The Bone Artists Read Online Free PDF

the backpack at her. He had already taken out his phone and anything valuable. She could keep the bag. He didn’t want it.
    â€œEager to be rid of me?” Briony smiled. She didn’t take the bag, however, waiting until the man in the leather jacket paused his work to stride over and grab the backpack for himself.
    â€œI heard there were complications.” She drew out the word, watching Oliver intently.
    The bone saw next door grew louder. Oliver clicked his teeth together, clenching.
    â€œWe got what you asked for. Isn’t that what matters?”
    â€œYes, but you were seen.” She lifted a thin, arched brow. “Ordo you not read the news, Mr. Berkley?”
    Shit. He hadn’t. Just getting down to the shop without dropping to sleep on his feet had been a chore.
    He swallowed and gave his best nonchalant shrug. “We got away, nobody saw our faces.”
    â€œAre you certain of that?” The other brow went up.
    Was this a trick question?
    â€œPositive,” Oliver said, beginning to sweat. “We took off before the guy could get close.”
    She nodded, her brows returning to a neutral position. Her entire face iced over, unreadable. He wished that damn saw would stop screeching next door, it was putting him on edge. More on edge. “So?” he prompted. “It’s all there, right? We’re square now.”
    â€œ Are we?” She turned 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.
    â€œTry not to get into the papers next time, mm?”
    Oliver blinked. “I don’t think there will be a next time.”
    â€œNo?” 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 .
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œHe 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