Page 146 of Lady Killer

“No,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, “that seems unlikely. But I would have thought you would have at least wanted a name, if only to protect your girlfriend.”

I dropped the hammer into the sink and turned on the water, washing the worst of the mess from my hands. “Protect her from who, Lucian? You or the killer?”

He didn’t answer, and I turned my attention to cleaning up the mess I had made.

“Find whoever is behind all this—the killings, the drugs—and you won’t have to worry about either of us,” Lucian finally said.

Blood and bone washed off, I pulled out a shammy and began to dry and buff the steel head. He didn’t understand.

“If you kill her, you will lose Ever.”

I didn’t have to look at Lucian to hear the intake of his breath.

One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . .

He turned and walked out of the room.

I stayed behind, finishing cleaning up the hammer, and placing it back on the wall.

Luz was changing all of us, including my big brother.

I just hoped he realized it before it was too late.

Chapter forty-one

Locke

Manhattan

Lucian: You’re needed.

Lucian: Michael Schultz, 28 Years Old, Doctoral Student—East Asian Languages, Instructor—Introduction to Japanese.

Interesting.

I’ll be back late tonight, I replied.

He wouldn’t like the delay. Toofucking bad.

I was in the city, and while the chopper could have me in Shady Harbor in less than an hour, I had business to attend to first.

Business that did not involve my cousin.

Reading over the name I’d been sent, I searched my memory for information but could come up with nothing. Knowing nothing about the man, it was impossible to say if he was the Virgin Sacrifice Killer or simply another sheep sent after Luz.

It was always easier when no one important cared if he went missing.

My phone vibrated, and I flipped it over to find another message from Lucian.

I ignored it.

They could wait. It wasn’t as if the man was going anywhere.

Horns blared around me. We’d barely moved since I’d been picked up from the helicopter pad. Pressing on the intercom, I directed my driver to attempt a different route. I was comfortable enough in the family’s chauffeured car, but I had a meeting with a man who I knew for a fact would not wait.

Luckily, we made it to the private, members-only club in the Upper East Side with time to spare.

“Be back in an hour unless you hear otherwise from me,” I ordered.

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