Delicious - Page 51

But as if he knows what I’m planning, the man takes a step in the direction I’d need to go, still glaring at me. “He killed my brother,” the man informs me quietly. “I know he did.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen him kill anyone.” I laugh nervously. “But you can certainly ask him. Maybe not here or now. He’s not going to like it that you’re here?—”

“Why?” The man takes one step forward, then another. “Why’s that, huh? Because this is his property? His territory?” the man spits. “Or maybe because I’m really considering getting him back for last night by messing up your face the way he messed up mine.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers are clammy as I kneel just enough to set my camera near the shed, and I take a few steps back until my back hits the door.

Which is, conveniently, when the smell surrounds me. I breathe through my mouth, trying not to let it kill me, and the man takes another inching step forward, as if he’s looking for the opportunity to pounce. The look on his face tells me he isn’t lying. And the hatred there proves he won’t feel a bit bad for hitting me.

But today isn’t a good day for a broken nose. In fact, it’s not in the stars for me. As he lunges forward, I lunge back, hitting the door of the shed open on purpose and stumbling back through it. I wheel around, hearing him curse as his steps come closer, and I send up an apology to Jed the moment I lunge toward one of the counters built into the shed wall.

My hands close over the handle of the chainsaw and I haul it up, nearly staggering at its weight. It occurs to me then that Jed was right. There’s no way in hell I can use this as a weapon.

But Tyson Miller’s brother doesn’t know that.

Before he can set foot in the shed, I lurch out of it, braced on the gravel with the chainsaw in both hands, blade facing him. “Try me,” I tell him, one hand going to the cord as the other strains to hold up the weight of the entire thing on its own.

Holyshit,why is this thing so heavy? More than that, how does Jed wave it around like it’s absolutely nothing?

“You want to die? You’ll end up in this shed, too. Take another step.” From somewhere in the distance I hear the bang of a door, and through the fog I hear a voice that might be Jed’s.

The man wavers, his eyes on the chainsaw, before darting to the cabin. “I’m not afraid of you,” he promises, taking one step back, then another. “And I’m not afraid of him, either. Tell your boyfriend I’ll be back, and I won’t waste time just breaking his fuckingface.”

After another call from the cabin, the man takes off, plunging into the fog and disappearing moments before Jed shows up, his face contorting into incredulous surprise when he sees me.

“I can explain,” I tell him, setting down the chainsaw hard. “Seriously. Don’t freak out. And you know what? I’ll admit it. You were right. This thing is way too heavy for me to use.” I huff out a breath, my arms burning, and am only a little surprised at his resigned snort of amusement before Jed comes forward topick up the chainsaw in one hand, pressing a kiss to my forehead before he takes it back into the slaughter shed.

“Explanation time,” he announces, coming back out with concern on his face. “What in theworldwere you doing with my chainsaw?”

“Umm…” I trail off for a moment as Jed twines our fingers together before leading me back to the cabin.

It’s official.

I’ve never had better French toast than the magical concoction I’d watched Jed make. He’d tried explaining his recipe to me, even while a muscle had ticked in his jaw after I filled him in on my early morning activities and the visit from Tyson Miller’s brother. His movements had been a bit jerky as well, but the quality of the food had never, not once, been compromised.

And the fact he’d made enough to feed an army meant I could load my plate with berry compote. I dripped it over my French toast, leaving more than enough for the others to have some when they got to the cabin.

“You don’t have to help me.” Jed’s voice is snapping with anger, and he drums his fingers on the table as Wren wolfs down food. Across from Jed, a dark-haired, dark-eyed man watches him with interest, and according to Jed, this is Virgil.The elusive other member of the murder club who I hadn’t met before now.

He’s intimidating. Not funny like Wren, or corny like Cass. And he’s definitely not sweet like Jed. According to what I’d heard before, he’s engaged to someone he met a year ago. But I don’t think I’d ever have the guts to marry a man with the look of a predator like him.

No,my brain tells me spitefully.You fell for the chainsaw wielding cannibal. Much better choice. Good job.

But at least my ex-cannibal is sweet, with a smile of gold and a personality to match.

As if he can feel my eyes on him from the other side of the kitchen island, Virgil turns to survey me, his eyes never leaving my face. “Does she know what you plan to do to him?” he asks, nodding in his head in my direction.

“Oh yeah,” Wren assures him, stuffing another piece of toast in his mouth. “She’s feral for our little chef. Don’t you see those marks on her neck?” He smiles, beaming in my direction when I reach up to self-consciously touch the marks. “She doesn’t mind a little murder.”

“Is she coming along?” Virgil’s question nearly makes me choke on a raspberry, and Jed shakes his head, looking a little nervous.

“No. She doesn’t need to,” he promises, looking down at his plate. “I don’t want to do that to her. Especially since it doesn’t involve her.”

“You sure it doesn’t?” Virgil definitely freaks me out. “You sure she’s going to be okay when you come home covered in blood and cut up the body in the shed?” It’s almost like his eyes are daring me. Challenging me to speak up.

It’s uncomfortable, to say the least.

“She doesn’t need?—”