Page 33 of Four Calling Birds

He blew her a kiss, and she flinched as if the kiss was attacking her in mid-air.

“I’m not letting you anywhere near her with a knife until you figure your shit out,” I added, using the blade of my flattened hand to emphasize my point.

“What do I need to figure out?” Her almond eyes went large, round and innocent. God, she had the face of a child. But the heart of a serial killer.

“Your shit,” I said, without specifying anymore. I turned to Lotte. “Where do you want to do it?”

She looked at me with a placid, almost serene look.

“Couch? I assume the leather is somewhat stain proof?” Was she smiling to try and reassure me? Fuck. Why did that make me feel worse? “I’ll be okay.”

She got up, went to the bathroom.

I noted the slight stiffness in her gait. Was the wound acting up? Was she sore? Had I been too hard, pun intended, on or in her last night? And why couldn’t I make myself feel bad about that?

She came back with a towel, and laid it down on the couch. Then she lay prone on it, lifting her shirt, to the scar I had scratched over and over again. She looked like she was offering herself as a sacrifice.

19. The Last Cut is the Deepest19

Lotte

Thefirstcutofthe scalpel was… okay. But then there was scar tissue. Of course, there would be, right? There was a foreign object lodged into my skin, and each time the damn jagged chip moved - and it was a chip. I had been fucking micro-chipped - it caused scarring. Goose, in order to keep the chip intact, needed to slice, slow, precise, small cuts so we didn’t destroy the device.

It was death by a thousand, or maybe it was only a dozen, cuts.

“Fuck, Momma Mack,” he said, under his breath. “I’m sorry that it’s taking so long. I’m slipping it out now.”

It felt like there was a bug crawling out. It was like a horror film, where a scarab or something with a hard shell crawled out from under someone’s skin. That’s the only way I could describe it.

Griff was holding me down by the wrists to help me stay still. He hated doing it. I could see it on the distraught look on his face as he tried not to look at me. I had to breathe through the pain with some kind of grace, but I couldn’t help crying. The leather of the couch beneath me was growing dark with moisture from my tears, snot, and spit. I gritted my teeth and bit my lip to try to distract me from the constant slicing.

“Jesus, Goose, come on!” That was Taz’s voice. Was she worried about me? Just knowing that she cared, even a little, lessened the ache. “Before Top breaks your hands.”

“I’m fine,” Mack said, through clenched teeth.

I popped my head up to look at him, and he looked back at me. Hetriedto smile. He wastryingto reassure me. It made me laugh, a little, because of how sweet the gesture was.

“Yeah,” Griff snorted. “Projecting much, Pyro?”

“My name’s Taz, you fucking moron,” she quipped.

“And yet, you still knew that I meantyou… so what does that tell you?”

“That you’re a complete cock-bag?” her voice was artificially high, like she was trying to sound like a valley girl.

I heard Griff snarl. She barked back. Literally barked. It was so convincing that Bo lifted his head from the couch, confused, looking around for another dog in the house.

“Fucking psycho,” Griff said under his breath, shaking his head.

“Got it!” Goose finally said, holding a chip in his blood-covered, white gloved hand. Between his thumb and forefinger was a small pill-sized metallic thing. “How does it work?”

He twisted it in his hand, observing it from all angles.

“It’s a tiny fucking battery, and a low-frequency signal. Frankly, if you lose track of it, then it’d be hard to find again.” Taz said. “Which means they’ve been tracking you since the beginning.”

I was trying to breathe through the soreness. I couldfeelGoose stitching. Needle piercing flesh, then the tug of the stitch itself as he tied it off. Thankfully, he only had to do a couple.

I was able to whimper out, “So what do we do with it?”

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