Chapter 30

I pull up outside the butcher’s, heart thudding, wondering what my plan is. The place is called Cuts, and the front looks closed. I drive around the back, wondering if this is all pointless. Maybe Mom and Michael are out in the forest. No, my mind needs to shut up. I can’t imagine that darkness.

There’s a light—a basement light, leading to a door. I swallow. The street is quiet. The city will wake up soon. It’s eerie as I climb from the car and walk across the parking lot. I expect somebody to jump out any second.

Walking down the basement steps, I remember walking into the warehouse as a teenager. I remember all the muggings, the insults, the bullying. I remember the fights. I got sucker punched once, knocked out. I’mthatwoman. I’m that Amelia. The suburbs haven’t softened me. Love hasn’t softened me. I meant what I told my man. I have to be strong, too.

I knock on the metal door, cold against my fist. There’s a panel in it. It slides aside. A man laughs gruffly. “Lost, little lady?”

I need to pretend I know why I’m here. I know what thisis. Whatever else is true about these people, they value money. Maybe it’s all they value. I’m dressed cheaply, but wealthy people often do. It’s the attitude that sells it.

Taking the ticket from my pocket, I hold it up and wave it as if I’m above all this. I act like Lion so often does, nose upturned. If I die out here, what happens to him? No, they’ll check Michael’s apartment. The message on Alice’s machine will lead them there.

“I’m here to see the meat,” I tell him. “I hope you have some prime cuts available. I’ve got something very specific in mind.”

“Give that here,” the man says suspiciously.

I hand the card through the slot. He slams it shut, leaving me to wait. I don’t fidget or show any signs of awkwardness. There’s a chance that he’s watching me right now.

Maybe there’s a camera somewhere. I stand up straight, borderline bored.

The slot opens. “Apologies, miss. You’re not our usual clientele.”

“My desires are my own,” I say, playing some haughty sadist. “So…”

“Yes, yes.”

He opens the metal door, gesturing into a small room resembling a storage closet. The man wears a balaclava, only his eyes showing. He sits on a metal chair and folds one leg over the other. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

He’s got blood on his fingertips. I think I hear yelling through the wall, but it’s muffled. Sound proofing?

I swallow and hope he can’t see the disgust. “I’d like a man and a woman,” I tell him, idly walking around the room, picking up a cleaning product, pretending to read the label, and setting it down. “An older man and woman, preferably. I want them to stand in for my parents, you see.”

He narrows his eyes in the balaclava. Suddenly, I think I’ve got it all wrong, but what else wouldmeatrefer to, in this evil context, except people? Then I realize his eyes are narrowed because he’s smiling. He laughs lightly. “I see. I guess you could call this therapy, right?”

“Something like that.” I smile thinly. “I’d like them together, if possible.”

“Think you’ll need any help?” The man stands, gesturing to the corner of the room. “I assume you know the rules. Once we dish them up, you have to carve them up, and you’re in luck. We’ve got a couple just in. In fact, one of them is some bigshot on The Answer. Have you ever heard of him? People talk about him like he’s some legend. Just think. A little lady like you is going to kill him.”

I turn, glare at the man, and raise my hand. I want to slap him. Kill Michael? The idea alone is insanity. I’d never hurt him. The man takes a step back. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to offend.”

I have to save this. He can’t see I care. “Just open the door, please. I want to get this started.”

Once we dish them up, you have to carve them up.

As he opens a small door, fear coils around me. Fear tries to choke me, make me turn back, and run for the door. Wait, I should. Shouldn’t I? Now I know it’s legit. I should get out of here andmakethe cops listen. Michael and Mom are alive. He just said it—a legend of The Answer. It has to be him, but for how long?

He gestures down a dark corridor. The air is stale. The screaming becomes louder.

I touch my pocket. “Dammit, I’ve forgotten my vape. I’m a vicious nicotine addict. Don’t judge me. Would you wait while I get it?”

The man shakes his head and points down the corridor. “You can get it after. You know the rules, miss. Until the big man has video evidence, you can’t leave. Call it insurance.”

I almost ask him,Wait, somebody’s recording this sick stuff?I should already know that, and he just said I can’t leave. I’m a prisoner again. I long for Michael’s apartment, the door creaking at night, my man standing in the semidarkness. It was so much easier when I was his prisoner.