Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
I don’t say anything. She gives me another hard stare before giving up and going back to her laptop.
I’ve watched a lot of people over the years. Killers, rapists, thieves, and worse. I’ve killed more than a few of them. But never in all my life have I been so enraptured by a single person.
It’s everything about her. The way she touches her hair absently. The way she adjusts in her chair as her lips press together in frustration. She types fast, but she always seems to go back and delete what she wrote, only to start all over again. She seems indecisive, but when she does finally make a choice, she goes all in and doesn’t back down.
An hour passes that way. All I do is sit and stare and think about her. About her taste and her moans. About her laughter and her smile.
How light I feel when she’s around.
“Oh, shit,” she says, flinching when our eyes suddenly meet. “I forgot you were there.”
“I can do that sometimes.”
“Have you moved at all in the last half hour?”
“Not really.”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you even breathing?”
“A little bit.”
“That’s freakish, you know?”
“There’s a reason I’m good at what I do.”
She crosses her arms, absently clicking a pen. “I don’t really want to hear about how good you are at murdering people.”
I shrug slightly, cocking my head. “Why not? It’s my passion.”
She points the pen at me. “See, that right there, that’s creepy as hell. Your passion is killing people?”
“No, my passion is pulling it off.” I can tell she’s skeptical, so I keep talking, not even sure why I’m explaining this to her. “Each new job is like a puzzle. Every target is different. Their habits are different, their routines are different. I approach each one like a brand-new puzzle. Most times, I spend days or weeks following them, getting to know them, falling for them in my own way. So when I finally do make my approach—” I smile to myself. I can feel a throat under my hands. “I feel something when the light leaves their eyes.”
She sighs and slumps back. She stares up at the ceiling. “That’s some extremely psychopathic behavior, you know that?”
“Does it help if it didn’t work the last time?”
“Not really.” She frowns and looks at me again. “Why didn’t it work?”
I lean forward. “Because of you.”
Silence hangs. I can tell she’s processing. I am too, honestly; I’m not really sure what it means that the kills don’t have the same effect anymore, ever since she came into my life.
“I don’t really want to be responsible for that,” she whispers softly.
I stand and walk to her door. I flip the lock and turn the blinds until the windows are covered. There’s fear in her eyes as I approach, but she doesn’t need to be afraid of me. I’d sooner kill myself than ever hurt her.
I kneel down in front of her chair. She tries to scoot back, but I don’t let her.
“Do you want to know when I do feel now?”
She shakes her head. “Not really.”
I pull her closer. “When I’m with you.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“It’s a good feeling, feather. It’s light and bright and clean. Before, during my kills, I’m always filthy afterward. I had to cleanse myself. That’s why I would—” I stop myself, sensing the secret we’re both skirting around. “But with you, it’s good. It feels right.”
“Cormac,” she whimpers as I spread her legs and fit myself between them. I’m on my knees in front of her as I tug her closer until she’s pressed to me, our faces almost level. “You’re fucking terrifying.”
“I know.” I kiss her softly. “But not to you.” I kiss her harder, sucking her lower lip. “You’re safe with me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she whispers, kissing me back. “I’m afraid I’m starting to like the way this feels. It’s dirty and dark. It’s all sorts of fucked up.”
“But you like that.”
“Yeah, I do.” She shivers, shaking her head. “All my life I’ve tried to do good things to balance out all the shit my family does. Like I’m trying to right the cosmic scales or something. But when I’m with you, it’s like I want to tip them in the wrong direction.”
“Good.” I slip my fingers into her hair. “We can balance each other. You make me better. I make you so much worse.”
“Is that what we really want, though?”
I kiss her, holding it for a moment, before pulling back. “Who fucking cares? So long as it feels good.”
Then I crush her mouth again. This time, I feast, diving deep into a frenzy. I drag her to her feet, shove space on her desk, and make her sit on it. Her legs open for me, inviting, begging, as I toss her heels aside and tug her slacks down. She lifts her hips, helping me, lips pink and bitten, eyes burning with desire.