“Skylar, I?—”
The damn walkie crackles on the table.
“Yo, Hide-boy.” Jett’s voice drawls deeper than usual. Happier. “You there?”
Skylar stiffens.
My teeth grind. I hate him for upsetting her. For fucking with our feeding time. Hate that if I don’t answer, he’ll fuck it up worse by convincing the others to check on me.
Fuck. No.
No one hurts Skylar. No one gets close to her.
I place the puree jar on the table. Press a finger to Skylar’s lips.
Trying not to groan at how soft they are is a motherfucking hardship.
She nods, and I pick up the walkie. “What, Jett?”
“Since you’re finally one of us…” Suddenly, he sounds affectionate. Weird. “Ma told me to invite you to help us kill the boyfriend. Join the celebrations. What do you say?”
Skylar doesn’t react. Either she’s relieved they’re killing him, or she doesn’t care.
Either way, I’m not leaving her. “Busy.”
“Busy torturing her? Fuck yes. Yoo-hoo, you there, little girl? Bleeding out from one of my brother’s hooks?”
The color drains from her face. She’s seen what he’s capable of. She knows.
“She can’t answer you. She’s gagged.” I look at her through the slits in my mask, telling her silently thatyes, he’s a bastard, but I’ve got you.
Nothing will happen to her as long as I’m around.
“Ohhhh. Gagged. Are you going to fuck her later?”
He really has to stop talking about what’s mine like that.
“No, Jett. Don’t want to fuck her. I need her skin perfect before I kill her, and she isn’t there yet.” Lies. Her skin is fucking perfect. Apologizing, I trace a path down her jaw with my thumb, and she tells me she forgives me by leaning in. That simple gesture has my cock straining in my jeans. I’m seconds from crushing the walkie. “Feeding her. That’s what I’m doing.”
“You never bothered with the others.”
“The others were just skin you dropped off.” Though I don’t have to, I explain, “I want my first one to be right.”
“Hmm. That’s the most you’ve ever talked to me in your life.”Static. When he’s back, he huffs a laugh. “Alrighty then, we’ll drop the dude’s skin off once we’re done.”
“Bronwyn,” Skylar whispers, her fingers hooked into the collar of my shirt, eyes pleading.
Her sweetness will be the end of me. Reluctantly, I ask, “Just him, right? My hands are too full for two new fleshing jobsandher.”
“Nah, the girl stays. Reese is attached to her living-doll.”
I slam a hand over Skylar’s mouth, silencing the cry I could see coming from a mile away. They won’t hear her, it’s not that.
It’s how I show her that I’m here. That she’s safe and gasping or screaming isn’t needed.
I’ll protect her. Always.
“She’s already done her makeup three times,” he goes on.
