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“Is it someone on one of the other…umm, wards? Wings?” I nibble the corner of my bottom lip, unsure.
“Wings?”
“You know, like hospital wings.”
Honey shakes his head. “It’s just us.”
“Yeah, I can see that. But what about the rest of this place?”
“It’s just us, sugar,” he repeats. Cold sweat trickles down my spine, a telltale sign that I’m embarrassed. I hate being made to feel stupid, and even though Honey doesn’t appear to be trying to do that, I can’t help the way it makes me feel. Trauma’s a bitch like that.
“But…this place is massive. How can there only be eight inmates?” I swallow the embarrassment that’s lodged in my throat. I need to know the answer more than I need to save face.
“You do understand that it’s an exclusive, high security facility for the criminally insane, right?” That’s Snow. His tone is enough to kill my discomfort and make me rage. How dare he sneer at me like that?
No. I didn’t know that. I wasn’t privy to my sentencing.
“Of course,” I lie. “But I’ve met my fair share of nutters. There’s a shit tonne more than just eight of us.”
“Yeah but they’re just nutters. We’re nutterswith skills.”
“Dangerousskills,” Night chimes in with wicked glee.
“So we’re not just here for rehabilitation then?” I ask slowly, piecing their subtext together.
Night waggles his eyebrows at me – he looks absolutely demented doing so – and grins. “Clever girl.”
Inside, I preen. Not gonna lie, anything with the ‘girl’ suffix on the end gives me major fanny flutters.Good girl, bad girl, clever girl, little girl, baby girl, daddy’s girl… I’m fucking melting.
Outwardly, I scowl but it just makes Night’s grin stretch even wider. He sees my bullshit. Can probably smell the pheromones in the air. Those horny hormones will be the death of me I’m sure.
I nod my chin towards him. “You called Night because of your surname?”
A slow smirk spreads across his beautiful face before he replies, “It’s a coincidence, but no.”
“Why then?” I frown. I thought it was obvious.
“Nightshade. It’s a—”
I’m cutting him off with a breathy sigh before he can even finish.
“Type of poison. Yeah, I know.”
He moves his open palm to the side in anet voilamovement, and I’m captivated by his long slender tattooed fingers.What would they feel like playing my body like an instrument,I wonder.
“There you have it.”
“Poison? That’s your weapon of choice?” I thought for sure this guy was a cannibal. But I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to eat his victims after poisoning them.
“Bingo.” He salutes me with his wine glass. “Top up?”
“I’ll pass, thanks.” Because wine makes me slutty as fuck. Not because I think he’s out to kill me.
“Probably wise.” He smirks and it needles me. I don’t want him to think I’m scared of him. Because I’m not.
So I guess if all our nicknames are to do with our MO, it shouldn’t be too hard to work out why everyone’s here. Snowclone: the copycat. Nightshade: the poisoner. Hatchet is pretty self explanatory. But what about the others? Bones probably doesn’t bear thinking about. But Ghost? And Honeymonster? What’s their deal?
And then there’s me. Dubbed The Kookaburra Killer. The media claim it’s because of the maniacal way I was laughing when I was found hunched over my final victim’s body.
