Page 63 of Vicious Kingdom

My gaze studied the stub, eyes searing with every horrific detail. And then, recognition clicked.

“David,” I whispered as if the name would summon the prick.

It was clearly his hand. The engagement ring on his little finger caught the light, its massive stone glinting accusingly at me. It hadn’t been on my hand more than a couple of hours.

Now…it cinched his swollen finger.

Bile rose in my throat as the putrid smell filled my nostrils.

This wasn’t possible. David’s death was in the papers. His hand had been cut off during some drug-induced frenzy. But how was it here and—who would send me this? Why?

Those fingers weren’t reaching.

They were grasping.

The whiskey in my system made everything fuzzy, but I managed to pick up on that detail. Action spurred me forward. Using the scissors, which I was throwing away after this gruesome task, I extracted the slip of paper.

I didn’t want to touch it.

Using toilet tissue, I unfolded it.

This is what happens to men who touch you.

The signature at the bottom was worse than the devil’s calling card.

That did it.

My stomach heaved. I scrambled from the sink to the toilet, bending just in time. The contents of my stomach emptied. Tears streamed down my face as I retched, my body trying—and failing—to expel the macabre truth with the contents of my lunch.

When there was nothing left, I slumped against the wall and gingerly reached for my ankle. The rapid pulse made the area throb. But I hardly noticed. My skin was wet and clammy. My body trembled. There was only one person wicked enough to exact such demented vengeance.

The Tormentor.

It had been him.

I lay on the bathroom floor long enough to realize this was the next level in his campaign. His abuse and violence had only ever been directed at me. Even five years ago, when Mom tried to set me up with Paul Preston the Third or when I’d gotten involved with Leo the first time, there’d been no display of emotion toward another man—

“He was traveling abroad five years ago.” I smacked my head with the heel of my palm. That small detail slipped my memory until now.

Dropping my head back against the vanity, I focused on calming my racing pulse. The next step was clear. I had to dispose of the evidence. Fortunately, my chosen career gave me plenty of helpful suggestions on just how to do that.

With a manic laugh, I peeled myself off the floor. When I set out to return to Chicago, I knew I would be using some of the tactics my heroines used to manipulate the situation to my advantage, but this had not been one of them. At least being an author taught me how to hide bodies—or in this case, part of them. I began to clean up the mess, promising the whiskey I was coming back to drown myself with it.

That was something my characters never needed to do.

“At least when this is all over, I’ll have a fresh perspective,” I muttered, knowing my next book would have a healthy dose of realism layering the already thrilling plots and chilling settings.

Chapter 23 – Leonardo

The bruising emotions leaked from my very pores as I watched the sun come over the horizon. It had been a night from hell, the last chance to back down from the decision I made. If I was going to do this, it had to be now. My insides were at war. Let her go—or bind her to my side? From my living room, the panoramic view of the city, and the lake beyond, glowed in a rosy haze. The daylight mocked me, chasing away the shadows in which I’d wallowed all night.

I was too hard on her.

Something inside me snapped at the lake. I had to fight myself, battle my instinct, and force my desire into chains.

Mad at myself for being so weak, I lashed out at her.

Had she cried?