Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“Oh, I get you.”
He nods slowly, almost like he’s not quite paying attention.
The door nudges open and Murphy pokes his head in. “Jiggy, you wanna…?”
He shakes his head quickly. “I’m fine.”
Wrath shoulders Murphy out of his way, pushing the door open wider. “Is this ready, Margot?”
“It should be soon.” I turn away and walk over to check out the controls.
From the corner of my eye, something rust-colored sticks out.
I freeze. Roll my shoulder forward to peer down at my arm.
A sticky red smear on my biceps. “What the…?”
“Oh shit, Margot. Sorry.” Jigsaw limps to my side.
He reaches for me, brushing at the flecks of dried blood on my arm with the back of his gloved hand—already dark with a reddish sheen.
My gaze drops to his jeans.
A dark circle blooms around his upper thigh. Black fabric, a torn T-shirt maybe, wrapped around his thigh, tied tight. Also dark and damp looking.
“Jensen! Oh my God.” My voice comes out sharp, too loud, too full of panic. “You’re bleeding?”
He grits his teeth and lies, “I’m fine.”
My stomach drops. I sway on my feet, but I don’t look away.
He’s not fine. He’s bleeding!
“I’m fine.” Jigsaw’s voice is slow and calm. “We’ll be done soon, and I’ll get cleaned up.”
“How? Who?” I stammer.
He cocks his head toward the door. “Fucker had a knife stashed in his boot. Stabbed me.” His lips twist in a wry laugh. “Lucky my reflexes are so good, he was aiming for my throat.”
Everything narrows. My breath comes fast. A high-pitched whine buzzing in my ears.
“Margot?” Jigsaw sounds a thousand miles away. “I’m okay.”
Murphy pops his head in again. “I don’t think we’re gettin’ anything else out of him.” His gaze shifts between Jigsaw and me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jigsaw shakes his head and gestures toward his leg.
Wrath elbows Murphy out of his way and kicks the door open wide. A second later, he drags their prisoner inside—the man’s bloody fingers clawing at Wrath’s arm around his neck.
Jigsaw’s blood.
White-hot, stomach-knotting, heartbeat-screaming rage explodes through me.
“How’re we doing this?” Murphy asks. “We can’t just toss him in.”
“I’ll help you there.” I dig the scalpel out of my pocket and quickly cross the small space.
Wrath drops the guy on the floor with heavy thud and frowns at me. “What the hell are you doing?”
I kneel next to the prisoner, cradling his head in one hand. He stares up at me, eyes wide, mouth slack, shaking his head in frantic denial.
“You stabbed my boyfriend.” My voice is calm. Robotic. Detached. “Tried to hurt his friends.”
I grip the scalpel tighter.
“I drain blood from the jugular all the time,” I murmur. “Tilt the head, nick the vein, let gravity do the rest.”
The man shakes his head violently.
“This might be a little messier.”
I grip his skull in my palm, fingers digging into his scalp to hold him steady. Bodies on my table are much more compliant. This one still squirms and reeks of sweat and fear.
“Margot.” Jigsaw’s voice slices through the fog. “Don’t!”
Too late.
I drag the blade across the man’s throat, firm and smooth. The scalpel glides through flesh. A surge of blood much warmer than I’m used to bursts free.
No cannula to guide it. No drain to catch it.
It sprays across my chest and forearms—wild, chaotic, and hot.
Probably the messiest kill I’ve ever made.
Because I didn’t plan it. This was all instinct. Reaction.
His body twitches. Spasms. Then stills.
Silence floods the room.
I lift my head.
All four men stare at me with wide eyes and stunned mouths.
I hold up my hand with the scalpel; blood drips off my fingers, runs down my arm and patters against the floor.
“Can someone hand me the paper towels?” I nod to the roll hanging by the sink. “This one was messier than I’m used to.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Jigsaw
Wrath yanks a long roll of towels free and hands them to Margot.
The rest of us stand there staring.
Margot’s confused gaze slides from me, to Rock, then Murphy.
“What?” She lifts the scalpel, blood still dripping. “I’m the one who knows how to make precise incisions. You didn’t want to spray blood everywhere.”
“Uh, I was going to just snap his neck.” Wrath shrugs and waves his hand at the body. “But this works. Dead is dead.”
He’s finding this way too fucking amusing.
Am I hallucinating?
I’ve lost a lot of blood.
Did she really just slit a man’s throat in front of us?
Demons below, how did I get so lucky?
If I didn’t have so much blood seeping from the hole in my leg, it’d probably be going straight to my dick.
That’s my woman. Holy fuck. She did that because the guy attacked me.
A wave of lightheadedness knocks me sideways.
There’s a clatter and scuffling. Something soft touches my elbow.
“Jensen,” Margot’s low voice pleads.
I blink and she’s at my side. “You’re really pale.”
“No shit.” I sway, my vision tunneling for a second.
“You need to sit down and let me look at your leg.”