The Bond Between Us (Anastasia and Herman) novel Chapter 850

The moment Jason spoke, Harry caught on right away.

Harry admitted with a grin, “Yeah, Ryder’s my brother. Why, you know him?”

“I do,” Jason replied, glancing at the fish swimming lazily in the tank. “Hey, boss, what’s the price on these silver carp?”

“Sixteen a pound,” Harry answered, slipping into his fishmonger role with a practiced smile. “How about it? Want one? Ours are super fresh—just came in today.”

“Alright, I’ll take one,” Jason said. “Could you clean it up real nice for me?”

“No problem at all. I’ve been doing this for years. I promise it’ll be spotless,” Harry replied. With swift, sure movements, he hauled a big silver carp out of the tank.

His hands worked quickly and confidently—clearly, this wasn’t his first rodeo.

As Harry started prepping the fish, Jason waited nearby, making small talk. “You and your brother are twins, right? He’s in finance, so how’d you end up running a fish stall?”

Harry laughed. “I never liked school much, but my brother was all about it. Now he’s got his fancy desk job, and I’m not complaining either. Selling fish pays the bills and then some.”

You could tell right away—Harry was the upbeat, easygoing type.

He was good at business, too. After weighing the fish—just over four pounds—he turned to Jason, “I’ll call it four pounds even, make it an even sixty-four. Venmo, WhatsApp Pay, whatever—just scan here.”

“Thanks, boss,” Jason said, pulling out his phone to pay.

Harry pressed a hand firmly on the fish and, with the other, picked up a stick and gave the carp a quick thump on the head. The fish stilled instantly. Then, grabbing a fillet knife, Harry stabbed right through the chest and sliced downward, gutting the fish with one fluid motion.

Watching Harry’s technique, Jason’s brow furrowed. That chest stab reminded him of the recent murders—each victim killed by a single blow to the chest.

Jason casually glanced over at the other fish vendors. They weren’t stabbing the chest—they’d snip open the belly with scissors and clean out the guts fast.

Every victim had reeked of fish, every death caused by a blow to the chest. Harry and Ryder looked almost identical—except for the little mole in Harry’s eyebrow.

Ryder had been brought in for questioning before, no problems found. But what if Monica hadn’t met Ryder by the river that day? What if, at the riverside and later at the restaurant, she’d actually run into two different people?

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