Delicious - Page 55

I can’t turn away as he thrusts the blade forward. It’s not quick and smooth, but Wren moves instantly as the blade begins to cut through Gary Miller’s chest while he screams and begs for mercy.

I should’ve moved sooner. I should’ve opened the door sooner, and looked away, because right now, with my eyes full of gore and blood that splatters on Jed’s front, I can’t?—

Virgil fills my vision, his face calm and edged in concern. “Time to go, Saylor,” he murmurs. “You’ve proven everything you needed to and more.” He blocks my entire view of the screaming, dying man, and shoves the door all the way open until I can stumble out into the daylight beyond.

Then, before I can take another look inside or say a word, he closes it again, leaving me in the sunlight with the sound of Gary Miller’s screams.

I stand there, transfixed and unable to move, listening to his screams. Even though I can’t see it, I can imagine every bit of?—

Blinking, I realize that there’s something else in my ears. Apart from the screaming and my own internal turmoil. Something from this side of the barn, that sounds closer than Gary’s screams.

When it sounds again, I turn around, confused, and my eyes scan the area around me as my brain tries to figure out what in the world is going on. Is that?—

A cat meows softly, rubbing against my ankles. The small, gray-furred ball of fluff does one circuit around my legs happily, like it can’t hear the screaming from beyond the door. That, or it doesn’t care.

“Hi,” I whisper, kneeling down and reaching one trembling hand out for the little cat to sniff. “Hello, little friend.”

The cat, showing no sign of fear, pads up to sniff my fingers before rubbing its body against my hand with a loud, contented purr.

I can’t help it. A smile breaks out over my lips, and I carefully move away from the door, followed by the sounds of the cat’s purring. It isn’t a kitten, judging by its features. But the cat is smaller than most other adult felines I’ve seen.

“Are you far from home?” When I sit down fully on the grass, the cat takes that opportunity to jump onto my knee, rubbing its skinny body against my chest. I’m careful as I touch it, my fingers running along bumpy ribs and hips that are too angular with hunger. The little cat doesn’t look like it’s eaten in ages. And definitely not well. “Or do you not have a home?” The cat is incredibly friendly for not having a home, and when it nuzzles my face, my lips curl into a smile.

“I don’t know if Jed will let me take you home,” I admit, blinking when I realize the screams have come to a stop, even if the sound of the chainsaw hasn’t.

But of course. Jed is good at cleanup, and I know it requires his special skills to get the job done. Namely, his mastery of chopping people into little bits.

“You’re so chill about this,” I tell the little cat, scratching it under the chin. One of its eyes is a little weepy, and I’m sure it hasn’t had the vet care it needs in awhile, if ever. “Do you hear people getting murdered and chopped up often?”

At my question, the cat purrs louder and chews on the end of my finger. Seconds later, the barn door opens, and Wren comesout whistling, carrying a pile of tarps to his truck. “You good?” he asks, pausing in the grass to look over at me. “You looked a little uh, uncomfortable back there.”

“I found a cat,” I reply, gesturing to my new friend. “Cats make everything better.”

“Indeed,” Wren agrees, looking the little creature over but not coming closer. “Must be a stray. No one lives out here anymore.” He walks the rest of the way to his truck, and I wince at thethumpthe tarps make on the bed of it. Once that’s done, he strides over, moving more and more slowly the closer he gets to me.

But the little cat isn’t afraid of him, either. It walks right up to the serial killer, standing up on its back legs so it can rub its face against his jeans. Wren’s smile widens, and he scratches it under the chin. “What a friendly little thing. Are you going to keep it?”

He asks like it’s just the most obvious thing in the world for me to take it home.

“Does Jed like cats?” I ask gingerly. “Do you think he’d be okay bringing it home?”

“Ask him,” Wren recommends. “He’s not a hard-ass. And it is areallycute cat.” With that he disappears back into the barn, whistling his strangely cheerful tune.

Jed is the next out, carrying the now bloody chainsaw to the SUV along with some of the tarps. He glances around the yard until his eyes find mine, and a smile hitches on his bloody lips. “Oh.” He stops, opening the hatch of the vehicle as he surveys the situation. “I see you made a friend.”

“I think he’s a stray.” Anxiety builds in my chest, half because I’m about to ask him about the cat and half because he’s covered in blood and looks…frankly terrifying. Subconsciously he runs his crimson fingers through his hair, and it stands on end, coated with blood, when he’s done. “And he’s pretty thin.”

“Yeah?” Somehow I haven’t found the opportunity to ask him, but Jed comes closer, dropping to the ground opposite me. The little cat doesn’t waste a second, naturally. It bounds over to its new friend, rubbing on his arms like they aren’t streaked with blood. “Just a second, darling.” Jed chuckles, wiping his arms on his shirt before presenting them to the cat again. He runs his fingers along its body, just as I had done, and grimaces. “You are thin, aren’t you kitty?” As if it understands, the cat meows and pushes itself closer to him.

“Well…” He looks up at me, his eyes wide and sincere. “We probably can’t just leave it out here. Outside of a murder barn, in the middle of the woods.”

“Are you askingme?” I can’t help the small, surprised grin. “I was trying to figure out how to askyouif we could take it home. Since it’s your house, and all. My apartment definitely doesn’t allow cats.”

“Oh, we’re so taking the cat home.” Jed gets to his feet, and reaches out to help me when I scoop the cat into my arms. It doesn’t fight me, and instead turns to rest more comfortably against my chest, with its little body rumbling like a motorboat. “Are you okay?” He pulls me close, the cat trapped between us and not minding at all.

I open my mouth to answer…only to find that the words aren’t there. Not just yet. The memory of Gary’s screams is still sending prickles down my spine, and as I stare into his face, I don’t see a bit of remorse. Not that I’d expected to see any.

But it’s different to know and then toseewhat he is right in front of my eyes.