Chapter 6: Slicing Deeper Than Skin

Town gossip said Harrison Whitaker loved catfish sandwiches—couldn’t get enough.

It was a strange detail, but it stuck with me. I decided to use it—make it my weapon.

After burying Josie, I knelt before the best fishmonger in town, begging him to teach me.

He looked at me like I was crazy, but I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I offered everything I had—money, time, even my pride.

But the old man just shook his head. Said with six fingers, I’d never handle a knife right.

He shook his head, muttering about fate and curses. I saw the doubt in his eyes.

So I picked up the fillet knife and, without flinching, sliced off my extra finger. Pain was nothing new.

Blood pooled on the counter, but I didn’t cry out. The old man’s eyes widened, respect blooming in their depths.

It twitched on the floor.

I watched it for a moment, then wrapped my hand in a rag. Pain was nothing compared to what I’d already lost.

The old man laughed, “Good! Slicing fish is all about being decisive!”

He clapped me on the back, finally agreeing to teach me. I learned fast, hunger driving me.

Every cut was a step toward revenge. My hands moved with purpose, my mind sharp as the blade.

Then I rented a tiny food cart on Main Street, right outside the Whitaker gates.

The rent was steep, but I paid it gladly. Every morning, I set up before dawn, letting the smell of frying fish drift into their world of privilege. Didn’t matter. I was on a mission.

Patience pays off.

I bided my time, waiting for my moment. The town buzzed with gossip, but I kept my head down.

Harrison Whitaker finally took the bait I’d set out.

He showed up one afternoon, hunger in his eyes. I smiled, knowing my plan was working.

Under my pinky nail, I hid the strongest aphrodisiac I could find. Backwoods pharmacy stuff.

The old woman who sold it to me winked, saying, "Careful, honey. This stuff’ll wake the dead."

Normally, I curled my pinky while slicing, and nothing happened.

It was a trick I’d practiced until it was second nature. No one suspected a thing.

But if I ever straightened it and brushed a slice of fish…

That was the signal. A little flick, a little touch—enough to set the trap. Worked like a charm.

“So hot…” Harrison’s eyes darkened with hunger as he pulled me close, his voice rough. “Come back to the house with me, sweetheart.”

His hands trembled, his breath quickening. I let him lead me, my heart cold and steady. He thought he was in control. He wasn’t.