Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“It’s . . . grand. Very grand. Like living inside a Gothic novel where the protagonist hasn’t figured out she’s in danger yet.”
“Blue does like his nice things. Always has, as long as I’ve known him.” Duffy stays focused on her bottles, but there’s something almost reverent in her tone. “He’s got excellent taste in houseguests too. I have to say, you’re a bit different from his usual . . . visitors.”
Her tone makes me set down my glass. “Different how?”
“Well, for starters, you’re here. In town. Talking to people.” Duffy stays light, conversational. “Most of Blue’s lady friends tend to be more . . . reclusive. Prefer the estate to mingling with us common folk.”
“Lady friends?” A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. “Duffy, I think you might have the wrong idea about—”
“Do I?” She leans against the bar, close enough that I can smell her perfume—something with vanilla and spice. “Because in all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve seen Blue with quite a few beautiful women. And they all had that same look you’ve got right now. Like you’re not sure if you’re living in a fairy tale or a nightmare.” She leans closer, and instead of warning, there’s something like excitement in her voice. “The rumors say Blue’s had seven wives, Saylor. Seven.”
The words hit me like ice water. “Seven wives?”
Duffy glances around the empty bar, checking to make sure we’re truly alone before her easy smile turns knowing. “People love their dramatic stories about Blue systematically murdering his way through beautiful women.”
“And you don’t think he does?”
“Oh, I think Blue’s perfectly capable of murder—we all are around here.” Duffy shrugs, completely unbothered by the concept. “But wife-killing? That’s not his style. Blue’s the type who kills to protect what’s his, not destroy it. The man’s got his flaws, but harming someone he loves isn’t one of them.”
My stomach churns, not because I’m shocked that Blue might be capable of murder—I already know what he is—but because hearing Duffy dismiss the wife-killing rumors so easily attacks my inner core harder than I expected.
I think about the forbidden third floor of Maison Rouge, the one Blue specifically asked me to avoid. Private, he’d said when I asked about it. Mine. What secrets is he keeping up there?
“And you’re telling me this because . . . ?”
“Because I like you.” Duffy shrugs, going back to organizing her bottles. “Blue’s brought women here before, but they never last long in town. Too nervous, too scared of the locals. You? You walked into an apothecary bar and asked for poison advice like you were ordering coffee.”
“I didn’t ask for poison advice.”
“Not yet.” Duffy grins. “But you will. This place has a way of bringing out what people really are underneath all the pretending.”
I study her face, trying to read between the lines. “And what if I did want some? Hypothetically.”
Duffy’s eyes light up with genuine interest. “Well, that would depend on your style. Some people prefer the dramatic flair of immediate results. Others like to sit back and watch the slow burn.”
The casual way she discusses murder methods should horrify me. Instead, I find myself leaning forward. “What would you recommend for—”
Before I can finish the question, Duffy freezes, her gaze fixed on something behind me. She carefully sets down the bottle she’s holding, and a knowing smile spreads across her face.
“Well,” she says quietly, “speak of the devil.”
I turn to find Blue filling the doorway like an avenging angel who’s had a rough morning. His charcoal sweater is immaculate except for a few dark spots across the left shoulder that could be wine stains if you’re feeling optimistic. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it, and there’s something predatory in the way he scans the room before his eyes lock onto mine.
He moves directly to Hans, who’s been lurking near the entrance trying to blend in with the decor. Blue whispers something in Hans’s ear—something urgent, judging by the way Hans’s eyes widen. The big German nods once and disappears through the front door like smoke.
The atmosphere in Toil & Trouble shifts immediately, the air itself seeming to thicken with tension. The moment he sees me sitting at the bar with Duffy, something dangerous settles into his features. Not anger exactly, but something deeper. More primal.
“Saylor.” My name carries across the sudden quiet, and there’s something in the way he says my name that makes my pulse skip. “Having a good morning?”
“Fantastic,” I say, lifting my glass in a mock toast. “Duffy here was just telling me about your colorful romantic history.”
Blue approaches the bar with the fluid grace of someone who’s never had to wonder if a room contains enemies that will kill him . . . which I know is not true. Up close, those dark spots on his sweater are definitely not wine. When he reaches us, he doesn’t sit. Instead, he stands behind my barstool, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.