Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
Idon’t fall asleep.
It’s not in the cards, and the idea of it is too vulnerable for me to even consider. Larkin helps me up, a surprising amount of care in his touch and actions, but before I can do more than drag my leggings back on, he has me against the wall, his mouth on mine.
“Silly girl,” he purrs against my lips. “Such a silly little thing, aren’t you Tova? I thought you were going to kill me?”
Yeah. I thought that too.
“Night’s not over,” I point out dryly, twining my hands in his hair so I can feel the soft, inky black strands between my fingers. “And there are a lot of things in here I could kill you with. Knives. The rug. A shoe—”
He snickers against my mouth and pulls away, shaking his head. “You’re impossible. A rug?”
“I thought you’d be more surprised by the shoe.” I roll my eyes at him, and grab my t-shirt and hoodie from the floor to pull them back on as well. Politely, I leave my shoes off, though it would bring me great joy to plant them right on his couch, just to see the look on his face.
Larkin only looks at me, then walks away from the living room into the open kitchen while I watch with curiosity. When he chucks a water bottle my way, I manage to catch it instead of fumbling and letting it hit the floor, thank god.
I’d never recover from that kind of blow to my ego.
“Sit.” His aloof confidence is back, and he points to the couch while returning with his hydration needs. For his part, Larkin hasn’t put his shirt back on. His jeans hang loose at his waist, unbuttoned, and it’s hard not to take my time appreciating all of the tattooed skin on display.
Pointedly, I sit with my legs crossed under me in the matching recliner, instead of on the faux-leather sofa where he fucked me. Just because I can, and to prove that one good orgasm is definitely not enough to make me listen to him.
But if I’m looking to get a reaction out of him, he doesn’t give me one.
Larkin shrugs and sits down on the couch, one leg slung loosely over the other while he surveys me calmly.
“You think it was just some guy. Some kill,” he says suddenly, and I need a minute to figure out what he’s talking about.
“Wasn’t he?” I ask, when I realize he means the man I’d killed. “Why couldn’t you just go kill someone else?” The question has been weighing on me since the first time we’d met. “Did you even know him?”
“Never met him in my life,” Larkin admits without hesitation. “I watched him a few times and I knew what he was. But none of that mattered. You took what was mine, Tova.” I don’t like the way he says it, like I really have committed some unforgivable sin.
“He was supposed to be my first. My dad picked him out for me.” Yeah, I definitely feel myself prickling at the ire in his words, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle in warning.
“Sorry,” I snap, my defensiveness rising in response to his anger. “What did you want me to do, exactly? Let him rape me?” When I sneer the word, I expect him to flinch or look away in guilt. But he just stares back at me, his dark eyes unreadable. “Is that what you wanted, Larkin?”
He only shrugs his shoulders, muscles rippling under pale, tattooed skin. “Quite frankly, silly Tova, I don’t give a damn. We’re here now. You took what was mine, and I’ve finally found the little thief who ruined my first time.”
That makes me snort, but he still looks unamused.
Fuck, he really is serious about this. “What was I supposed to do?” I demand again, though this time my voice is a snarl.
I roll to my feet, frustrated and angry, the pulse of anger frosting my veins.
“You’re being unreasonable! I didn’t take something from you on purpose, you fucking—”
“Careful,” Larkin warns. He doesn’t get up, nor does he raise his voice.
But the way he tilts his head at me is enough for my heart to flutter in my chest and to give me pause like nothing else has before.
Not even Cass intimidates me like this. As I watch, Larkin takes a sip from his water, then nods at the bottle in my hand.
“You should drink some of that. It’s good for you. ”
“Fuck you,” I grumble, but there’s an embarrassing lack of heat in my words that has him lifting a brow.
“We just did that. Though I’m happy to do it again.
I’d prefer if you drink your water first, though.
Because the next time won’t be so nice…and I can’t promise you’ll walk away from it without sacrificing a little blood to me.
” His sudden grin is snake-like in its sly charm, and his eyes narrow ever-so-slightly in a promise or a threat.
Definitely a threat.
“But you killed someone else.” I back away and sit back down, not wanting to start a fight without getting some of my questions answered and having an actual plan on how to proceed.
“You’ve killed a ton of people. There have been, what, three bodies found up here now?
And another six people who have gone missing in similar areas…
” I trail off when he tips his chin upward, his eyes studying me with a shrewd interest I don’t expect. “What?” I demand.
“You’ve been watching me. Even though you didn’t know it was me.
” He toys with the cap on the water bottle, but his attention is fixed on me.
“Most people don’t realize the connection between those I’ve left out on display and those who have just disappeared.
But you suspected it right off. How interesting of you. ”
I don’t know that I like the way he’s looking at me. His attention feels like a predator who’s deciding how to eat the mouse caught in a trap, instead of a person trying to figure out the motives of another. He feels dangerous in a way I’m not used to.
In a way I should probably run from, if I’m honest with myself. He’s something I don’t know that I could ever be. And worse?
He’s something I sometimes wish I could become.
“You’re right.” His words snap me out of my dangerous thoughts, and I’m grateful for the distraction before my mind takes me down a path that’s better left unexplored.
“It didn’t stop me. My dad found someone else for me.
” God, there’s a lot to be asked about a parent who sets up kills for his children.
Was Larkin always destined to become a monster?
And if so, what kind of killer was his father?
“But”—he puts emphasis on the ‘t’ and leans forward onto his knees to hold my eyes with his—“that’s not the point. You took what was mine. All the work and planning, all the watching. All for nothing. You took him literally a day before I was scheduled to have my time with Derek Prescott.”
“I’m not sorry.” The words are out before I can think to stop them, and a ghost of a smile crosses his lips. But honestly, I’m not. He was an awful man, and he would’ve hurt me if I didn’t kill him.
“Yeah,” Larkin agrees. “You really aren’t. And I can’t decide if I like that about you, or it’s just something else I want to cut out with a knife.”
Shivers ripple through me at the casual threat, and my fingers tense around the bottle of water, still unopened, in my hand. The way he can so casually talk about violence is terrifying and unnatural. Even my friends in Ohio aren’t quite like this.
They aren’t monsters like him.
“Who did you kill instead?” I don’t know why I ask. I have no business wanting to know, but I can’t exactly stuff the words back in once they’re out.
“Nevin Florence,” he answers without hesitation.
“Thirty-two. Lived alone in Portland, in a shitty apartment following a divorce from his wife. I did most of the same things, but I will admit, it was a little rushed. A little less satisfying.” His expression tells me he blames me for that, too, and I fight not to roll my eyes. This is ridiculous.
“So clearly my actions didn’t affect you very much—” He’s up before I finish, and before I can make a move, Larkin is over me, his hands on the arms of the recliner as he crowds into me, face close enough I can feel his breath on my lips.
“Watch your mouth, Tova,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Or I’ll cut out your tongue. Just because I haven’t killed you yet doesn’t mean I’ve decided I won’t.
It just means”—he reaches out to grip my throat and yanks me straighter so his lips brush mine when he speaks—“I’m not done playing with you.
I know where you live, where you work, who your roommate is.
So don’t you dare forget that you’re mine at any time.
For any game I please.” He suddenly nips my lower lip, causing me to yelp and jerk backward, which only makes the pain worse.
Still, Larkin lets go with a laugh, standing up to drain his water bottle in front of me for me to watch.
God, I shouldn’t enjoy looking at him this much.
My eyes are drawn to his throat working to swallow the water, to the markings all across his torso, and to the designs that continue lower, hidden by his jeans.
I want to know how far they go.
But that’s not a very healthy thought, so I force myself to glare up at his face, keeping my body tense and ready to move if he comes at me again.
“You should drink your water,” he informs me, crunching the bottle in his hand.
“You look a little dehydrated, silly girl.” For a few seconds he just stares at me, observing, like he’s going to say something else.
But he only shakes his head with a stupid little grin on his face, and turns to walk away with his jeans still slung so low on his hips that I can’t look at anything else before he disappears into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.
The moment I hear the shower, I’m on my feet. I grab my shoes and yank them on before locating my phone that must have gone skidding across the floor in our ‘struggle.’
“Fuck this,” I murmur, my chest feeling tight with fear. There’s no way I’ll be sticking around any longer. Not when his mood shifts between flirty and murderous so easily, and I’m never sure which I’ll get.
Hell, maybe there isn’t that much of a difference, now that I think about it.
But I also don’t want to overstay my welcome.
By the time I’ve closed his door behind me, I’m already calling an Uber and breathing a little too hard, my desperation and fear are pushing me to get out of his apartment and this building as quickly as possible, before Larkin decides he’s had his fun, and that I don’t deserve to live anymore.