But I’m done. I got what I needed. I know who truly needs to pay.
Now, I need to sleep.
“I gave you . . . everything . . . you needed . . .” he begs me, fear radiating from his eyes, exhaustion from his voice. “Please, hel—”
In one swift motion, I swipe the surgical knife against his throat, turning on my heels just as the spray reaches me. I walk to the table and chairs sat by the entrance, stripping off the plastic overalls as he faintly heaves and gurgles.
I open the door to let the security guys in. Very few of them watch me when Iwork. Some can’t fully stomach it and others don’t care one bit, but I prefer the solitude. The quiet.
“You know what to do,” I tell them.
They nod and get to work. A cleanup crew will be called, and our interrogation room will be clean in hours, the bodies disposed of.
I walk through the bright, long corridor leading up to the stairs and eventually out the main door of our underground facility. Climbing into my car, I crack my neck to relieve the tension, ignoring how faint the moonlight is and how close the sun is to the horizon.
It’s been a long fucking night. So different from what I envisioned it would be.
I sigh, long and lazy, as I start the engine and pull onto the small road, following it until I reach the main one a couple of miles away.
I’m supposed to turn right to head home, yet my arms seem to have a mind of their own, because they turn the steering wheel left instead.
And I keep driving.
And driving.
Passing mansions, then houses, then palms, birches, and tall hedges.
Until Scarlet’s stone garden wall comes into view.
I’m too tired to argue with my brain or whatever made this decision to come here. I open her bedroom feed on my phone, noticing once again how she sleeps like she wants to conquer the entire surface of her bed, before I scale the wall and jump into her garden.
Mindlessly, I walk through the trees on the expansive estate, toward her cottage by the pond, and straight to the first cracked window I see. It’s not the only one. I have to thank the pleasant nighttime Queenscove breeze for this. Just like me, she seems to enjoy sleeping with it licking her skin.
I climb inside her house, walking through the hallway that takes me straight to her bedroom, and enter through the open doorway.
There she is—the reckless kitten I’m still convinced broke into my house—sleeping peacefully.
A white sheet covers her sprawled body, clinging to every enticing curve like she was made to be sculpted and displayed in a museum. Her dark hair is a starburst over the white pillowcase, her long, slender arms spread above her head, begging to be tied right there.
I’m fucked. Truly and utterly fucked.
I want to make her scream in pleasure, then torture her to pain.
I want her mouth around my cock and her beating heart bleeding in my hand.
I want to kill her and fuck her. Destroy her and own her.
I want it all.
But most of all, I want her.
She has to be mine. I don’t fucking understand why, but I have to make her mine. She’s a mystery I haven’t solved, and goddamn it if I’m gonna let anyone else figure her out.
With slow, careful steps, I near her bed, bending over her sleeping form. She smells divine...sweet with a bitter note that pulls me in further. I imagine oleander as I draw in another breath of her, crimson petals falling over her form. That’s how she smells—beautiful, but deadly.
I really shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself...so I reach over and ever so slowly brush the backs of my fingers against her cheek, humming low in my chest when the velvet feel of her sizzles against my skin.
I drag that feathery touch lower, against her neck, tracing the slope of her clavicle and down her chest, until I reach the seam of the sheet.
