Chapter 1
ONE
LIAM
“You don’t have to do this!”
I thumb the corner of his eye with one of my smooth leather gloves, watching his expression intently.
He’s too weak to fight, but he’s not too weak to offer such a basic, stupid statement.
Honestly, there isn’t even really an answer to it that would satisfy him.
“I don’t have to. But I want to,” I tell him with a sunny smile. I perch at the edge of the bed more comfortably. The drugs should keep him complacent enough, and I’m in the mood to talk. Who else can I talk about these things with?
The man in the car.
Ryker would get it.
I think.
“I’ll pay you,” he slurs, and while he tries to lift a hand, it doesn’t get very far.
I study him, fascinated. I’d given him less of the drug than the first one because wow, it hadn’t been very entertaining to watch him do nothing more than twitch.
I mean, the mouthiness would probably get annoying after a while — being mouthy is my forte, thank you very much — but this guy is entertaining for now.
“Pay me to kill you?” I suggest, chuckling. “That’s nice of you, but I’m happy to do it for free.”
“That’s not—”
“Yes, yes, that’s not what you meant,” I interrupt. “But you have to admit, the joke was funny.”
He’s not laughing, so clearly, he disagrees.
Oh well.
Some people just don’t have a sense of humor.
“I can drag this out or make this fast,” I tell him, toying with the rope I’d brought with me. It’s medium-grade stuff — not so coarse that it’ll tear into my hands through the gloves, but not so expensive that it’d be some kind of easy way to track me.
It would be far too easy for someone to look into purchases and trace something back to me.
Can’t have that.
I’m rich, not immune to the legal system.
Probably.
Either way, I don’t know if my parents would even bother to help me if I did get caught doing something unsavory.
Thankfully, Gran and Gramps would, so that’s one less thing to worry about.
“Well, I’m running low on time,” I say, even though I could sit here and watch him forever. His face is handsome, with chiseled features and light brown eyes that can’t focus on me at all, and he reminds me of Ryker in a weird way even though they look nothing alike.
Wishful thinking, maybe.
Not that I’d want to kill Ryker if I had him drugged out and at my mercy. No, I could think of a lot better things to do with him…
This time when my target lifts his hand, it’s with a bit more alacrity, and I realize that I’m working against the clock. Stupid drugs. They should’ve lasted longer than this, but that’s what I get for going with a light dose so I could play with my prey.
I lean down and cradle the back of his head with one hand, lifting it up so I can slide the rope beneath his neck.
I smile down at him as his eyes start to widen, as he shakes his head in denial of the inevitable.
“N-no,” he stammers.
“Yes,” I tell him, crossing the rope in my hands so that I can begin to put pressure on his throat.
It’s sort of crazy, how little it actually takes to kill someone.
Strangulation may take time, but in the end, drugs and rope are a great equalizer, and even my pretty little hands can manage to choke the life out of someone.
I pull at the ropes, then loop another strand around his throat so it’s even easier. He’s trying to lift his hands, but the drugs have him too out of it to do much more than flop around like a landed fish.
A very weak, almost dead landed fish. His mouth is even gaping wide like one, which amuses me.
I wish I could commemorate this moment with a photograph, but then I’d have to release him a little and grab my phone and… Not worth it. I’ll get a picture when I’m done.
Stupid, Liam, a voice in the back of my head warns me. That’s evidence.
Oh, fuck evidence.
I need something to remember this by.
I watch his face in fascination as it turns a brilliant shade of red, but as the moments pass, his lips turn a delicious shade of blue. I have the urge to lean down and kiss them, but that really would be idiotic.
It’s tempting anyway.
I sigh, watching as his body goes limp.
He hadn’t even been able to fight back, which is… fine.
It’s all fine.
But this is the second time I’ve done this, and there’s something missing. I’d thought that keeping him conscious would entertain me more, and it had.
For a few seconds.
I’ll have to strategize better for the next time, though it’ll have to wait for far, far longer than I want to. If I go too far too fast, cops might get on my tail, and I can’t have that.
I’m far too pretty for jail.
And the toilet paper would just be subpar.
Toilet paper.
I stare down at the body, an idea coming to mind. I laugh, but I don’t ease up on the pressure around the man’s neck. I don’t want him surviving this, after all, not when he’s seen my face.
Only when I’m positive he’s truly and completely dead do I ease up on the rope, and I pull it free. I neatly wind it up, then shove it into the large pocket of my cargo pants. I get up then race to the bathroom, pulling at the roll of toilet paper until I have a long string of it.
Maybe I’m entirely too amused by myself, but I think this would be the perfect touch.
If Ryker is still listening to true crime podcasts, will he hear about this? Will it interest him? Will he remember me?
Will he turn me in?
He had my name and address; it wouldn’t be difficult.
Well, the game wouldn’t be half as entertaining if there wasn’t a chance of being caught. I shrug off the possibility and move carefully to try to wrap the toilet paper around the dead man’s throat.
It’s not as easy as it sounds — what the hell kind of budget toilet paper does he buy? — but I manage to wrap it messily around his neck. I step back to admire my handiwork, pleased, then I pull my phone out of my other pocket.
I have three missed calls from my father. If he’d text me like a normal person, I wouldn’t have to ignore him, but the fact that he tried to get in touch with me at all doesn’t particularly bode well.
He probably wants to lecture me about the potential I’m wasting. I make him look bad being a playboy instead of a serious busy bee at his mega corporation.
Blah blah fucking blah.
I snap a picture of the corpse from one angle, then another, making sure to get a good view of his throat. I should’ve done it before I covered up the rope marks, but I’m too lazy to redo my handiwork.
Oh well.
Next time.
I hum to myself, slide my phone away, then let myself out of the apartment. Only when I’m out of the building do I pull off the beanie I’d been wearing to contain my hair, and I run my hand through it to try to tame it.
I’m floating, pleased with what I’ve accomplished. I don’t feel giddy, exactly, but I feel good. It’s like the aftermath of really good sex, and it makes me want to track down someone who’s down to fuck.
I glance down at my wrist, where there’d once been blood from my first messy, awkward kill, but there’s nothing there.
Fuck, I wish I’d gotten Ryker’s number. I’d love to hear his sexy voice right about now.
Guess I’ll just have to settle for someone else.
My phone rings again, and I groan. Seriously, why can’t people just text?
It’s my father again, and I stare at the phone before accepting the call.
“What?” I ask without preamble as I put it up to my ear and stride along the busy sidewalk.
“Where have you been?” my father snaps. “Your mother expected you over two hours ago.”
“Yeah, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say as I head to the subway station.
The subway is still full of assholes, but the more assholes, the harder it is to figure out which one might be a serial killer.
Also, it also turns out that it’s way faster than taking a cab most of the time. Rush hour traffic can’t keep me down. It can only squish me up against a hundred other bodies.
“The fundraiser she’s hosting,” my father says. His clipped tones mean he’s not pleased. So, y’know, it’s his usual. “Your mother wanted to introduce you to some people. You embarrassed her.”
Oh. The fundraiser.
Yeah, she might have said something about that, but I don’t think I was paying attention.
“Relax,” I tell him. “It’s fashionable to be late. Just tell everyone I had to work overtime.”
I swipe my subway card to get past the turnstiles.
I pause once I’m through.
Is that evidence? The card isn’t linked to me.
I don’t think.
But they’d have to know to even look for me in the first place, right? It’s just one card that a million other people could have swiped.
Somebody bumps into me from behind.
“Move it, asshole!” she says.
I glare daggers at her, memorizing her features. I wish I had time to track her, to make her my next victim, but if I’m going to make this fundraiser at all, there’s no way I have time.
Besides, I don’t go for women.
Lucky her.
“Where are you?” my father asks. “Don’t tell me you’re out partying already. It’s only eight.”
“Nope, I still have to go home and change clothes before I head out to party, so you’re in luck.” I scrunch up my face. “Why did the fundraiser start at six, anyway? Isn’t that stupid early for one of those things?”
Not that it matters. I wouldn’t have been on time anyway.
“So people could show up immediately after work.” My father sighs. “Just be here. Don’t make your mother cry.”
I roll my eyes.
My mother hasn’t cried a day in her life. I bet she was stoic even while giving birth to me. As soon as I was out, a full staff of makeup artists had probably been there to clean her up and make her presentable for the mandatory mother-and-baby photos.
“Maybe she’s pretty when she cries,” I suggest. “We could always test out the theory.”
My father probably has a harsh word for me, but I hear another voice join him, and he hangs up without even saying goodbye.
Rude.
But I guess I’d have done it first if I’d had the chance.