“Should I throw a parade?”
Something ugly slides into his face. My fingers twitch toward my pocket. My empty pocket.
Fuck.
I left my scalpel upstairs. I take a step back. He moves fast. Too fast. His hand clamps around my wrist. I yank away, the plate shattering against the ground. His other hand grabs my waist, shoving me against the counter.
“Let go of me!” My skin crawls with thousands of tiny, skittering legs racing up my arms, burrowing under my flesh.
“Don’t make this difficult.”
Rage ignites in my chest. I twist, aiming my elbow for his ribs, but he catches my arm, forcing it behind my back.
My hand scrambles behind me, searching. Something. Anything. My fingers close around something cold and heavy.
His breath is hot against my ear. “See? Wouldn’t this be easier if you just —”
I swing.
The butcher knife sinks into his face with a wet, sickening crunch. His eyes go wide, mouth shaping a sound that never comes. Blood wells around the blade’s edge, then spurts — a violent gush that sprays my cheek, my throat, and my already-red sweater that clings to my skin. He staggers, hands flying to the hilt, fingers trembling as if he might pull it free.
He doesn’t.
Instead, he collapses. A heavy, boneless thud. The impact jars the blade deeper, forcing out another sluggish ooze of blood.
Silence.
I breathe hard, chest rising and falling, my pulse roaring in my ears.
His body twitches once. Then stills.
My phone buzzes. I jolt.
Evil Hag: Sorry, love. I passed out. What happened? Are you okay?
Holly: Glad to know you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere,I type as I step over theactualdead person at my feet.
Evil Hag: You’re being nice. What’s wrong?
Holly: Can you come to the kitchen downstairs? Be QUIET and bring some bleach if you can.
The blue dots appear. Disappear. Reappear.
Evil Hag: Bleach? What’s happened?
Holly: Some bastard ruined my sandwich.
Chapter 36
Holly
12:50 a.m.
Okay, in my defense, I wasn’tplanningon killing anyone this weekend — it sort of just happened — and if Theo doesn’t stop fussing over me, it’s going to happen again.
“I called you here to help me clean the blood from the floor, not myface.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” His good hand slowly wipes the blood from my face with a damp cloth. None of it is mine. Must be why he’s so calm and composed and not at all freaking out that I’ve managed to kill a man in the hotel kitchen in the middle of the night.
