His Lost Lycan Luna (Kyson and Ivy)

Chapter 100

“So I hear you have a mighty fine butcher in town,” Liam asks her, and her hand freezes as she goes to tip the cup to her lips; I watch her gulp.

“Now that looks like a guilty face, now doesn’t, brother?” Liam says, nudging me.

“Very guilty. Do you have something to confess, love, want to get it off your chest before you meet your maker?” Liam taunts.

“What do you mean?” she says, and I click my tongue.

“I was hoping to do this the easy way. I am not here for you, but if you want to be difficult, I need a little practice, anyway; I haven’t sliced and diced for a while,” I tell her, holding my hand out for Liam’s knives.

He pulls the rolled-up leather pouch from inside his leather jacket pocket, handing it to me. I roll it out along the bench, picking them up and showing her each one, and Mrs. Daley begins to sweat, her eyes flicker between us; Liam smiles sadistically, and I turn to her.

“Which one?” I ask her. She shakes her head, clutching her mug, but Liam takes it from her.

“I never… I had to feed the children… It was only the one time… she probably doesn’t even remember…” She started stuttering.

“I want a name,” I tell her, picking up the boning knife. I turn it between my fingers before moving toward her. Her blood pooled around her feet from her hand. Her lip quivered as I stopped in front of her. I touched the back of the blade to her cheek and slid it down to her chin before tilting her head up to look at me with it.

“Name or the ear goes first, then the toes, then I will de-glove your hand,” I tell her calmly. I had every intention of doing just that if she didn’t answer. Her horrified gaze met my cold, gray eyes. She knew wasn’t lying.

“Doyle Mathews,” she blurted.

“Address?” I ask.

“3 Lincoln Way,”

I ask, but she shakes

would have

check it out and load him up,” I tell Liam, who ducks out quickly. While he was gone, I cleaned up the blood on the floor and wrapped Mrs. Daley’s hand in case any of

it from my pocket just as a little girl came down the steps, rubbing her eyes. Reaching for

to her before kicking the wheelchair. Mrs. Daley smiles fakery and waves to her, earning a

him on my way

“The trunk?”

to his store; he is tied to a chair in

I tell him, hanging

what is your name?” I ask the little girl when she remains frozen on the

says, and I bend down, scooping her

usually have for breakfast?” I ask her, and her brows furrow, and she

I nod and look at Mrs. Daley, who drops her head. I growled before turning my attention to the girl; her hair

usually

the flour from the basement,

go do whatever

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