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Because I like him.

There, I said it.

Silently, inside my own head, where no one can use it against me.

I like Damiano.

That's inconvenient enough by itself. But throw in the added possibility that maybe he’s decided what happened between us the other night was a bad idea, and sleeping on the couch is his way of making sure it doesn’t happen again?

Houston, we have a problem.

“Bella.”

I blink away the daydreams of walking into the kitchen, bending over the kitchen table, and telling him to do what he wants with me. Because after what we did in that blood-splattered VIP room, my libido has gone through the roof.

“Hmm?”

Dame exhales heavily and shakes the Tupperware. “What the fuck is this, and why is it in here?”

“Well, it’s hands,” I say plainly. “I think that's obvious. And they’re in the fridge so they don’t decompose.” I shrug, frowning like this should also be obvious to him.

“But to what end, Bella,” he growls.

I kinda love that he hasn’t bothered to ask whose hands they are.

“I need to keep them fresh until the Krazy Glue I ordered gets here.”

Damiano gives me a look that mirrors the exhausted resignation in his voice when I’m getting to be a bit much.

“Dare I ask?” he sighs.

I grin and sit up cross-legged on the couch, waggling my brows eagerly. “Okay, you are gonna love this. You know Mr. Hands? AKA Jonathan Kriecher?”

“Mr. Hands” was the stage name for a children’s party clown from New Jersey. The name was creepy enough. But “creepy” turned into “downright horrific” when it came to light that he’d been sexually assaulting unhoused kids for over three years. Unfortunately, when the police kicked in his door a year ago, he was already gone without a trace.

Damiano’s brow pinches. “The clown?”

My smile widens as I slowly nod.

He shakes his head. “Fuck, I’ve wanted to meet that motherfucker face to face ever since he went missing.”

“Well… You can shake his hand right now, if you want!” I giggle. “You can shake both of them, actually.”

Damiano’s eyes widen and then drop to the container. “You fuckin’ got him?!”

I dust off my shoulders. “Currently hanging in my kill room under Rose Observatory, wrist wounds cauterized and an IV drip keeping him nicely alive and sepsis-free.” I cluck my teeth. “Face-to-face might be a little tricky, though. I melted it off of him last night before I took the hands.”

Damiano chuckles. “It never ceases to amaze me how off your goddamn rocker you are.”

I hold my thumbs and fingers up in the shape of a heart. “Aww. Love when you notice, boo.”

He rolls his eyes. Then he holds up the container again and peers at the contents.

“What’s the glue for?”

“To glue those to his head, like antlers.”

I lift my own hands to my head to demonstrate, wiggling my fingers.