Page 41 of Savage Keepsakes

“Nah, it’s not that simple. I’ll do my best to clear the cobwebs of lies in your mind, though.”

Billy kisses the side of my head and twirls his finger in my hair.

If he hurts me similar to the others, I’ll never bounce back. I’ve desired him for years, a mere teenage crush to something so intense my heart feels like it might suffocate under the emotions.

“Thanks for the flowers. It was thoughtful of you.”

“Well, I need my favourite author to get her book done so I can read it.”

I laugh. He’s ridiculous. My writing could be plain shit, and he’d say it was amazing.

“Can you go over it in the morning? See if it makes sense?”

He nods, stretching out beside me. “Of course, darlin’ Now what’s this killer you’re going on about?”

I turn toward him. We move in sync until my head is on his chest. His hand curls around my shoulder, holding me tight.

“The Keepsake Killer. They don’t seem to have much on him. Even though I don’t work in that section, what I’ve heard is that he snatches people, and they never appear again, unless he wants the families to know. He sends pieces of their body to them. That’s how law enforcement knows they’re actually missing.”

Shivers run through me. It is the craziest thing to rock our town in a long time.

“So, you think the killer is giving you a sample?” His voice is soft.

“Well, when you put it like that, it’s ridiculous.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll scan the house for cameras and anything that could be suspicious. The barn is all set up for me, and I’ll read your book so you can keep writing.”

I snuggle into his side. He’s exactly what I need in my life right now. “Goodnight, Billy,” I whisper.

“Lou, I wasn’t fucking around. You are mine. I don’t share. I want to claim every inch of you and show you how precious you are.”

I squeeze his hand. I’ve been his for longer than he knows.

Twelve

Billy

Ignoring my cameras, I spend most of the morning wandering through the house, taking in every nook and cranny.

As Lucy sips her coffee, she trails behind me until we finally reach the porch, where I turn around and give a nonchalant shrug.

“I don’t know, darlin’ I’ve only found this one,” I say, handing it to her.

“Thanks. Maybe I’m just being paranoid and overdramatic.”

She attempts to walk into the house, but before she can, I seize her shoulder, compelling her to face me.

“Never use the words overdramatic to describe yourself again.” Cupping her chin, I look into her mossy green eyes and note the mist that covers them before she blinks it away.

“Right, um, okay,” she mumbles.

I snatch the camera from her hand and crush it under my shoe. As we enter, I dispose of the parts and make my way to get us a refill of coffee.

“Go upstairs and grab me your laptop. I want to read your words before you have to go to work.”

Lucy’s footsteps echo through the house as I move to the coffeemaker, filling two mugs and adding the works before walking out to the porch swing.

“I’m going to take this coffee to shower and get ready,” she says as she passes off the laptop, then reaches out to grab her cup.

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