Page 105 of Famine

I’m going to get my throat slit tonight. I’m sure of it.

Heitor’s eyes settle on me again, moving over my body proprietarily.

“Who is this?” he asks, giving me the same kind of look a client might after they bought me for an evening. Like I’m his to do with as he pleases.

I have to fight back a scowl.

Famine’s gaze moves from Rocha to me. The horseman’s expression doesn’t change, and yet I can see him weighing his words.

Finally, he says, “Someone important. Give her the same treatment you’d give me.”

My heart picks up speed at his words, and for a moment, I remember what it was like to press my lips against him and discover that he kisses just as cruelly as he kills.

Famine stares at me for several more seconds, his gaze moving to my lips. I can almost believe that he’s thinking about that kiss, too. The one he was angry about.

“Come inside and we can discuss what it is you’d like me to do for you,” Heitor says, interrupting us.

I blink, turning away from Famine.

The cartel boss retreats towards the mansion, not glancing back to see whether we’re following or not. His men fall into line around him, and it’s clear that despite their bloody lips and pledged allegiance, Rocha is still the man in charge.

Famine starts forward, seemingly oblivious to the situation. I hurry after him.

“What are you doing?” I accuse him, keeping my voice low.

Famine’s face is devoid of emotion. “What I always do.”

“No, this isnotwhat you always do,” I say heatedly, my voice hushed. “I’ve seen what you always do.” He chops people up, and the mouthier they are, the shittier he makes their deaths.

The Reaper’s eyes cut to me. “It’s almost as though you don’t trust me.”

Gah!

“Idon’ttrust you! But more importantly, I don’t trust our host—and you shouldn’t either.”

“I don’t.” The Reaper’s voice is icy. He glances at me, and something in my expression catches his attention. He turns to me more fully, his eyes bright with curiosity. “But tell me, little flower: what wouldyouhave me do?”

Like the hunter that he is, he’s sighted my own dark thoughts.

I part my lips to speak.

Kill them. Kill them just as you do everyone else.

I can’t force the words out. It’s one thing to see the Reaper kill, it’s another thing to encourage it.

But I want these men to die. There’s no sense denying it.

For the first time since we dismounted, Famine flashes me a wicked smile, looking delighted. “You’ve gotten a taste for blood, haven’t you, little flower?”

“I’m not saying that—”

“Enough.” His voice brokers no argument. “I’m aware of Heitor’s moral depravity. And unlike you,Iam the hand of God, which meansIchoose when and how humans fall.”

This is not going to end well. I just know it.

Not even five minutes after we enter, Famine is already deep in conversation with Heitor’s men, clearly making his will known and going over logistics.

The horseman has made a habit of recruiting terrible men to do his bidding, but so far, those men have been nothing but sellouts and goons. These people, however, these are professional killers; they seem to wear their wickedness like a coat.

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