Nathaniel said they sell the organs of the murderers they kill. Which means they must have a buyer. And this guy, this one, right in front of me, pointing like I’m a piece of meat, is that buyer.
My stomach turns. Slowly. Nauseatingly. I stare at Nathaniel, but he won’t meet my eyes. His expression gives away nothing, but the fact that he isn’t immediately correcting whatever this man thinks I am? That says enough.
Talon catches my look and sends me a wink before bending over the wheelbarrow to uncover the Candy Maker.
“This is the one,” he says, drawing it out like he’s trying to scare me, and hell, I think he is. “The living one’s a friend.”
I don’t breathe for three full seconds.
Then, as the stranger nods and lifts the body, I exhale, long and slow.
“You know we usually only take prepped product,” the man says. “But I’ll talk to the boss. See what we can do.”
“It’s just for a day or two,” Nathaniel replies. “Freezing her would be ideal. I’ll take her back once the heat dies down. She was old, but there might still be something useful.”
I raise a brow.Freezing her would be ideal? She was old, but there might still be something useful?
Nathaniel really knows how to talk about bodies like they’re expired meat, huh? I can’t say I’m surprised, but hearing it out loud, in this context, makes my skin crawl.
The sunglasses-wearing brick of a man nods like this is the most normal conversation in the world, then drags the Candy Maker’s corpse toward the trunk of his sleek, illegal-looking car. The way he lifts her, one hand under the shoulders, the other gripping her legs, makes it clear he’s done this before.
I, however, havenotdone this before, and it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to spiral into another round of stress-induced hysteria.
Where’s my Grim Reaper apathy when I actually need it? I thought I was getting feelings after these three dug up my bones and carved runes into them, but that was nothing compared tothis. Compared to having an actual body. Real, physicalreactions to real, horrifying emotions. My palms are sweating, my gut’s doing somersaults, and I’m pretty sure my eye is twitching.
Everything I used to feel is now cranked to eleven, with bonus features straight from hell.
“We staying, or moving?” Cassian asks, still planted up in the front.
I have no idea what that even means.Staying? Obviously we need to get the hell out of here. What kind of question is that? Luckily, I don’t have to ask, because Nathaniel nods once.
“Moving,” he says. “We just need a ride.”
I have a bad feeling there’s only one ride option, and it’s Creepy Sunglasses Guy.
I’m about to protest when the man gestures toward the half-built building behind him, clearly having heard the question and Nathaniel’s answer.
“There’s an old truck out back. Keys are in the ignition,” he says flatly. “Take it. I’ll handle the cleanup.”
Nathaniel nods, completely unfazed, and pushes my wheelchair forward. Talon gives the Candy Maker’s corpse a mock salute and follows. Cassian lingers for a beat, sizing the man up before turning on his heel and stalking after us.
I grip the armrests weakly, trying to silence the screaming thoughts in my head.
Push me faster. Walk quicker. Get the hell out. Move before we get killed.
Nathaniel must sense it, because he leans in just enough for only me to hear. “Relax, Little Grim. No one’s selling your kidneys tonight.”
“Tonight?” I hiss. “What about tomorrow?”
Talon barks a laugh. “Don’t tempt us. You do look pretty fresh.”
I hate these guys. I really do.
But what I hate even more is not knowing if they’re actually joking.
Like I said before, I have no idea where we stand anymore, and I’m not about to unpack that in the middle of a sketchy organ-trafficking drop site.
Nathaniel guides me through the wreckage of an old construction site, past rusted rebar and half-poured slabs of concrete. As we round a corner, I spot the truck—beat-up but exactly where the sunglass-wearing slab of muscle said it would be.
