Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
She smirked. “Never. Never. Ever.”
Jean-Pierre handed the bow to her. “You do not think Maxwell could shoot you?”
Silent, she held the deadly violin bow and ran her finger around the smooth wood.
Tension rose in the room.
Everyone watched her, possibly waiting for her to make a violent move.
This was not a good idea.
I sat on the edge of the couch ready to jump out of the blade’s reach. A bead of sweat trickled down my cheek.
Fast, she slashed the air, triggering a rippling effect from everyone. Jean-Pierre jumped up. His chair fell back. I grabbed her shoulders. Maxwell pointed the gun at her leg.
She opened her mouth in shock. “What?”
Maxwell lowered the gun. “Motherfucker, nobody trusts you to not kill them.”
“But. . .” Lunita blinked. “You all are my. . . everything.”
Clearing his throat, Jean-Pierre picked his chair back and sat down. “We are your everything?”
She nodded.
I let go of her arms. “No slashing the air.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “Another rule?”
“Yes.”
“Too many.” She frowned. “No fun. No fun at all. I’m going to go—”
“Don’t.” Jean-Pierre held out his hand. “We are not done talking.”
“I can’t slash the air.” She pointed at the dead couple. “Can I slice them?”
“Hell no,” Maxwell said.
Jean-Pierre shrugged. “I do not see the problem with that.”
I shook my head. “Exactly what a serial killer would say.”
“Did you not help Lunita pile body parts?” Jean-Pierre rose from the chair and walked over to the couple. “They are dead. Let us have some fun with Lunita.”
She grinned. “I like the Butcher.”
“Come on, man.” Maxwell shook his head. “How are we going to give the couple back to the family all fucked up—”
“We are not giving them back.” I quirked my brows. “Why would you think that?”
“Because—”
Lunita rose, stopping Maxwell’s words. He turned his attention to her.
Gripping the bow, she headed to the dead man.
I felt uneasy about the entire situation and followed her over.
As soon as she made it to the corpse, she ran her hand down his chest. Then, her fingers touched a stab wound, she pushed one finger inside. “Mmmm.”
Fascinated, Jean-Pierre widened his eyes. “Which part do you want to cut first?”
“The penis.” She giggled.
“Why do you laugh?”
“Because the word is dick. Everyone knows that.”
“I will remember.” Jean-Pierre gestured to the woman. “Why not her first?”
Lunita slid her digit in and out of the stab wound like she was finger fucking it.
“Lunita?” Jean-Pierre leaned his head to the side. “You do not want to talk about that?”
She nodded. “I want to play with his dick too, but the mean old lion won’t let me. Will you talk to him?”
I frowned.
Jean-Pierre shook his head. “I do not think he would listen to me.”
Lunita moved her finger from the stab wound. “Can I keep this bow?”
Jean-Pierre walked over. “I can get you something close to it.”
I shook my head. “Absolutely not.”
Maxwell went over to the balcony and opened the door. “I second that.”
Lunita poked the man’s crotch with the end of the bow. “They think they’re my mother.”
“How was your mother?” Jean-Pierre dove his hands into his pocket.
He thinks he’s a damned doctor.
Still, I said nothing. I didn’t want to admit it, but. . .Jean-Pierre was steadily gaining a connection with her, possibly faster than I could have. If he could get many answers, then I would stand back and let him.
“My mom. . .was so sad. . .” Lunita traced the point of the bow to the man’s knee. “But. . .she was so pretty.”
Jean-Pierre quirked his brow. “What did she look like?”
“Big afro. Curly. Big brown eyes. Brown skin. Like a chocolate bar. Hershey.” Her bottom lip quivered. “Like me, but. . .much prettier.”
I glanced at Maxwell, hoping he would confirm.
He nodded and pulled a joint out of his pocket. “This shit is too heavy. I need to smoke.”
I turned to her. “Your mother taught you Spanish?”
Nodding, she frowned at the new wound she was making. “Not much blood is coming now.”
“The dead normally don’t bleed for very long.” Jean-Pierre shrugged.
Maxwell clicked his lighter. I signaled for him to go further out on the balcony. He backed up.
With a wild smile, Lunita slid the bow’s blade back and forth on his leg. “I’m making music.”
Jean-Pierre grinned. “It is a beautiful song.”
I rolled my eyes.
Jean-Pierre came closer to her. “Did your mother like to sing or—?”
“I don’t talk about her.” Lunita changed legs and began slicing the other leg. “Too mean. Too much. . .hurting.”
I got to her side. “Did she hurt you?”
Lunita lowered her voice. “Daryl was her favorite. I should have killed him, instead of her.”
What?
Maxwell coughed over and over from the balcony.
I looked his way.
Maxwell had dropped the joint. It lay on the ground. Still coughing, he started hitting his chest.
Hold on.
I rubbed my forehead, trying to remember Emily’s past. Her mother died at least a year before the fire happened. Maxwell couldn’t remember what had happened.