Chapter 22 Reyna #2
“Where’s our money?” He spits out the words, shaking me by his rough hold. “Did you think Paddy’s death would wipe what he owes us?”
Paddy?
Darkness blankets my vision as I gasp for breath. The fight in me dwindles with every heartbeat. The knife and stun gun I brought are too far away.
“Where’d he put our fucking money?” he yells, loosening his hold enough for me to sputter.
“Wrong person.”
I manage to pry two of his fingers off my neck. It slackens his grip just enough for my toes to touch the floor, and before he can utter another word, my knee is smashing into his groin.
My body hits the hardwood next. Coughs rampage through my chest from the rush of oxygen while the man howls in pain beside me. Another figure comes into view, and every cell in me kicks into hyperdrive. It was sheer luck that I managed to get out of that guy’s grip. I’m screwed if there are two.
In a reckless split second, I dive for the stun gun in the stairwell before stumbling to my feet and bolting for the front door. The room spins, my head pounds, and then it hits.
More so, it sounds like someone being hit.
I twist around with the stun gun raised, one hand on the handle, and my weight against the door to keep upright. For the second time, I can’t move. Can’t breathe. All I can do is stare as Maddox brings his fists down on my attacker.
Over.
And over.
And over.
The world sways as I try to make out the scene in front of me, my vision going in and out of focus. Fresh blood splatters along the wall with every attack my professor delivers. The man tries to fight him off, but Maddox is behind him, holding him in a headlock.
The pressure in my skull is making it hard to stay put. Hot liquid trickles from the throbbing wound on my cheek, but I don’t dare touch it. I’m too busy watching the man claw at a serial killer’s arm for mercy. They have to be around the same age. Similar build.
My aim on the stun gun shifts from him to Maddox, then back to the man whose eyelids are drooping closed.
This is my one and only chance to leave while Maddox is distracted. I need to run. Get the hell out of here and move as far as I can. Start over. Forget about my father. Live the rest of my life regretting everything I’ve done since moving here.
This entire thing between Maddox and me could be some sick ploy. A game to pass the time before I become his next victim.
I should be disgusted with him, mortified by his work, frightened to my very core that I could be his next target. Yet all I feel is enraptured.
I should pull the trigger. Turn him in. Scream for help.
I should. I should. I should. I should do a lot of things, but I stay where I am and watch Maddox knock a man unconscious at a murder scene he made for me.
My harsh breaths come out shuddered as I hope and pray to whatever god listening that they’d give me the wisdom to make the right decision. Because the longer I stand here, the more my curiosity blooms alongside the panic.
A bead of cold sweat runs down my spine as I slowly lower the stun gun.
Watching Maddox move is hypnotic. How his eyes glint with unrestrained madness, and how the cords in his neck feather with each attack.
Sometimes he pairs it with a little grunt that’s just like the sounds he makes when he thrusts into me.
My attacker’s reddened skin morphs into blue with each strike. Every time someone called me messed up in the head makes sense now because I can’t help but feel a sick sense of justice that he’s suffering the same fate he attempted to deliver to me a minute ago.
Maddox doesn’t step back until my attacker stops twitching and his face is unrecognizable.
Watching crimson bleed out of him is cathartic, but I’d die before admitting it out loud.
As soon as Maddox’s eyes meet mine, a psychotic grin twists across his lips that spikes my anxiety.
I raise the stun gun higher and grip it tighter to hide the tremble in my hand.
Fuck, he might actually kill me.
He tips his head to the side in mock amusement. “A gun? Are you flirting with me?”
“No.” I gulp.
“Well, it’s working either way.”
He can’t seriously be trying to engage in banter right now. A man is bleeding out between us, and he’s acting like this is a normal occurrence.
I sink back against the wall when he steps forward. I should have run when I could.
His eyes narrow on my cheek. “I’m going to ask you this once, and only once. Did he leave that mark on you?”
What is he talking about? I frown, following his line of sight, and a flicker of the ache returns with the reminder of the damage my attacker caused.
My broken skin is the very least of my problems. For example, oh, I don’t know, how about the fact that I’m standing in front of a fucking serial killer who just…
My attention flickers between him and the body on the ground. He just… Maddox just…
His jaw ticks. “Reyna.”
I unintentionally flinch. It makes him angrier. My mouth opens and shuts, unable to form the words.
“Reyna,” he repeats, making a show of relaxing his shoulders. “Was it him or someone else?”
I warily nod, bracing for the backlash.
Without a word, Maddox reaches for his back pocket and pulls out a knife that he offers to me. My lips part as my gaze darts between the blade and the unconscious man bleeding out on the murder scene. He can’t seriously be—
“I don’t kill people.” I’m flustered, and the room sways when I shake my head. Is he crazy? Is he trying to make me complicit as an insurance policy?
He shrugs. “It’s a good thing that I do, then.” Maddox slaps the man’s cheek until he wakes up with a throaty groan. “No one leaves a mark on her but me.”
In one swift move, my attacker’s hair is in Maddox’s hands, and the skin along his neck is splitting apart.
Scarlet splatters onto the wall, but the lunatic doesn’t stop there.
Each slice and jab is unpracticed. There’s no art or finesse to the way Maddox mutilates the body.
Just short, sharp explosions of movements, with death gleaming in his moss-colored eyes.
I stop counting after the tenth puncture wound.
It’s a crime of passion.
And it’s… it’s fascinating.
Reenacting murders and watching people get tortured on TV is child’s play compared to seeing it play out in front of me.
Better him than me, a small voice says in my head.
Rationally, I’m aware Maddox could do the same thing to me.
Irrationally, I trust him not to. He’s never hurt me.
Believes in me in a way I haven’t experienced in a long time.
Looks out for me when no one else does. For God’s sake, he’s brutally murdering a man instead of sending him home with brain damage just because he cut my cheek.
The metallic taste of iron thickens in the air the more wounds he inflicts. Maddox straightens, cleaning the blade on the sleeve of his sweater before tucking the weapon back into his pocket.
“As I said, throat slitting can be a very messy ordeal. I hope you’re taking notes, Miss Sinaga,” Maddox states, wearing his faux-casual demeanor.
My vision narrows on the blood pooling out of the corpse’s gaping holes, crimson soaks into the fake flower petals. It’s beautifully grotesque. A painting in its own right.
“You’re him,” I whisper the obvious. “You’re Bocklin’s Shadow.”
A smile splits across his face that chills my internal temperature. “What gave it away?”
“Is that rhetorical?” My voice is just above a rasp.
“I warned you to stop visiting crime scenes.”
You didn’t say they were your fucking crime scenes. “Are you going to kill me?” I croak, becoming more lightheaded with each heartbeat.
“Don’t insult me, Miss Sinaga. If you have to question it, then I’m clearly not doing a very good job at showing you my intentions.”
Swallowing, I nod. I believe him. He’s had every opportunity to harm me when he’s known for a while that I’ve discovered a serial killer. But it doesn’t explain why he let me get away with it.