Page 28 of Cut Deeper

No, she stood there knowing that I was going to destroy her tonight.

Her hair was tied high, messy gold strands resting above her head like a crown. The smallest, most inappropriate shirt I’d ever seen in my life—white material barely covering her breasts, the collar mocking businesswear entirely. The black, blue and white tartan skirt was so short it may as well have been a napkin.

My hand shot out for the door handle.

It wasn’t her ensemble but the dare in her eyes that drew me in. The way she didn’t look away.

Mother was wrong—because nine years after my birth, Anne was born.

I climbed out of the car and retrieved my overnight bag. When I turned back to her, she was smiling. There wouldn’t be a man who could say no to her, none of them realising they’d met their death in that first smile.

My eyes lingered on her bare midriff, her now-crossed legs.

“This is quite the welcome,” I murmured, drawing closer.

“I read an article about how things grow dull after a while,” she said with a shrug.

“It’s not even been forty-eight hours,” I said, arching a brow.

“I get bored quickly,” she said, smoothing her hand over my chest.

“Is that right?” I drawled.“I’ll bear that in mind.”

I could smell the food, and even as the thought of poison crossed my mind, I followed her inside.

“Who are we eating tonight?” I joked.

Her head snapped back.

“You were in my chest freezer too?”

Her voice was decidedly icy.

“I was curious.”

“You’re lucky that I find you interesting,” she muttered.“We’re having lamb. I don’t eat people. It wasn’t to my taste.”

She always had to go one step further.

“I use them in my paintings,” she said, walking down the hall.

I stared after her in shock. She put portions of her kills into her art, immortalising the dead.

“I need Gareth’s lungs and testicles,” she shouted from the kitchen.

When my mother was too drunk, my father would make a shopping list and take me with him. Human lungs and testicles would never be on anyone’s list but Anne’s.

I left my bag in the hall and went to join her, not for food, but for her presence. To affirm that Anne was the same species as me.

She was stirring something in a saucepan. I moved behind her, placing my hands over her belly.

“Do we have time before dinner?” I murmured, grinding myself against the curve of her arse.

I’d told her what time I’d come back, but I never expected her to cook for us.

“Eat first,” she said when my hand dipped lower.

“Pity,” I said reluctantly, withdrawing my hand.“You’re such a tease.”