Page 150

Then I hear Bitter.

A rough curse.

The plate bends beneath my fingers.

No.

I walk farther in, past racks of trim, a line of unfinished coffin lids, and a workbench scattered with clamps and tools.

Then I see the open coffin beneath the hanging work lights.

Black exterior. Dark red satin.

Red hair spills over one edge.

My entire body goes cold.

Trixie is inside the coffin.

I know her even though I have never been introduced. Red hair. Black tank shoved up. Cutoff shorts somewhere near one end of the box.

Bitter stands between her thighs.

His jeans are open.

Her legs are wrapped around him.

His hands grip the inside edge of the coffin while his hips move between hers.

There is no misunderstanding it. No woman sitting on his lap. No flirting I can explain away. No angle that turns innocent if I move two feet to the left.

He is fucking her.

Inside a coffin.

The man who held me all night. The man whose mouth was on mine hours ago. The man who looked me in the eyes before we slept together and agreed there would be no other women.

The man who broke one promise before breakfast has decided to break another before supper.

Trixie sees me first.

Her eyes widen.

“Oh, fuck.”

Bitter freezes.

Everything stops.

His head turns, and our eyes meet.

I have never seen a man go that still.

The plate in my hands makes a tiny crackling sound as the foil folds.

Nobody says anything.

Trixie pushes at Bitter’s shoulder. “Bitter.”