Page 10 of Butcher & Blackbird

Michael Northman’s final screams flood my kill room as I say goodbye to my best friend and disconnect both the call and my prey’s vocal cords. When the surgical procedure is finished, I suture the wound for no other reason but to give him a false hope of survival, instructing Michael to keep his eyes on the clock before I turn to my tray of implements to grab my Liston bone cutting forceps. Maybe he won’t listen to my orders, but I’ve learned enough about the fragile human mind in this room to know that he’ll want something to focus on in the coming hours, and nothing is both more tempting and unforgiving than watching time slowly ticking toward your doom.

I’m about to head back to the man strapped to my table when my burner phone buzzes in my pocket.

My brother Lachlan is going to draw from a hat. He’ll text us both with the location. As soon as he does, the game is on. First one to kill wins. If neither of us finds the target within seven days, it’s a draw. Then I guess we’ll have to rock-paper-scissors that bitch.

A heavy lurch pounds my ribs as my heart rate spikes.

You have a ridiculous advantage.

I watch the dots flicker in our conversation as Rowan types his response to my message.

Trust me when I say that Lachlan wants you to win, not me. I have no advantage here. He hasn’t told me shit.

My smile spreads. Michael Northman’s desperate thrashing and quickened breaths fall into a hazy backdrop as I tap out my reply.

I don’t know you enough to trust you. And if I find out he’s feeding you info, I’ll kick your ass. Just laying that out there now so we’re on the same page, you know?

The chilled air seems heavier in the storage container as I watch the gray circles pulse in the lower left corner of the screen.

I think I might want you to win now too, so I’m okay with that…

You’re the worst.

Maybe… but at least you think I’m pretty!

Jesus H. Christ.

I know I’m smiling down at the device in my hands. I should feel stupid about it. It should feel as dangerous as it is. But the only thing I sense is a relief that settles into my marrow, an excitement that charges the chambers of my heart. It’s a current that soaks every cell in light.

I’m about to set the phone down and focus on my captive when it buzzes in my hand from an Unknown Sender.

Ivydale, West Virginia.

And good luck, eyeball spider lady, or whatever the hell your name is. Just think, little brother—your title of loser is about to be official.

My grin widens.A text from Butcher comes in on the heels of Lachlan’s message.

See? I told you so. See you in West Virginia, Blackbird.

I set down the forceps in exchange for the bloodied scalpel.

When I turn to the man strapped to my table, his eyes are wide with the kind of fear that brings me peace. His face is pale with stress and pain. Blood and saliva slip from the corner of his lips. He tries to shake his head as I twist the scalpel in the artificial light.

“I’ve got places to be, so I guess we have to cut this short, if you’ll excuse the pun,” I say before I drive my blade beneath his ear. Blood cascades over the table in a flood of crimson.

“It’s game night.”

4

ATELIER

ROWAN

“What are you doing?” Fionn asks as he wanders into my room, a carrot snapping in the grip of his molars. “Going on a trip?”

I roll my eyes and gesture to the carrot. “What the hell. Is this a new phase in your Crossfit indoctrination, walking around with raw root vegetables?”

“Beta carotene, motherfucker. Antioxidants. I’m helping my body eliminate free radicals.”