Page 239 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer
I freeze.
Every molecule of warmth in my body drains straight into the floor because that one phrase brings me right back to my stalker.
The night I first saw him—the man in the skull mask, the shadow who cradled me after the blood, after the kill—that’s what he said. Low and rough and terrifying and soothing all at once.
It’s okay. I’ve got you.
It’s like the ceiling falls on me.
For a second, the world tilts sideways—blood on my hands, a knife flashing, a body crumpling—and I can’t breathe.
I hear that sentence echo around in my mind until I can’t tell Declan’s voice from my stalker’s.
Between the homicide detective and the man who helped me clean up two murders.
What in the world am I doing?
Declan investigates murders for a living. I could never tell him what I’ve done. I could never show him the black stain that lives inside me forever now.
“No.” My voice splinters, breaking apart into jagged pieces. I push my hands against his chest, desperate to put space between us. “Declan—this is a mistake.”
I regret the words that flew out of my mouth as soon as I speak them. But I can’t stop it.
He lets me go instantly, his hands dropping like I burned him.
“Poppy, talk to me,” he says, voice low, raw.
I shake my head, blinking fast, trying to gather the crumbling parts of my sanity.
“This—between us,” I manage to mutter, hating how hollow it sounds even to me. “I’m just?—”
“Another notch on my belt?” he cuts in, his voice slicing the air between us. “Is that what you think this is?”
The pain in his voice makes me flinch. “I didn’t say that.”
I don’t know what to do.
“We just… shouldn’t be doing this,” I insist, crossing my arms tight across my chest like maybe they can hold in all the guilt, the confusion, the gut-deep yearning still trying to crawl out of me.
He laughs once—sharp and humorless—and rakes a hand through his hair.
“You’ve got feelings for someone else,” he says, voice steady in a way that terrifies me. “That’s what this is.”
I narrow my eyes, the urge to defend myself clawing up my throat. “That’s none of your business.”
His jaw flexes before he nods. “But that’s what this is, right? You’re kissing me and thinking about someone else?”
My throat tightens. My eyes sting. I want to scream no and yes and I’m sorry and I don’t know what the heck I’m doing all at once.
“That’s not fair,” I whisper instead, because it’s easier than being honest.
The silence between us is vicious, vibrating with everything we’re not saying.
Declan stares at me like he’s memorizing the last look before his execution.
Something inside me shatters.
“I thought you were brave, Poppy,” he says, voice so low and wrecked it barely sounds like him. “I thought you knew you could trust me.”
