Page 72 of Savage Keepsakes

“Wait, you’re that guy,” he whispers. Fuck. Apparently I’m gaining a following.

Without speaking, I slice her body until I have enough for the tubs. When I return, he’s gone.

Fucking hell.

I look down at her, eyes unfocused and glazed over, like the come soaked her eyeballs. I laugh at the thought and then catch up with Ryder, my new friend.

“Buddy?” I whisper. He turns to run past me, but I grab the rope and he doesn’t run far before I haul his ass back to the barn. “Let’s get started, eh?”

“You made me hurt her.”

“Technically, I told you to fuck her head. You, sir, let out a lot of pent-up anger and that’s priceless, don’t you think?”

His face shifts to a shade of grey, and he gags. I tug on the rope, and he obediently follows me to his stall. He’s back to being the docile little bitch he was before.

“This was interesting. Was it warm?”

“Warmer than her cunt ever has been. Some lube would’ve been great, but I figured beggars can’t be choosers.”

I grin beneath the mask and nod before heading back to Heidi.

The next few hours are spent on the gruesome task of peeling off her skin, scooping the fat from her body, and proceeding to cut her up.

Once she’s fully in the wheelbarrow, I park it in the hallway and open his door.

“What the fuck did you do to her? Jesus Christ, that’s my fiancée!”

“Ah, yeah, this is a beautiful time,” I whisper.

Ryder doesn’t come willingly. His expression turns from horror to pitiful sadness in a blink of an eye and I slit his throat with my knife.

His blood flows down the front of him, mixing with the snot on his shirt, and he shuffles backward until he falls into the stall.

“Could’ve had a fun time, but you had to ruin it.”

I reach down and carve around his torso, the sound of metal scraping against flesh filling the air as the smell of rust and blood lingers in my nostrils.

Busying myself with getting the fires started, I add the stump remover before dumping her lifeless body into the barrel.

Overwhelmed by rage, I unleash on him, severing his arms and legs and forcefully cramming him into the second drum. It takes longer for him to burn when not in small pieces.

I’ve decided I’ll head in for a shower when I’m done and make Lucy an excellent breakfast before she sleeps for the day.

Slipping off my mask, I put it away in the supply closet and grab the cleaner to wash the blood off the table.

Heading back to the fires, I find his torso hanging off the side of the barrel, his hair burned off. His face is stuck in a horrific expression, his mouth wide open as the flames lick his chin.

It almost looks like he’s liquefying as he slumps further out of the barrel. Fuck.

My hand tightens around the stick as I jam him back into the roaring fire. Pieces of flesh cling to the end of the wooden spear, and no matter how hard I try to wipe it off on his face, it only smears and spreads further.

The moment I bring it close to the flames, the aroma of an old-fashioned barbeque engulfs the surroundings. I tip in more stump remover.

Back in the barn, I gather the ingredients—lye, fat, and coconut oil. I combine them in stainlesssteel pots. With a quick stir, I now have enough to sell at the farmer’s market next week.

Sweeping the stable, I continue to clean while I wait for the fire to burn down. Tonight takes longer because of my fuckup. I’ll never leave them in big chunks like that again.

To conceal and absorb any excess fluids, I add sand to the bottom of the stall. Afterward, I cover it with straw and check on the fires.

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