The Bone Artists Read Online Free PDF

her head to the leather-jacket guy, who gave a quick nod. “Very good, Mr. Berkley. I think I like you.” Leather Jacket disappeared for a moment into the room with the saw, the sound growing so loud with the door open that Oliver had to fight to keep from covering his ears. Muffled voices joined the racket and then Leather Jacket returned, replacing Oliver’s backpack with a wad of bills held together with a rubber band.
    “Try not to get into the papers next time, mm?”
    Oliver blinked. “I don’t think there will be a next time.”
    “No?” She stared at him steadily, a tiny muscle quivering in her chin. Then she smiled, but there was nothing behind it. Just teeth. Just a bright, white sliver carved across her face. “Not even, say . . . five thousand dollars could tempt you?”
    Five thousand . . . ? Jesus .
    “I can’t,” Oliver ground out.
    She turned away, wandering with Leather Jacket toward the room with that infernal bone saw still whirring away. “Your friend might say otherwise.”
    “He might,” Oliver allowed.
    Briony’s cold laughter chorused with the high-pitched saw, and Oliver’s spine went rigid again. Her pale eyes caught him and snagged as she glanced over her shoulder. “I think you’ll change your mind, Mr. Berkley. In fact, I know so.”

 

H e tapped out a manic rhythm on the steering wheel as he careened toward the dojo. His phone chirped every now and again on the passenger seat, alerting him to an unread text message from his father. Whatever guilt trip awaited him in that message could be kept on hold.
    He didn’t have the balls to face his father, not when he felt sick to his stomach. Five thousand dollars. That was more money than he had ever possessed at one time. Who was he kidding? The two grand in his dash compartment was hard to wrap his mind around, too. But this was grave robbing. It had to be way more illegal than taking a few family heirlooms. That made him feel crappy enough, but taking bones? Taking parts of people ?
    What were they doing in that creepy place anyway? So busy, bent over their desks, little worker ants going about their business so single-mindedly. His skin tightened just thinking about the possibilities. But that five grand would get him so much closer to his goals. . . . His fingers beat faster on the wheel as he waited for the light to turn. One more block and he’d be at the dojo. Micah might not have answers, but he would at least have sympathy and maybe a bottle of booze to make the whole thing easier to bear.
    Micah’s place of work didn’t actually look anything like a dojo. Itlooked like the kind of blah storefront in a strip mall that might have once been a furniture warehouse or a doughnut shop. All but two windows were frosted over, but you could walk by and peer inside at whoever was chopping or kicking the air. Oliver was early—well, technically he wasn’t anything, since Micah wasn’t expecting him—and so two rows of little kids, swimming in their starchy white outfits, were still doing their best to punch at nothing under Micah’s instruction.
    Oliver pulled into the narrow parking lot and stopped the car under a flickering streetlamp. The electric glow of the strip mall was plenty, but some well-meaning city planner had tried to gussy up the place with cutesy benches and lamps, green, quaint, like there weren’t a grimy tobacco store and an AutoZone in plain view.
    He grabbed his phone and blanked out the message. He’d read it later, when he wasn’t feeling so scattered. Sighing, he pulled open the dash compartment and took out the roll of cash, just holding it. Just feeling it. It felt heavy, and he knew exactly why. He shoved it back in the compartment and glanced up at Micah, wondering what two grand meant to the guy. Of course he had applied to colleges, too, some heavy hitters, in fact, but everything in Micah’s life just seemed so breezy. So easy. His grades weren’t the best but he usually got them bumped up