Page 83 of Love You To Pieces

The saw doesn’t cut into his head smoothly, and whatever I predicted, his death isn’t kind or quick. The metal grates against bone, not quite able to cut through it at first, and Michael screams as his scalp is flayed open, blood spattering my face, clothes, and arms. I jerk back as the saw grinds to life again, and finally it cuts through the bone of his skull to slice into his brain.

Michael screams and screams, his body jerking as the conveyor belt jams, the blade spinning and throwing bits of blood, gore, and brain matter everywhere. All I can do is sit there, stunned into silence and my eyes wide as I watch.

The saw survives long enough to finish the job, and I’m grateful for that. Not having to deal with him still breathing is a mercy, though the sight of the saw cutting downward through his face when the conveyor belt gives one last, desperate jerk, is going to haunt my dreams for years.

But at last, he’s still. The machine sputters and dies, the belt going completely dead under me. The saw, embedded in Michael’s face, isn’t going anywhere, and the conveyor belt has definitely made its final lap. It was just enough, somehow. Like it was fate for me to come here and saw Michael’s head in two in order to give him even a fraction of the pain and terror I know Scotty and Ariana felt.

“Definitely not prime meat,” I whisper, finally getting to my knees. Pearl puts her front paws up on the side of the conveyor belt, licking at my hands, and I choose to believe it’s out of concern for my well-being, instead of just lapping up her favorite treat. “I’m okay,” I tell her. “I’m fine. You were so good, and...”

When I hop off the conveyor belt, finally standing on my own two feet and covered in blood, I realize I’m not alone. Fox and Deacon are standing a few yards away, with Fox leaning against a piece of machinery, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he watches me. Deacon’s arms are crossed, his head tilted, and he has that same shrewd scrutiny in his gaze.

Suddenly, I’m afraid of what they think. I’m terrified that they’re going to turn away from me, that they’re going to tell me I’m just as much of a monster as the Hill brothers, and that they want nothing to do with me.

I’m afraid of being alone again.

“Well,” Fox drawls finally, a small smirk playing at his lips. “You know what I think, Deacon?”

The blond glances at him, but doesn’t speak as he waits for Fox to continue.

“I think you’ll have to stop calling her little prey. Not when our predator here is covered in blood and just split a man’s head open with a tree saw.” His grin finally widens, and Deacon smiles too, both of them looking like proud parents at their child’s recital.

“You aren’t upset?” My hand curls around Pearl’s collar and I stand there, braced, too afraid to assume.

“Upset?” Deacon repeats, his eyebrows rising towards his bangs. “Sadie-Rae…” Closing the distance between us, he reaches out to cup my face in his hands, leaning down until his lips are only inches away from my bloody ones.

“I don’t think either of us has ever been so fucking turned on in our lives.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Idon’t really remember the trip to the truck. I don’t even really know where they parked, except that there are trees above it, filtering out some of the moonlight.

I gaze up at the sky and come to a stop near the truck bed, while Pearl launches off into the woods, barking happily like she’s found something.

“God, I’m gross,” I say at last, breaking the silence that feels oppressive. “Doesn’t this bother you two?” I feel numb, more than gross, like some part of me has switched off and hasn’t switched back on yet.

“Bother us?” Deacon asks. “No, no, absolutely not. Fuck.” I’ve never heard his voice this raw, and when I turn, he’s right there, his shirt off and in his hand to scrub at my arms and my face. “I’m having a hard time with you covered in blood,” he admits roughly. “But not because I’m bothered. Not like you’re asking. Fuck.” For the first time, he seems less than controlled, and ruled by instinct more than logical thought.

Fox chuckles, kissing his brother’s jaw when Deacon continues to wipe the mess of Michael Hill off of my skin. “Oh, you’re adorable, my love,” he teases. “She’s got you this worked up over sawing a man apart?”

“Sawing his head apart. Fuck,” Deacon groans, leaning back against Fox with his eyes on me. “You saw her. You saw her face when she held him down for the saw. God, come here.” He grabs my hips and tows me forward, pulling a surprised yip from my throat.

Before I can protest or say a word, Deacon kisses me. It’s hard and possessive, and he wastes no time in gripping my thighs to pull me tight to his body.

Fox snickers once more, and I feel his hands card through my hair, avoiding the worst of the sticky blood. At his urging, Deacon turns his head, just enough for Fox to catch me in a kiss as well. “Yeah, we’re not going to make it home,” he murmurs, though the words don’t exactly compute until suddenly, I’m being picked up and thrown over Deacon’s shoulder. With Fox’s help, they lift me into the bed of the truck, before Deacon dumps me unceremoniously onto the rubber mat lining it.

“Really?” I gasp, surprised when they both stand there, looking down at me in the moonlight. “All over killing some guy? You both kill people all the time, right?” Something uncertain and anxious stirs in my chest, like some part of me is still sure this is too much.

Though for them or for me, I can’t decide.

I almost want them to be horrified. For them to tell me it isn’t okay, that I’ve gone too far. I want them to remind me I’m too human for this, and that I should be sick over what I did.

I need to know I’m not a monster.

Not like them.

“You enjoyed it.” The words make something in me sink when Fox says it. He drops to his knees in front of me, crawling across the bed of the truck like some big, wild feline, until he can shove me down on my back. “He’s right. The look on your face? The way you watched him bleed and scream and suffer?” A full-body shudder goes through him, and Deacon’s grin turns sly as he steps forward to tangle his fingers in Fox’s hair with teasing affection.

“This is what you do to us, darling girl,” Deacon tells me. “Look at his face. Look at me.” He runs a hand down the front of his body, teasingly light, until he gets to the front of his jeans where I can see his arousal behind the denim.