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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
K.N. Wilder
Read between
November 2 - November 30, 2025
He delivers this with such deadpan sincerity that laughter bubbles out of me. Only Xander could make stalking sound like relationship milestones.
“I prefer when you were afraid of me.”
“Possibly. Though my therapist would probably cite childhood emotional neglect.” “You have a therapist?” “God no. Can you imagine that conversation? ‘So, doctor, I’ve been stalking and murdering people, but I’m trying to limit it to bad guys. That’s okay, right?’”
“Is that scientifically proven? Did you participate in a study?” “Yes. Very prestigious research. ‘The Metabolic Demands of Homicide Planning: A Comparative Analysis.’” I snort. “Was it peer-reviewed by other serial killers?” “Naturally. Though Calloway kept drawing little pictures of corpses in the margins of his review.”
“What’s the protocol here?” I ask, already pulling down photographs. “Do we hide everything or just organize it better?”
“We’ve never had a journalist before. It’s exciting. Like adding a new instrument to the orchestra of death.”
“Also because Xander is clearly smitten,” Calloway stage-whispers, “and we’re nothing if not supportive of workplace romance.” “This isn’t a workplace,” Xander protests. “Of course it is, Bestie. Murder is our business, and business is killing.”
“And what will you give me to vote yes, darling? You know how I love a proper incentive.” “I’ll let you keep all your fingers for your next gallery opening,” Xander replies flatly. “So tense,” Calloway purrs. “I adore that about you.”
This isn’t just about killing a man—it’s about erasing him.
Death has a boardroom, and it smells like old money.
“Is everything okay out there?” I ask. Calloway’s voice fills my ear, sounding altogether too amused. “Just creating ambiance. Apparently, Lazlo took ‘cause a distraction’ literally. He’s...redistributing artwork in the main gallery.” “By which he means,” Darius cuts in, “Lazlo just toppled a six-foot marble statue of Aphrodite through a glass display case.” “It was hideous,” Lazlo defends. “I did Blackwell a favor.”
“You guys are terrifying.” “Thank you,” four voices respond simultaneously.
“Seriously,” Lazlo continues in our ears. “I can hear you breathing. Like, every little gross wet noise. It’s like being trapped inside someone else’s porn session. At least put us on mute.”
And the little guys? Just some prototypes I’ve been working on. They’re programmed to seek body heat and make terrifying clicking sounds. No real danger, but absolutely nightmare-inducing. I call them ‘anxiety incarnate.’ Fun.”
Lazlo’s voice shatters our moment, crackling through the comm with his signature terrible timing. “Congrats on the most twisted first date milestone in history—murdering the guy who killed your parents! Welcome to the Hemlock family. Very touching moment, truly beautiful, but security’s sweeping the building floor by floor looking for the offender, which is yours truly. They’ll reach the penthouse level soon.”
“Lazlo has a PhD in mood-killing,”
“Now comes the fun sequel—escaping without becoming headline news.” I nod toward the ventilation shaft. “You need to go. Now.”
You took out his eyes? That’s next level.” Lazlo sounds impressed. “We didn’t take out his eyes,” I insist, shooting a worried glance at Darius. “Xander must have done it after I left.” “No way,” Lazlo counters. “Xander doesn’t like dealing with eyes. He thinks they’re all squishy and gross and keep looking at you.” “He has an eye phobia?” A surprised laugh bubbles out of me. “Seriously?” The man who planned a neurosurgeon’s death is squeamish about eyeballs?
something more avant-garde? I’ve been experimenting with a technique where the lesions appear to pulse.” “Glorious,” Calloway claps his hands together. “We’ll create a masterpiece of medical horror. I’m thinking something modernist. Rothko-inspired lesions, perhaps?” “You’re both enjoying this way too much,”
“Next time,” I gasp, “I’m killing someone who lives on the ground floor.” “There’s a concerning level of truth to that statement,” Thorne’s voice cuts in, cool and detached.
“Of course I came back for you, you stupid stalker nerd. I love you.”
“Oakley’s been suspiciously tight-lipped about you.” “Self-preservation,” I mutter into my drink.
“Oakley’s never brought a guy around before. You must be special.” “She’s special,” Xander replies, his eyes never leaving my face. “I’m just along for the ride.”
