Page 23 of Lady Killer

Everest was instantly at my side, deftly sliding a throw pillow behind my lower back.

He lingered with his arm wrapped around me, and I found myself wanting to pull deeper into his warmth.

Alister cleared his throat from across the room.

He was seated in a blocky, low-slung armchair that matched the sofa Everest and I sat on while Nixon hovered near a teakwood bar cart.

Alister’s eyes lingered on me, sending a small thrill through me, before Nixon broke the tension.

“So, what do we do now?” he said roughly, pouring himself a rather generous drink for three on a Friday afternoon.

I’d been chuffed when Everest told me there was a tiny piece of graphite that couldn’t be removed, stuck in his hand from the pencil-stabbing incident. There was something incredibly satisfying about Nixon Blackwell carrying a permanent mark from me.

When no one immediately responded to Nixon, he went back to his drink, muttering under his breath about “fucking idiotic fuckwits.”

Alister maintained his usual stony silence as he turned to stare down Everest at my side.

It would be impossible for me to mix the two twins up now. It wasn’t just the subtle tells, it was the way my body reacted to them. Alister’s kiss was imprinted on me, and I would never be able to forget how his lips felt claiming mine.

Heat flooded my face and chest, and I tossed my hair as I attempted to shake off the memory.

Everest propped up his chin with one hand and leaned back into the seat to curl up closer to me, looking positively bemused.

Don’t encourage the serial killer.

Alister’s nostrils flared as he shot another heated look in my direction, but he remained silent.

The weight of his attention had me crossing and recrossing my legs.

“Melody is dead,” I began, then paused before adding, “I believe she was one of the sheep.”

“Excuse me, who put the bitch in charge?” Nixon dropped himself dramatically into the armchair next to Alister’s.

Everest stilled at my side as the energy in the room snapped and tension bled into the air.

There was a flash of silver, and I turned to see Everest produce a small knife seemingly from nowhere. He danced the lethal-looking blade along his knuckles with careless grace.

“You won’t be calling her that again,” he said, the magnanimous smile on his face belying his tone.

“I’ll call her whatever I want—‍” The tumbler in Nixon’s grasp exploded. “Motherfucker,” he cursed, leaping up and dropping the remains as he furiously shook out his bloodied hand. The crystal base hit the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

A silver blade sparkled between the shards.

“You could have taken off my fucking finger,” he roared at Everest, clutching at his hand.

“Please, I barely nicked you. However”—Everest’s voice dropped even lower, taking on an outright sinister tone—“the next time you call Starbright that word, you will lose more than a finger. Lucian would forgive me. It’s not like you need all ten.”

The promise in Everest’s voice was sublime. In that moment, he was every bit the dangerous killer I’d been told to fear.

“Enough, both of you,” Alister barked, turning to look at me.

Beneath his emotionless facade, he was warring over something.

“The police haven’t found her body,” he finally said.

What does that mean?

“Penny for your precious thoughts,” Everest whispered into my ear, breaking me out of my head.

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