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It’s all cloak and dagger right now. That’s what happens when you’re a serial killer dating a FBI profiler who hunts serial killers.
“Don’t worry, Agent Bennett. I normally don’t play with boys who wear badges. You’re my only exception.”
There’s a certain high you get from fooling the world into thinking you’re the lamb instead of the rabid wolf.
But I obviously don’t point that out. A good, sane, non-stabby girl wouldn’t know that.
Logan is taunting. Duke is arrogant. And I’m worried there’s about to be a sword fight in my living room. And not with actual swords.
A serial killer sharing a house with a homicide detective and a FBI agent. Life doesn’t get more complicated than this.
It’s sad that I want to hide my bodies now so that my boyfriend gets a break and can spend more time with me.
He’s bringing back parts of me that I thought were dead, resurrecting my soul from ashes. But all the shadows that lurk inside me, hiding the monster within… Those are parts he can never see.
I want to plead with some powers above to take away the pain that drives me… To let karma step in and handle the rest. But I’m the only reckoning there will be.
I need to replace their taunts and evil laughter with the sounds of their screams.
I sleep better with each new scream I get to add. The screams override the scent of their breath, the strikes of their hands, and their dirty, disgusting fingers. They’ll never hurt anyone else. Even if they rise from the dead, they lost their tools of pain. The rest will join them soon enough. I can’t stop now. Not even for Logan.
Death and life have their determined appointments. —Confucius
“Feeling stabby?” he muses, still trying to lighten my mood. “Very.”
I can remember a time that I was afraid of the dark. Now even the snakes fear me.
“I’ll kill them all so you never have to,” I whisper
“I’ve been doing everything wrong,” he says on a reverent breath, his eyes trained between my legs as he licks his lips. “I’ve been skipping all the important stuff, giving you the middle instead of the beginning in every way.”
“At least you’re good at apologies,” I tell him, albeit I’m still all breathy when the words come out.
“You’re perfect,” he says against my cheek as his lips brush a kiss there too.
He groans, still inside me as he takes his phone. “That’s not the only reason I’m not answering. I’ll never answer my phone if I’m inside you. Not even I’m that much of a company man.”
“It’s often easier for someone to believe evil can’t exist inside someone they love, than to admit they’ve failed someone who should be more important. We see it too often. The blind eye effect is what we call it,” I say absently.
