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)
Maybe. . .I could put on white. . .if they're afraid of me? Are they scared of me?
Jean-Pierre put spies in my crew. If a psycho like the Butcher was nervous, surely everyone else was terrified.
And. . .I'll have to tell Kaz about JP's actions.
I sighed.
No secrets.
Walking further into the winding labyrinth of racks, I reached out and ran my hands over some of the clothes. Silk, leather, and more silk ran past my fingertips. Then, my view fell on the shelves of wigs.
X would say. . .'Em, show them who the fuck you are! And you better make it memorable.'
My eyes watered.
Why did you have to die, X? I still need you.
My heart ached.
I walked over to the wig that I had named Danielle. Short, brunette, and wavy.
No. Too nice and summery.
I checked a few others and then stopped at a long black wig. The long silky strands would fall past my shoulders and brush the tops of my chest. There were also perfect bangs.
Lavinia. Of course it would be you.
This wig had come in right before we left Moscow. At $25,000, it was by far the most expensive one I had bought. They called it Remy hair.
The strands had been carefully cut from someone's head, collected, and sorted with the root and tip traveling in the same direction to ensure the cuticle did not tangle or matte.
Then, workers dunked the hair in tubs of chemicals to strip the cuticles. After that, it was combed out and coated with silicone for a faux-glossy shine.
Remy hair was more expensive and looked more natural due to the tedious process of not damaging the cuticles.
I picked up Lavinia and thought about the moment I had pulled her out of the box in Moscow.
Max had tried to touch it.
I yanked the wig away. “Keep your dirty hands away from this hair.”
“That shit looks sexy as hell. You must be trying to get double pregnant.”
I ran my fingers through the black strands. “I'm already pregnant enough.”
“What are you going to name her?”
“I don't know.”
“Should be Bridgette.”
“Why?”
“Wear that wig with some red heels and nothing else and you can get anything you want from the Russian.”
I grinned. “I'm thinking about calling her Lavinia.”
“Oh, come on. Not that name again.”
“I've been waiting for the perfect wig. I think it will fit.”
“I don't even know why you're so into that fucking terrifying horror fact.”
“It's interesting. Plus, doesn't this wig look like it belongs to a bad ass killer bitch?”
“My vote is still for Bridgette and those red heels.”
I returned to the present and picked the wig up.
Yep. It makes sense to wear you today.
Lavinia Fisher was the first female serial killer in American history. She owned an inn outside of Charleston, South Carolina, named Six Mile Wayfarer House. It was a mysterious house full of hidden passages and special mechanisms throughout the place. One example was that there was latch that could trigger a room's floorboards to open beneath a guest’s bed and drop them in the basement.
Many claimed Lavinia was a breathtaking woman with a captivating personality.
When male guests arrived at the inn and stayed, Lavinia flirted, charmed, and chatted with them about their travels. During dinner, she poisoned them with oleander tea.
The guests then went to their rooms. Later, she triggered the floor to open. The guest fell through. Her husband, John Fisher would beat them to death, and she would steal their valuables.
She murdered hundreds of travelers before her arrest and execution in 1820.
And the only way she had been discovered, was due to a male traveler named David Ross.
David hated tea, but didn't want to be rude. When Lavinia looked away, he poured the tea on the floor.
After dinner, she showed him to his room.
For some reason, David's intuition kicked in.
He wondered why she had asked him so many questions about his money. Plus, he felt uncomfortable with how her husband had been staring at him all evening?
Something told him to sit in the chair by the door, instead of the bed. Then, the floorboards opened. The bed dropped.
David Ross got his ass out of that room fast and ran to the police.
Authorities returned, searched the house, and discovered hundreds of human remains in the basement. Next, they arrested John and Lavinia Fisher.
Max hated the whole story.
I got it.
Surely, Lavinia wasn't a nice woman.
But why not? What had happened to her when she was a little girl?
I spent months and months researching her life. No details about her family or childhood existed.
I figured she must have changed her name and arrived in Charleston with her own story about her life.
I gazed at the wig.
Someone hurt you bad, Lavinia.
This was the wig I would wear. I'd killed just like Lavinia, and this Lunita did too. While I thought I murdered bad people and charged most of my deaths to the criminal game, I still took lives.