Chapter 12

After the party ended, Clayton had someone escort Charisse home. Right before getting into the car, Charisse gathered her courage and called out to him. Clayton turned to her, smiling faintly, a knowing glint in his eyes like he could already guess what was coming. He tilted his chin slightly, and one of his men stepped up with a box. When the lid came off, a few dismembered fingers lay inside—clean and pale. Charisse froze, a chill racing up her spine. "From the makeup artist who did your look today," Clayton explained casually. "You didn't like her work, right? Useless hands don't deserve to stay where they are. Don't you think so?" Her face turned ghostly pale, words stuck painfully in her throat. Clayton raised a hand gently, brushing a few stray strands of her hair behind her ear. "What did you want to tell me? Something about the wedding?" he asked softly, his kindness laced with menace. "Didn't I say someone would go speak with your aunt about it?" And she got it now. She'd comp