Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
I jump off the last step, startling Margot who’s waiting for us with an irritated expression wrinkling her pretty face.
She glares at me.
I glare right back.
Fuckboy, huh? I shift my gaze to the pin again. Actually, it reads Fuckboi repellent, which is even worse. It’s offensive to me and the English language.
I resent the fuck out of this little inside joke. And I have no doubt she wore it for my benefit. She’s way too professional to wear that at work for funsies.
Dex groans. “With the amount of brainpower you’ve spent on this, you could’ve ended world hunger, Father Fuckboy.”
“Your dissertation on fuckboys was enlightening.” She taps the pin on her collar and gives us a smug chin lift, like she’s accomplished her mission. “I’m pleased one of my pins sparked such a fascinating discussion.”
I bet you are.
I glance at the other pin. All men are cremated equal. Which is probably her way of saying she’d like to toss me in the retort and roast me alive.
“Come on.” She waves her hand over her shoulder and marches forward. Lights blink on as we walk through the cavernous storage area. Just how big is this fucking house?
“Back here,” she calls out.
We find her standing next to a huge black-and-silver casket.
“Now, that’s a biker’s casket.” I nod at the big, fancy tomb. “If I didn’t want to be cremated and tossed in the ocean, I’d want my carcass to spend eternity in something like this,” I joke.
Margot suddenly looks like she’s going to cry. “Don’t say that.”
I’m sorry.
I really wish Dex wasn’t here.
“Anyway.” Her back-to-business tone buries the awkward moment. “Would you mind moving this upstairs for me?”
She leads us to the freight elevator. How the fuck does this house have a fucking freight elevator in it? My stomach churns. I hate elevators. Especially ancient rickety ones in creepy, surprisingly large, old houses.
She rolls over a trolley for us to set the casket on.
Dex lifts his chin at me, indicating he wants me to pick a side.
“Yeah, I got this end.” The casket has big silver handles on it, and even though it seems abnormally large, it’s easier to lift than I expected. “Why is this so big?”
“It’s an over-sized one for our larger customers,” Margot explains like a perfect salesperson. “They’re becoming more and more popular.”
Oversized caskets? Seriously? “They make special caskets for big bastards?” I blurt.
“Please don’t speak like that,” Margot scolds. “We treat all of our customers with dignity and respect.”
Fuck. I know how damn serious she takes all of this. “Sorry,” I mumble. For so many things. “Just took me by surprise.”
We ease the trolley and the casket into the elevator which is bigger than it looks but still a steel death-box as far as I’m concerned. It’s not even well lit. Dex ends up pressed against the back wall. Better him than me.
Reluctantly, I step over the threshold. My hip bumps into the edge of the casket and I wince. Then a worse thought occurs to me than being trapped in an elevator.
Bring trapped in an elevator with a dead body.
The doors slowly slide closed. “Wait.” I slap my hand against the door, holding it in place. “There isn’t a body in here, right?” I point to the casket.
The smile Margot gives me is downright evil. “Maybe, maybe not.”
The door slides shut, almost snapping my arm in half.
This is my worst nightmare.
Margot
The stark-naked fear on Jigsaw’s face when the elevator doors close sends guilt arrowing straight through my heart. I shouldn’t have teased him about the casket having a body in it. That was rude and unprofessional.
Maybe he’s claustrophobic? Lord knows, I’ve had a couple of experiences with that elevator, including getting stuck in it when I was a kid. To this day, I use it as little as possible.
I pull the door next to the elevator open and jog up the narrow stairway. The elevator isn’t soundproof, so bits of Dex and Jigsaw’s conversation follow me up the stairs.
“Bro, if I tell you something, you promise not to laugh?” Jigsaw’s strained voice sounds like it’s coming from inside a tin can.
“I’ll do my best.” Dex’s tired annoyance comes through his voice.
“And if you bring it up once we’re outside this box, I’ll fuckin’ punch you,” Jigsaw warns. So low I barely make out the words, he adds, “This is my absolute worst nightmare.”
How could I do this to him?
It would’ve taken me five seconds to reassure him it was a brand-new, empty casket.
Dex seems to calm him with some deep-breathing exercises. That doesn’t alleviate my guilt, though.
I’m standing in front of the elevator doors when they finally open. “We’re going that way,” I say a bit more professionally.
I lead them to the showroom that’s full of other caskets and urns. Jigsaw casts a look around and shivers.