Page 202 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer
Her voice—so small. Broken.
Barely more than a whisper.
It tears me apart before I even turn around.
But I do.
I have to.
And Jesus fucking Christ, the look on her face is going to haunt me for the rest of my miserable life.
Terror.
Panic.
Hope.
“Be careful,” she says, and a single tear slips free, sliding down her cheek in a glimmering trail.
Before I can say a goddamn word back—before I can do something stupid like grab her and promise things I shouldn’t—the call comes through.
“All teams go.”
And without hesitating a single second, I’m gone.
Istand in my kitchen, trembling, rooted to the floor like if I move, I’ll shatter.
Silence presses in from all sides, thick and stifling, as my mind spins, dragging me down into a pit I can't outrun.
A client who tried to kill herself.
Two bodies on my conscience.
Colleagues I once trusted, exposed as monsters with polished smiles.
Declan—God, Declan—every warning siren in my head and every soft ache in my chest.
And my stalker. Because of course. What’s one other thing?
The man who touches me like he already owns me.
Who made me feel things I didn’t know existed.
Who showed me that surrender could be terrifying and holy.
Worst of all?
I liked it.
I craved it.
I crave it still.
I squeeze my arms tighter around myself, blinking fast against the hot sting in my eyes.
Dexter, still faintly pink, sits near the couch, gnawing his paw like he’s over it too.
I want to laugh.
