The Chosen

own short-stumped hips, that the legs Kyle was so calmly fileting were his own.

“Well would you look at this!” Kyle had turned, noticing Taylor over his shoulder. “You’re still alive? I’m impressed, Mr. Taylor. Not many guys could go through what you been through and still be kicking.” Kyle smiled, picking something up. “But I think we can fix that real quick.”

Taylor shuddered as if encased in ice. He tried to get up but, of course, that prospect wasn’t very good since his fucking legs were no longer connected to his body.

Kyle, still whistling, inserted the long, thin Sheffield fileting knife directly into Terrence Taylor’s right eye. When the tip of the blade met the back of the eye socket, Kyle smacked the butt with his palm, driving the blade deep into the brain.

Terrence Taylor croaked aloud. He should have stayed at T.G.I.F.

“I’ll bet you’re dead now,” Kyle remarked.

For good measure, he gave the knife a couple of quick, hard jiggles. Then he withdrew it and went back to fileting the legs on the opposing prep table. He was whistling “Sweetest Legs I Ever Did See” by Robert Johnson.

— | — | —

^{CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE}

He’s here, Vera thought.

Or at least his car was. At once, butterflies careened in her stomach. In less than a minute, I’ll be talking to him. I’ll be standing right in front of him. Paul.

This realization caused a surge of the most unpleasant dread. A thousand excuses came to mind, to get out of it, but then she remembered what Donna had advised. Until she gave herself the chance to have her final word, she’d never be at peace, she’d never get the memory fully out of her psyche. As unnerved as she was, Vera knew there was no other way.

She parked the Lamborghini in the apartment lot, sat a moment, then got out. The cold chafed her, wisping down her chest through her collar despite her efforts to keep it clasped shut. She looked up at the apartment, and felt hollow…

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about anything, she insisted to herself. Just go up there, get your stuff, tell him he’s an asshole, and leave.

The long drive from Waynesville back to the city had been neutral and numb, despite the initial scenery and open, winding roads. What would her reaction be, seeing Paul again for the first time in months, for the first time since…

The hideous menage a trois played in her mind, and the look in Paul’s eyes when he’d glanced up from the bed. An expression empty of recognition, empty of any sort of care whatsoever.

She seemed to be shoving against a great, invisible weight when she walked up the steps. Full minutes passed while she stood at the front door, staring at it. Should she knock? She should let herself in with her key? Maybe Paul wasn’t alone—

Maybe he’s in there right now with one of his drug-head perverted little girlfriends, she considered.

God. That was one scenario she didn’t even want to think about much less see again.

Then her mind strayed. Maybe I should forget about this. I’ll just tell Donna that I told him off. What good will any of this really do? It’s not necessary. It’s stupid.