Make You Mine

Prologue

PROLOGUE

ELIJAH

I ’m restless. A little volatile.

I feel like a puppet on a string, and it has everything to do with the direct order—the witness—I’ve been charged with keeping safe.

Because there’s just something about her…

That, and Captain Perez made his stance clear: I can’t ask for a reassignment. Not that I ever would, even if I know I’m of more value to this case by hunting down the son-of-a-bitch who escaped police custody than keeping the star witness under my roof until he’s caught.

For more than the obvious reasons.

Because of this need she evokes in me:

To protect. To avenge. To kill for.

The latter of which should concern me, and yet it doesn’t. Just like the nervous energy currently flowing through my veins isn’t because I’m annoyed with my precinct’s captain. Not at all—this is the aftereffect of the file's content lying before me on the coffee table.

Witness: Ava Perry

Age: 25

From: Dallas, Texas

Occupation: Owns Bakery (Cherry On Top) in a popular shopping area near her home. The location is close to where the crime was committed.

Lives: Alone. Home purchased two years ago.

Family: Parents deceased. Only child.

Phone Number: None at the moment. Call Captain Perez if additional information is needed.

Every line and picture—the annotations from those who compiled the information—filter through my head on an unending movie reel as I wait for my assignment to be delivered. I’m on high alert. Fucking angry. And for reasons unbeknownst to me, the horror she witnessed perturbs me on a personal level, no matter how hard I try to convince myself otherwise.

Not because of the victims. Not because of the nature of the case.

It’s her. Ava.

Something about her affects me, and it’s beyond my control.

I want to hunt him down and return the favor. Dismantle him limb by limb.

Closing my eyes, I exhale slowly as her face reappears behind my now-closed lids. I see how she grins at the camera, a frilly pink apron with the name Cherry On Top embroidered into the fabric as she stands with a large pair of scissors ready to open the door to her bakery. The sweet expression—a mirrored reflection of the simple goodness inside her—carries through every photograph inside the folder.

From her job to outings with friends and selfies, she shared on her social media accounts.

From statements taken from those who know Ava. People who are worried and care for her safety—who have first-hand knowledge of the way she curls her lip when she smiles and the dimple that immediately appears on her right cheek. Of the way her cerulean orbs always seem to shine with happiness.

So much emotion in those photographs. Each one heats the blood inside my veins for this stranger. Because I don’t know this woman—have no connection to her outside this case—and yet, I feel protective of her.

The question is…

“Why?” And as of right now, I’m without a satisfying answer. There shouldn’t be a single reason that goes beyond my need to serve and protect, but even those are empty platitudes. Or maybe it’s knowing just how close she came to being another name on a long list of slain females.

A possibility, but it doesn’t explain my reactions. I’ve never wanted to trace a finger down any woman's photograph or grin just because she does—two things I've done today and feel no shame because of it, either.

Instead, I’m eaten by the feeling that I’ve failed her , and it doesn’t make a lick of sense.

It also leaves a bitter taste on my tongue.

“Son of a bitch, this is going to be a mess.” Shoving the file aside, I move to stand and stretch my neck when my eyes connect with a single sheet that slid out of the folder. It has her basic information and a photograph of her driver’s license, but what I’m struck by is the handwritten note at the bottom.

All women. All young. They were between the ages of nineteen and twenty-nine with the same physical attributes: chocolate brown hair, blue eyes, and were short in stature.

A sinking feeling slams into my chest as I connect the dots to her reality:

Ava Perry is the physical embodiment of a delicate doll. Simply gorgeous.

But more than that, why he chooses each victim becomes crystal clear.

They resemble her.

She’s his muse.

And I’m going to gouge out pieces of his flesh and force him to eat it.