drop the body on the metal table.
The silence is heavy and filled with electrical currents. If I licked my thumb and held it up, I'd wield lightning in a matter of seconds. The ways I'd use that to my advantage…
The loud buzz of the hair clippers rips my thoughts straight out of the gutter and into the hands of the woman cutting off another person's hair, preparing to dismember her. She already undressed the woman, and I hadn’t even realized it.
I watch her, riveted, and remembering the twenty-five-year-old girl who walked into my TV store, asking for help with her shoulders curled inward and her eyes watching over her shoulder with every step. To this moment, a woman who is so calm and standing like she’s sure of herself. It's such a contrast to the version of her I once knew that I'm nearly frothing at the mouth to get to know who she is now.
She finishes shaving the woman's head, then extracts her teeth quickly and meticulously—so smoothly that it only shows her experience.
And when she begins to saw through the corpse's head, I can't help but feel my fascination with her deepening.
Unsurprisingly, I find her skillset in dismembering a person attractive.
“What did she do?” she asks after finishing removing the head.
“She sold her kid to her boyfriend. He would pay for his drug habit with her daughter's body.”
She pauses, the vibrating blade an inch away from the woman's leg. She clutches the tool until her rubber gloves squeak from the force of her grip, and when she continues to stay frozen, my brows plunge, concern trickling in.
“Molly.”
She jumps, just the 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 a Z location.”
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.
The thought 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 I know she 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.