Page 162 of Villainous Intent

—C

I stared at the words, reading them over and over. They were a twisted, horrifying, oddly touching promise.

I tried to look back at the hands, but my stomach performed another flip. I spun around, taking a deep breath that was 90% “please don’t vomit on Havoc’s imported kitchen tiles” and 10% actual oxygen.

Behind me, Havoc and Simmons continued their macabre appraisal.

“The preservation technique suggests cryogenic flash-freezing before the application of a polymer coating,” Simmons observed.

“Could you both please stop discussing those things like they’re a fancy wine?” I interrupted, my voice higher than usual. “They’re hands. Actual human hands. That used to be attached to an actual human.”

“A human who hurt you,” Havoc reminded me.

“I’m aware,” I said, waving the note. “Cipher made that point abundantly clear.”

Simmons cleared his throat. “Would you like me to arrange for proper disposal, Ms. Bishop?”

I hesitated. The proper answer was yes. The sane answer was yes. The answer that wouldn’t make me look like I needed a psychological evaluation was definitely yes.

“No. I’ll take care of it.”

Both men stared at me.

“What?” I challenged. “It’s evidence.” Evidence of what, exactly, I wasn’t sure. Evidence that I’d somehow stumbled into a relationship with a man who thought dismembered body parts made appropriate gifts? Evidence that despite everything, some twisted part of me was touched by the gesture?

God, I needed therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.

“Actually, Ms. Bishop,” Simmons corrected, “these are considered legal spoils of battle. According to League regulation 34.7, section B, paragraph 12, ‘Any Villain who defeats another in sanctioned combat resulting in death may claim reasonable trophies from the deceased.’ Baron Ash’s hands would fall under that provision.” He adjusted his cuffs. “They cannot be used as evidence of anything.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You’re telling me there’s an actual rule about keeping body parts as trophies?”

“Yes. The provision was added in 1982 after the unfortunate incident with the Collector.”

Of course, there was a rule. There was always a rule. Just never one I expected to apply to my love life. Wait. Not love life. Arrangement. Our no-strings-attached, purely physical arrangement that now apparently included severed hands as gifts.

Havoc ran a hand through his hair. “Couldn’t he just send you flowers like a normal person?”

“He did send a flower,” Simmons pointed out.

“Oh, well that makes it all better then,” I muttered.

“Ms. Bishop,” Simmons said. “There appears to be additional text on the reverse side of the card.”

I flipped it over with the enthusiasm of someone checking to see if the milk that smelled funny was actually expired.

Trophy rules, section 34.7.

I stared at the neat silver script, then burst into laughter. Not the cute, bubbly kind that might charm people at parties, but the kind that makes strangers on the subway move to a different car.

Of course he’d cite the exact rule. Heaven forbid Cipher send me dismembered body parts without proper documentation of their legality. What if I’d worried about breaking regulations while displaying my new hand collection? What a thoughtful psychopath.

“Annie?” Havoc’s concerned voice barely penetrated my hysteria.

The laughter died in my throat as suddenly as it had erupted. Despite everything, the hands, the murder spree, the whole deranged situation, something warm unfurled in my chest. He knew me. Knew I’d immediately question whether this macabre gift violated some regulation. Knew I’d need reassurance that even in this, there were rules to follow.

It was, in its own twisted way, oddly touching.

I waved both men off, backing away from the grotesque display. “I can’t handle this right now.”