Page 87 of Kings of Sherwood

His eyes fix on mine.

“But if a girl gets murdered, and the perpetrators are brought to justice...now that’s a tragedy, to be sure. But also the kind of thing that gives a man a legacy.”

I freeze. Too startled, too frightened even to cry. Even the smarting pain on my thighs feels distant.

Dread, cold and heavy, settles over me like concrete.

“No,” I say quickly. I lick my lips, breathing shaky. “No. Please. No, you just—”

The bindings bristle as I twist, cut into my skin, and I can’t help but think of Will and his stupid silk cuffs.

How gentle he was. How different from this.

How maybe that was it. The last time I’ll see him.

Any of them.

“No!”

I start to cry again, harder.

“It’s an ugly world,” he says, shaking his head, folding his hands at the small of his back. “Hard to get by. Especially for a girl like you who can’t seem to tell right from wrong.”

“I—” My voice catches. “You can’t. You wouldn’t. You’re too chickenshit to kill me.”

“Plenty of people out there’d do anything for a little payday,” the sheriff goes on. “Not me, mind you. I’ve got a steady job. Good pension coming my way. But some other folks...”

He lets out a low whistle.

“Wouldn’t take much to make ’em turn violent, now, would it?”

Panic clots in my throat.

“I don’t—” I say. “Don’t. Please. I’m begging you.”

Outside the door, I hear footsteps.

No. No, God, please. This can’t be it—a killer, a thug, a weapon out to hit me—I can’t even—

I screw my eyes shut, because I’m a coward.

Then open them, because I can’t help it.

And it’s not any of those things.

It’s John.

Dressed neat and tidy, like he’s headed to teach Sunday school.

“Speak of the devil,” the sheriff says, and shakes his hand. “We all arranged?”

John nods. Holds up a folder.

“Last will and testament of Maren de Mornay,” he says. “Just needs a signature.”

Chapter Twenty-One

LJ

---