Chapter Thirty Saylor
Chapter Thirty
Saylor
The relief flowing through me is intoxicating as we reach the main floor. For the first time since Dad died, I feel like I
accomplished something meaningful. Like I’m actually becoming the person who can make them all pay.
Blue stops walking and turns to face me fully, his hands settling on my shoulders as he searches my face. “How are you feeling?
Any nausea? Dizziness? Sometimes the adrenaline crash hits harder than expected.”
“I’m starving, actually. Is that weird?”
“Perfectly normal. Murder works up an appetite.” Blue offers me his arm with that pleased look that means he’s proud of my
progress.
His approval makes something warm unfurl in my chest. I find myself wanting more—wanting him to tell me I did well, that I’m
learning. The hunger for his praise feels almost as sharp as my appetite for food.
“Get changed—wear something nice. There’s an aspect of killing we haven’t covered yet, and I want you to meet someone who
can teach it better than I can.”
I slide my hand through his arm, still buzzing from the adrenaline. The practical reality of what he’s saying starts to sink
in as we walk toward the main staircase.
“Disposal,” he continues. “You can’t just kill someone and not think about what happens next. The body is evidence. The scene
tells a story. Every choice you make after the moment of death determines whether you walk away clean or spend the rest of
your life looking over your shoulder.”
This is why I trust him. Blue doesn’t romanticize death or pretend it’s cleaner than it is. He understands that wanting someone
dead and actually making them dead are two completely different skill sets.
“An old friend of mine runs a restaurant built into the sea cliffs. Former colleague, you might say. He’s traded his previous career for a Michelin star, but the skill set translates beautifully.
” Blue glances at me, gauging my reaction.
“The view is incredible, and the food will be the best you’ve ever had. ”
When we reach my door, he stops and turns to face me. His hand comes up to cup my cheek gently before he leans down and presses
a soft kiss to my forehead.
“I’m proud of you,” he says quietly, his lips still close to my skin.
The warmth of his praise makes me bold. “What kind of grade would you give me? Was I an A student today?”
Blue pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and that dangerous smile spreads across his face. “You were a very good girl.”
Those two simple words. My knees actually wobble, and I have to grip the doorframe to keep from melting into a complete puddle
of goo right here in the hallway. Jesus Christ, the man could probably make me combust just by reading a grocery list in that
voice.
Blue gives me a playful swat on the ass. “Go get ready. Meet me downstairs in an hour.”
I slip inside my room and close the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment to collect myself. This man . . . what
is it about this man?
An hour later, I’m standing in my room trying to decide what constitutes appropriate dinner attire for learning about corpse
disposal. I choose the black dress that skims my knees and makes my legs look longer than they are. Simple, elegant, but with
enough edge that it doesn’t scream naive girl. The shoes are lower heels than I’d normally choose for a dinner out, but something tells me tonight might involve more than
just sitting at a table.
Blue’s waiting in the main hall when I come down, and the way his dark eyes travel from my ankles to my face makes heat bloom
under my skin. He’s been careful to give me space since I killed Leroy in the basement. Polite distance, gentleman behavior,
treating me like I need time to process what I’ve become instead of the woman who craves his touch and approval.
But the way he’s looking at me now suggests that careful distance is getting harder for him to maintain.
“You look beautiful,” he says, offering me his arm with old-fashioned courtesy.
He’s wearing a dark suit that fits him perfectly, no tie tonight, the top button of his shirt undone.
Jesus, I’m turning into one of those women who gets hot and bothered by a man’s collar bones.
I’ve never been the type to go for older men. My friends always dated guys our age—immature, loud, obsessed with gaming and
craft beer. But there’s something about Blue that makes my stomach flip in the best way. Maybe it’s the way he moves through
the world like he owns it, or how he can discuss murder over dinner without missing a beat. Whatever it is, this man has ruined
me for anyone my own age.
“Thank you.” I slide my hand through his arm, feeling the solid warmth of him through the expensive fabric. “So where exactly
are we going for this disposal lesson?”
“The Cavern,” Blue says, guiding me toward the front door where Hans is waiting beside Blue’s sleek black Aston Martin, keys
in hand. “About twenty minutes south along the coast. It’s got the best views on the Oregon shore, and Axton Marrow takes
his time with every dish.” He takes the keys from Hans with a nod. “I’ll drive tonight—the coast road requires someone who
knows it well.”
Hans’s brow furrows, clearly uncomfortable. He leans closer to Blue, lowering his voice. “Boss, Brutus is back in town from
the islands. He’s—”
“I know,” Blue cuts him off quietly. “We’ll be fine.”
Hans straightens, still looking worried. “You want me to follow close behind? Just in case?”
“We’ll be fine tonight, Hans,” Blue assures him. “It’s just dinner.”
Hans doesn’t look convinced, but he nods reluctantly. “Have good time then. Drive careful on those cliffs.” He glances at
me with a slight smile. “Miss Saylor, you look very beautiful tonight. You are lucky man, Boss.”
Blue’s expression softens. “Yes, I am.”
Blue opens the passenger door for me with his usual courtesy, offering his hand to help me in. “You’ll understand why the
location works so well once you see it,” he says as I settle into the leather seat.
The drive south takes us along the coast road that winds between the forest and the ocean.
The afternoon light is that particular Pacific Northwest golden that makes everything look like a postcard, dramatic cliffs and crashing waves and trees that seem determined to grow directly out of solid rock.
I keep the window cracked just enough to smell the salt air and feel the cool breeze.
“Tell me about this friend of yours,” I say as we navigate another hairpin turn that puts us closer to the edge than seems
strictly safe.
“Professional cleaner for eight years. Bodies, scenes, evidence. If someone needed a situation to never have happened, Axton
Marrow was the man you called.” Blue downshifts as we climb higher up the cliff road. “He had an artist’s eye for detail and
the stomach for work that would send most people into therapy for life.”
“What made him switch careers?”
“Same thing that drives most career changes. He got tired of the hours, the travel, the stress of working for people who might
decide to clean up their own loose ends by having him disappear.” Blue glances at me as we round another curve. “Plus, it
turns out the same attention to detail that made him excellent at disposal also makes him exceptional at plating a perfect
risotto.”
The restaurant appears around the next bend like something out of a fairy tale. Carved directly into the cliff face, the Cavern
looks like it grew from the rock itself. Floor-to-ceiling windows curve along the ocean side, offering views that probably
make diners forget whatever they came here to eat. The building seems to hang suspended between the forest above and the waves
below, like whoever built it had a death wish and excellent architectural taste.
Blue parks in a small lot hidden among the trees, and as we get out I can hear an unexpected sound echoing from below.
Sea lions. Hundreds of them, from the sound of it, barking and bellowing somewhere below.
“The sea lion colony,” Blue explains as we walk toward the restaurant’s entrance. “They’ve been using the caves under the
restaurant as a rookery for decades. They’re loud, but you get used to it.”
“Sounds like quite the dinner soundtrack,” I say.
The entrance is more like stepping into a natural cave than walking into a restaurant.
The walls are raw stone, carved and polished to show off the natural grain and color.
Warm light comes from fixtures that seem to emerge naturally from the stone, and the sound of waves echoes up from somewhere far below.
A hostess with intricate tattoos covering her arms greets us with professional warmth. “Blue. It’s been too long.” She hugs
him like they’re old friends, then turns to study me with intelligent eyes. “And this must be Saylor. Axton’s been looking
forward to meeting you.”
“He has?” I ask, surprised.
“News travels fast in our community,” the hostess explains, leading us deeper into the restaurant. “A protégé for Blue is
big news. Especially one with your particular motivations.”
The dining room is stunning. The ocean-side wall is entirely glass, offering an unobstructed view of the Pacific stretching
to the horizon. Below, I can see the rocky outcroppings where the sea lions have claimed their territory, sleek brown bodies
basking in the waning sunlight. The interior walls are the same polished stone as the entrance, and tables are positioned
to take advantage of both the view and the acoustics that carry the sound of waves and sea lions throughout the space.
But what really catches my attention is how empty the restaurant is. Maybe ten tables total, all occupied by people who look
like they’ve never filled out a job application in their lives. Well-dressed, careful about their conversations, dangerous
in ways I’m only beginning to understand.
“Invite only,” Blue murmurs as the hostess seats us at a corner table. “Axton only serves people he knows personally or who
come recommended by people he trusts completely.”
“Like you.”
“Like me.”