Twist the Knife - Page 181

“I believe you.” She nods and seems to drift into thought, weighing several explanations. “Remember how you told me your father is scattered across the country? So he can never hurt anyone again?”

A dark cloud of impending doom fills the small space around us.

I claw at my throat while trying to hang onto my sanity. “I told you that because I trust you.”

“And I trust you.” She tips her head back and studies me. “I struggle with this all the time.” She paces in front of the armoire, keeping her eyes fixed on the ornaments above her. “I’m supposed to offer comfort to our clients and their families. I see things no one should ever see. Things bad people do to innocents. I have to sit through sermons all the time. And when someone pulls quotes from Genesis and claims they’re about God’s love, I want to rip out my hair and scream.”

“‘Now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son from me.’” The ancient line I couldn’t have recited yesterday if someone held a gun to my head suddenly falls from my lips.

“Yes.” She whirls around. “What Abraham does is evil. If someone did that today, they’d end up in jail.”

I thought being trapped in the elevator with a casket was my worst nightmare. But discussing the Old Testament in a narrow closet with my girlfriend, when there’s an eyeball pendant swinging from the ceiling, just shot to the top of my things I never, ever want to do list.

“Not always,” I say.

She stops and a smile worthy of the most unhinged version of Harley Quinn lights up her face. “Exactly.”

What the fuck? “Uh, I kind of agree with you but that doesn’t explain why you have a fucking eyeball pendant in your closet.”

“It’s from my first kill.” Red splotches spread over her cheeks. “My last one was while you were in Tennessee.”

Her last one?

How many were there in between?

I stare at her. She’s dead fucking serious. This isn’t an elaborate prank. My sweet, soft woman who cares so compassionately for the dead, wears quirky pins, asked me to teach her about sex, and looks like innocence personified, is a fucking serial killer.

My stomach twists in horror, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. She’s not a slightly kooky woman who collects pieces of her clients—that would actually be preferable.

She murders people.

The sledgehammer of truth slams into my body, knocking the air from my lungs.

Shattering everything I thought I knew about my woman into a million pieces.

Jigsaw and Margot’s story continues in:

Collect the Pieces (Lost Kings MC #25)

Universal Link to preorder:https://books2read.com/LKMC25

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Griff

If you’d like to learn more about Griff and Molly’s story, here is an excerpt from Fighting the Forbidden.

My best friend’s little sister Molly is the only person in the world distracting enough to make me miss a foot flying at my head.

The kick slams into my temple. Pain explodes through my skull. My vision blackens around the edges. I rock sideways but stay on my feet.

Stupid mistake.

Everything in front of me blurs for a second. I grit my teeth, refusing to give in to the throbbing ache. Shaking off the blow, I put my fists back up, and weave away from my opponent.

My wandering attention could’ve cost me the fight. But Molly’s here. Watching. Even though she’s what pulled me out of the fight, she’s also the reason I’m diving back into it.

So she can watch me win.