Page 62 of Vicious Kingdom

“David cut off his hand!” I tried to scream.

“Drugs make people do the weirdest things,” Janet agreed.

“And the gravy boat it is.” Penelope dropped a stack of cash on the counter, grabbed me under the arm, and, flagged by the still gabbing socialite, hauled me to the car.

***

I managed to drive back to my parents’ house. How, I had not the first clue. One minute I was in the shop, reading the gory details of David’s demise, and the next, I was here. Penelope really shouldn’t have let me drive. Not that I let her have a choice.

Clasping my dry throat, I limped into the kitchen. A maid, whose name I didn’t bother learning, because she would be fired in a few weeks when my mother deemed her unfit, greeted me with a smile.

“A package came for you, miss.”

I gave her a nod, took a bottle of unopened whiskey from the cabinet where my father kept the backups, and after plucking a water glass from the other cupboard, I slowly made my way to my room.

If the maid thought my behavior was suspicious, she minded her own business—a good quality if she wanted to survive here longer than most.

A pop filled the air as I uncorked the bottle’s plug. The sweet liquid gurgled into the cup, promising relief. I took a long pull, relishing the burn.

In a few moments, the buzz would calm me down, help me to make sense of the terrible feeling swelling inside. Once upon a time, I thought David could be a fresh start. That was right at first. I quickly realized he was all wrong, but I kept him around anyway.

And then he killed himself?

Was it me?I gulped. Air stuck in my throat, refusing to fill my lungs.

Clawing at my neck, I sagged against the bed. It wasn’t my fault—technically. Our few dates in Germany were nothing memorable. After coming back I didn’t talk to him except that one time, and then I ended it once I realized it wasn’t a good plan.

Only to drive him to an act of desperation.

“I won’t take responsibility for this,” I ordered myself. It wasn’t fair to me. I barely knew the man! “I never even asked his middle name.”

And yet I let him give me a ring.

Grinding the heel of my palm into my forehead, I forced myself to stop. Whatever demons David dealt with, it was for the best that we weren’t more tangled than this. We might have married, spent a few months—even years—together, but thiskind of inner trauma had deeper roots than the rejection of a girl he barely knew.

“I’m going to be sad, but I’m not going to feel guilty.” That would be doing myself a disservice.

I shivered. He must have been struggling more than any of us realized. I sipped the rest of the whiskey as I retrieved a scissors from the bathroom. Approaching the package on my bed, I frowned.

There was no return address.

“No delivery address either,” I mumbled.

Setting the empty glass down, I eyed the package with a mixture of curiosity and excitement. It was rare that anyone would send me something without a purpose. As the whiskey warmed in my belly, and with the happy prospect of a gift in front of me, I used both hands to pull the excessive amount of packing tape free.

It was the stench that hit me first. One waft, and I choked.

But my fingers were already fumbling with the flaps before the warning could register that this wasn’t something I wanted to open. One last tug, and the rotten cloud of death filled the air.

Inside the package was a severed hand.

The ground shifted under me as my stomach lurched. I stumbled backward and put my full weight on my bum foot. A strangled scream stuck in my throat. I grasped for anything solid to help myself, knocking over the glass, which bounced off the area rug and shattered on the hardwood floor.

Half collapsed on the table, I stared. The severed hand lay pale and bloated inside the box, fingers curled slightly as if reaching for something.

“Oh my lord,” I gasped, clapping my palm over my mouth.

I couldn’t look away.