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Three empty bottles of iced coffee glare up at me from the passenger seat, mocking me and reminding me I do not have the bladder of a racehorse. I’m just a weak human and need to pee.
“No one here to cuddle with at night? I’m surprised you don’t have stuffed animals.” Well, I do have a few, but they’re on my desk, not on my bed.
I see him sliding the tip of the blade along the white-washed wall, prompting a small surge of irrational irritation to flood my throat. Why is he fucking up my wall?
“You called me, remember? Please don’t tell me you have amnesia like that girl in 50 First Dates because I am not mentally equipped to handle that kind of shit.” He’s…joking. He’s literally making jokes right now, and even though I shouldn’t, I want to cackle at the stupidity of his words. I don’t, because that would make me hysterical and hysterical girls don’t escape murderers.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why would I go to all the trouble of coming here and making sure you can’t call for help if I’m just going to kill you?” He sounds…affronted.
“Huxley,” he interrupts, and for a moment I have no idea what he’s said. “And yeah, Kai, I heard you. But if you’re going to call me anything, you can use my name.” “That’s a stupid name,” I huff after a moment, twisting my hands in his grip. “Who the fuck names their kid Huxley?”
“You could give me your knife,” I suggest finally, my words catching slightly in a way that makes a grin tug at his lips. “Oh, you’re so cute. Adorable, even.”
He’s insufferable, and I yelp when my heels hit the concrete of my patio. With a huff, he readjusts his grip to jerk me upward with a murmured, “Sorry,” in my ear that I’m pretty sure I’m imagining. That, or he’s the world’s most considerate killer, and I have no idea how to deal with that.
It’s not comfortable, and I cry out at the sudden, sharp ache in my arms from the unexpected stretch. “Well, you started it,” Huxley huffs in my ear. “Can’t you just keep yourself quiet until she goes away? You really are—”
“Have you looked at yourself, Kai?” His grin is almost rueful. “You’re just so murder-able. And, let’s not forget, so fuckable.”
“Can’t move,” I murmur, like it’s some shocking revelation. I can’t even twitch my damn fingers. “Midazolam,” he reminds me, sitting back and rearranging my legs so they’re around his hips. “You can keep being surprised and I can keep saying it, if you want.”
“You’ve got another few minutes at most. Anything you want to say to me?” he asks kindly. “Yeah,” I start, only to gasp when he adjusts slightly and thrusts into me again, making me see stars. “I’d like you to not kill me.”
Well, at least I’m not dead. Which was exactly how I’d expected to wake up, or…not wake up, as the case may be.
I’m not sorry about the mess. See you soon, little bunny P.S. I’ll kill your neighbor if she knocks on your damn door one more time. P.P.S. Mi-da-zo-lam
He pauses, like he’s waiting for me to ask. And fuck, I’m absolutely going to ask. “What did I say? Or do? Please tell me I tried to off you and almost succeeded.”
“You, uh, gave it to a bartender,” I say finally. “She kept it, wanting to call you back.” “I did?” He sounds bewildered. “Why would I—Oh!” It sounds like realization hits him like a baseball bat. “The annoying blonde! Yeah, I remember. I was going to off her whenever she called, actually.” He says it so casually that it’s unnerving, and my chest tightens. “I’d kind of like it if you didn’t.”
“She’s my friend’s friend. It would really put a crimp in our plans if you kill her. Do I seem like the kind of friend who’s good at being supportive through my own emotional needs?”
“God, you’re so bad at this.” “Maybe I’m just too good at this for you.” His surprised laugh meets my ears and, for some reason, it makes me want to smile.
“I think you need therapy.” “Yeah, probably.”
“Dear God. If this is a test and Patrice is back here without her life alert bracelet after having a fall…you should pick a stronger soldier,”
“I can still scream without a tongue.” “Then I’ll slit your vocal chords and fuck your mouth while you bleed out in the grass.” His snarl is sharp and unexpected, and I flinch away from him as the mask’s grin tilts to the side. “Oh, that was really scary of me, wasn’t it?” Huxley laughs. “Sorry, pretty girl. I get a little carried away, sometimes.”
“This is new for me, you know? Playing with someone without the intention of…” he trails off pointedly,
I launch the tv remote at him, which he simply lets hit him in the shoulder as he tilts his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, but give me points for my continued enthusiasm.” “Sure, pretty girl.
“What? You think I can’t save lives if I also take them? I’ll have you know I’ve never, ever murdered anyone I saved. That would be against, like, the universal moral code.”
His hand comes out to cup my chin, pulling my face up to his. “Terrible survival instincts, by the way. If I wanted you dead, you’d be bleeding out on your floor right now. No offense.” “Full offense taken,” I manage to murmur, making him snort.
God, his grin makes me want to die. Or commit homicide.
For my part, the only thing I’m considering is just how fucked up this makes me and if I need a therapist. A real therapist, instead of just sometimes going to the pet store and kissing rabbits on the nose or stroking chinchilla ears.
“You know, I’m starting to think they can creep in off the street if you let them.” At my thinly veiled insult, Hux’s eyes travel across the bed until he’s looking at me with one brow raised. “I’m a serial killer.” “I got that, thanks.”
“How many murders does it take to become a serial killer, anyway?”
Donuts would be nice.
“We’re your best friends.” Mads grabs my hands, prompting me to look down at our entwined fingers. I narrow my eyes, suspicious, and give her a flat, plaintive look. “Supposedly.” “Legally.” “Morally, I guess.”
I can at least shrug this off and make it not a big deal. Because it isn’t. It really, honestly, should not be a big deal or a bad thing that a serial killer is leaving me alone and not murdering me.
I don’t need a serial killer after all, I remind myself. I have my friends, whatever is left of my sanity, and queso.
“I stayed away. Mostly. I drove past your house a couple of times, maybe. But I didn’t knock.” “You never knock.” “I could knock.”
“You’d killed someone?” I don’t know why that surprises me, but I still glance up at him in shock. “Before you came here?” “Oh yeah,” Hux assures me. “Oh, absolutely. They are very, very dead.
