Page 261

“I know her name.”

“Then use it.”

He smiles. “No.”

There are moments when a man makes his own funeral arrangements.

That is one.

Razor studies me. “You know she’ll come back to me.”

“No.”

“She always did.”

“No.”

“You think fucking her better makes you special?”

My hands stay loose.

He wants rage.

He gets none.

“You think killing me means she belongs to you?”

The thing men like him never understand.

I crouch until we are eye level.

“She ain't mine.”

His smile falters.

“That's the part you never got.”

“What?”

“She’s hers.”

The room goes quiet.

I think about Sweet on the edge of the murder hole telling Razor no. I think about her telling me no in the workshop, in the garage, at the funeral home, and at her bedroom door.

All those times men heard a word and decided it was negotiable.

I lean closer.

“And she said no.”

Razor’s smile disappears.

Good.

I stand.

Hyde’s eyes meet mine.