That should probably terrify me, I remind myself, as my hand comes up to stroke gently along his. A sigh leaves me, prompting him to look my way without a word. His hand flips over on the console, fingers curling against my own.
“Next time, you can’t say it’s an accident or self-defense,” Larkin tells me, breaking the silence.
“What?” The words catch me off guard and I blink up at him stupidly.
He grins at my cluelessness. “Next time you kill someone. Don’t try to tell me you won’t, because you will. But next time?”
He brings my hand to his face, and I expect him to kiss the back of my hand. Instead, he bites down on my ring finger, causing me to arch in my seat and grip the door as the pain streaks up my arm.
“Ow! Fuck, Larkin, that’s too hard!”
He only chuckles and stays biting me for a few seconds longer, to prove a point, before releasing me.
“Next time it happens, I’ll be there too,” he assures me. “And I won’t let you make an excuse or turn it into something it isn’t.” At last he kisses my finger where he bit me, then drops my hand entirely.
“You’re a monster, silly girl. And you can only deny that for so long.”
Chapter
Nineteen
What’s your favorite color?
That’s not the question I expected when Larkin took me to dinner the night before at a very nice, very private restaurant down by the water. He barely ever looked away from me, even when our food was delivered, and the attention had been almost overwhelming.
Almost.
I stumbled over an answer, telling him honestly that it was black, and his little grin was worth the shake of his head and the “Of course it is,” he gave me in return.
“He’s a nepo baby,” I inform Yoichi, not opening my eyes on the recliner in my room. Some random documentary is playing on my television, providing me with white noise and illumination in the darkness.
I’m not bored, exactly. Sometimes I just like sitting here with my black rat snake, not really taking anything in, but just existing. From out in the kitchen, I can hear Esme moving around, though I’m not sure what she’s doing. Given that she seems almost back to normal now that Mike Flanagan hasn’tbeen back in two weeks, she could be trying out a new recipe for some random dessert she saw on social media, or maybe prepping her lunches for the coming week.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding my head like Yoichi has answered me. “That’s what I said. I found out his dad is some CEO of…” I wave my hand. “I don’t know. He didn’t really want to talk about it. But judging from his attitude on the whole thing, it’s a big company. And Larkin has a place there.”
That explains his multiple homes, the car, and the way he always manages to look so effortlessly perfect. Well, okay, that last part might be subjective, I admit silently.
The doorbell rings, and for one wild moment, I think it’s Larkin. That he’s going further down the ‘traditional boyfriend’ route than I expected him to and is now at my door to come hang out or at the very least, to meet Esme.
Which, I remind myself, isn’t exactly likely when he clearly doesn’t give a damn about her and her delicate sensibilities. While he won’t outright insult her to me, and best friend laws say I’d have to kill him if he did, he’s very clearly not looking to get to know her, be her friend, or include her on our outings.
In his defense, though, she’d probably puke if she saw Dale’s body or what we did to clean it up. At least the sharks had an easy dinner that night if they were close enough to that side of the shore.
The door opens, and Esme’s voice drifts through the apartment, sounding off even through my half-closed door. I’m immediately on my feet, striding down the hallway silently, my socks making no noise on the hardwood.
Mike fucking Flanagan stands at our door. Esme very clearly doesn’t want to let him in, and her body blocks the opening, hand still on the knob, but Mike has a grip on the wood as well, and from the way his knuckles are clenched, I’m pretty sure he’s holding it open.
He looks up at me, his unfriendly smile widening. “Miss Tova, right?” he greets, completely ignoring Esme for a moment. I don’t bother trying to look friendly. I don’t have it in me tonight, so I just tilt my head to the side with a hand stroking Yoichi’s scales.
“Do you want me to call the cops, Es?” I ask pointedly. “I have my phone.”
“Could you—” Esme begins, but Flanagan thrusts the door open suddenly, causing her to stumble backward as he steps inside.
“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am,” he recommends, taking up the space in front of the door. “But I also won’t be taking up much of your time.” He pulls that stupid little notebook out of his pocket, flips to a page, and clears his throat.
“It turns out, your coworkers had a lot to say about your relationship with Mr. Byers,” he informs Esme, not sounding very friendly. “You seemed to have a rather emotional,tumultuousrelationship at times.”
My eyes flick to the kitchen, to the block of knives Esme purchased last year without realizing the pink-handled blades were handwash only. Now they’re more for display than anything, in their cute, heart-shaped block. But that also means they’re sharp, and they could cut through skin and muscle just as well as any other blade here in the kitchen; maybe better.
