X Marks The Stalker: A Dark Romantic Comedy (The Hemlock Society Book 1)

by K.N. Wilder

If there’s a worse way to start your day than scraping intestines off your shoes, I’d love to hear it.

Most people would call it stalking. I call it...selective admiration. Tomato, tomahto.

That would be— I’m not— I have an ethical framework for my unethical behavior, thank you very much!”

I have standards, damn it. I’m not some basement-dwelling creep with a collection of toenail clippings. I’m a sophisticated basement-dwelling creep with military-grade surveillance equipment.

Oakley— Found something you might find interesting. More where this came from if you’re willing to talk. Food is homemade. No poison, I promise. That would be counterproductive at this juncture. —Your Stalker. P.S. I always looked away during wardrobe changes. Mostly. Sometimes. Okay, rarely, but I felt bad about it!

“I’m going to die,” I whimper, feeling another pinch. “This is how it ends for me. Death by ass attack.”

“Some people join country clubs to network. Same concept, just with more murder and fewer golf carts. Though the socializing part never came naturally to me—turns out watching people through cameras doesn’t translate to actual conversation skills.”

“What in the Bob Ross happy little accident is this standoff?” he whispers.

Her smile widens as she watches my expression darken. “You’re cute when you’re angry.” “I’m not cute,” I growl, crossing the distance between us in two strides. “Serial killers aren’t cute. Puppies are cute. Babies are cute.”

“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.”

“I’ll take ‘Things People Say Before They Die’ for $500, Alex,”