Page 6 of Graveyards & Greed

“You’re not sorry.” I took a step closer, my voice dropping to a threatening whisper. “But weshouldtalk about what will happen if you tell anyone what we did tonight. You might find yourself at the bottom of Lake Mead.”

Drakos held my gaze, his eyes searching mine in the dark. “Tell me why you wanted him dead, and why you killed him yourself when you’ve got plenty of cousins and help to do it for you. I heard you call him a child rapist.”

My shoulders slumped, and the weight of the night pressed down on me. “It was better than starting a war.”

Drakos reached out and grasped my arm. “Talk to me.”

I studied his beautiful face in the muted moonlight. He’d helped get rid of LeBaron’s body, but he’d also propositioned and threatened me, but worse than that—he’d hurt me. I firmly pulled my arm out of his grip and stepped back. “I don’t know you, and from our conversation over the past five minutes, that’s probably a good thing. Go home, burn your clothes, and forget this night ever happened.” I felt raw inside, and the urge to distance myself from him and this whole mess grew stronger.

Frustration flitted across his face. “Fine—for tonight. But we're not done.”

I turned my back on him and started walking toward my car. “Yes, we are. I need a strong drink, a hot shower, and enough sleep to make me forget I ever met you.”

I reached my car when Drakos called out. “Sylvie.”

“What?” I snapped, tilting my head to the side.

“This heat between us won’t go away on its own. It’ll turn into a persistent rash if we don’t address it at some point."

Smirking, I opened the car door. “I hear hemorrhoid cream works like a charm on rashes. Maybe it’ll work on your personality too. Goodnight, Satan.”

His low chuckle sent goosebumps up my arms. “Sweet dreams, Killer.”

Shaking my head, I slid into the car. I’d get the last word in some other time. As I drove away, I glanced in the rearview mirror to see Drakos Creed with his hands in his pockets… grinning at me.

Chapter 3

Sylvie

The Present

Cutting the silk dress up the back, I deftly slid it over the lifeless, pale shoulders of the woman on the table and tucked the edges out of sight. I’d grown used to dressing and handling dead bodies, but this one hit a little too close to the bone.

The somber navy blue dress was dignified yet understated. The kind of dress you'd buy for a job interview or a work dinner, unaware that it might one day be the outfit you’ll be buried in. My fingers worked gently, straightening the collar and smoothing the material while my mind wandered to the past.

“Do you know the hurt and heartache you left behind?” I asked her softly as I finished putting color on her waxy lips. The thirty-six-year-old woman suffered from severe depression and had ended her own life. Just like my mother. Anger and sorrow filtered through me as I walked out into the chapel area.

“Is she alright?” a small voice asked, fragile as a sparrow's wing. The woman’s daughter sat alone on a bench. The girl was maybe seven or eight and clutched a small handmade blanket like a lifeline. She had wispy brown hair pulled back into a crooked ponytail.

“My name is Sylvie. What’s yours?”

“Jordan.”

I sat next to her on the padded bench in the dim hall and offered a smile. “Her body is here, but I like to think her soul is somewhere else now, just like my mom. And maybe they are happy.”

“Did your mommy die like mine?” She looked up with eyes too old for her soft face.

“Yes.”

“Are you still mad at her?” she whispered.

My heart cracked open, and I wanted to get up and walk away from her raw pain. I could hear Ezra talking with someone in his office. It was probably the girl’s father. Looking down at her worn, handmade blanket, I searched for the right words.

“Not anymore, but it took a long time. Are you angry with your mom?”

Her eyes filled with tears as she nodded. “But I miss her too.”

“Yeah, I understand. But what helps me when I get sad is to remember she loved me even though she didn’t stay. So I forgive her and try to let the anger go. It’s hard, though.”

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