Chapter 27 #2
“He was always going to kill me,” I whisper, knowing it with absolute certainty now. My father—the only father I’ve ever known—was merely waiting for me to come of age.
“If you hadn’t killed him first,” Grayson says, capturing my gaze, slowly easing the dress above my knees. “But you did, London. You became what you had to.”
The fervor in his touch deepens, engulfing me in flames. His palms glide over my thighs, skin against skin, stirring a primal craving within me that feels dangerously close to love. I want Grayson in spite of—or even because of—the things he does to me that nobody else would dare.
“I wasn’t born this way.” I turn my head away, my fingers desperately searching for a string.
“We weren’t born the day we took our first breath,” he says, his lips tenderly pressing against my skin. “We were born the moment we stole it.”
I close my eyes, absorbing the raw, painful truth of his words. “We’re monsters.” My eyes open, and I meet his gaze, breathless and torn. “And if this is love, it’s a monstrous thing that will devour us.”
“It might, or it could strip away all uncertainty and pain,” he says.
“Love is nothing but a chemical reaction in the brain—one we’ve never had access to.
But does that actually make us fiends?” He nuzzles my thighs, his lips sliding the fabric higher, heat branding my skin.
“Do we love each other, or are we merely mad for each other? I know I’m mad—utterly, obsessively mad for you.
Obsession is a far more evocative emotion than love. ”
Drawn into the gravity of his words, I tremble beneath his touch, my fingers curling into my palms until my nails break skin.
“This is right, London,” he says, relentless.
“We were born without remorse or guilt, designed to take life. The shame you carry, the guilt, it’s not real.
You’ve conditioned yourself to feel emotions that don’t exist for us.
Your mind has detached from certain aspects of reality, concealing what you truly are. ”
“A killer,” I whisper, dredging up the memory of the first time he forced me to say it. An ache pulses my temples, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “No—” I shake my head in denial. “You’re sick…I’m sick. We need help.”
His deep laugh vibrates against my legs.
“I am sick. So fucking love sick over you. All love is a sickness. People manipulate each other constantly, couples employing deceptive tactics, trying to mold one another into better versions of themselves, all in the name of love. We’re just more honest about it.
We don’t have to sugarcoat the process.”
I shake my head again. “I was fine before you happened to me.”
He presses a kiss against my thigh before he stands, looming over me. “You weren’t fine, London. You were drowning.”
As he moves toward the end of the table, I strain once again to free myself from the thick thread binding me. I have to stay mentally strong, but I’m not sure of anything anymore—not even myself.
Grayson returns holding a folder. He drops it onto the table, the contents spilling across the white tablecloth. “I couldn’t access patient files, not without risking exposure.” He plucks a page from the scattered pile. “But I managed to pull these from the Internet. I hope they’ll suffice.”
He lays the page on my lap, the headline stark and impossible to deny.
“Convicted serial killer of three hangs himself in mental institution,” he reads aloud. Another page lands atop the first. “Arsonist murderer found dead in cell.” Then another. “Suicide claims life of convicted rapist.”
The pages continue to stack, each headline a weight, every name a face. It builds until the throbbing pain in my head screams, and I shout, “Enough—”
Grayson kneels before me and reaches up, touching my hair. “I love it when you wear it down.” He drapes the strands over my bare shoulders, situating the beaded shawl, his touch gentle, reassuring.
I attempt to ground myself as a wave of nausea pounds through me. “I didn’t kill them,” I whisper, so low I can barely distinguish my own voice.
“No,” he says, removing the printed pages from my lap. “You didn’t have to kill them. You simply gave them the means to kill themselves.”
My world tilts.
“Just like your most recent victim, Dale Riley.”
I blink hard against the building ache behind my eyes, begging the world to right itself. “No,” I say. “Riley transferred out of the program.”
But then a memory surfaces of me standing in front of my office with Warden Marks as we discussed Riley’s removal from the program—and a sharp pain spears my head. Riley’s dead, Marks says. No no no no—
A twisted smile steals across Grayson’s face.
“Is that what you call it? Transferring out. I like it.” He trails his thumb over my lips.
“You’re exceptional, London. The way you’re able to not only lead a professional life, but thrive in it.
Everyone around you, the whole world, invested in your lie.
The truth is, Riley put a bullet through his head.
He stole an officer’s gun and put it right here—” he props two fingers under his chin “—pow.”
I jerk my head sideways, unable to look into the diabolical beauty of his pale blue eyes any longer.
“You see, London. Now that you’ve been shown the truth, you’ll never see the lie again. You’re liberated.”
“Liberated,” I echo, a hollowness settling deep inside me, recalling when I desired so desperately to feel just as liberated as Grayson. This can’t be the result.
“No one understands you better than I do,” he murmurs. “No one knows you more intimately, could love you more passionately.” He strokes my cheek, then lays his hand gently over mine, tracing the inked scar along my palm. “We even mark ourselves the same way, our kills carved into our flesh.”
I swallow. “We’re not. I’ve only taken one life.”
He lifts an eyebrow, amused. “You’ve taken six lives, love. Not with your own hands, you break their minds, plant dark seeds and help them grow, until your victims have only one choice.” He swipes the knife from the table. “We are exactly the same.”
My eyelids feel too heavy to hold open. I let them fall shut as a dizzying sensation sweeps me toward some distant, higher plane of consciousness. If I let Grayson kill me—if he takes my life right now—I won’t ever have to face this horrifying truth again.
It can all stop right here.
A sudden movement jolts me back to the present. There’s a sharp tearing sound, and my arm is set free as the thread is sliced away. My eyes fly open as Grayson uses the knife to cut the binding from my other wrist.
Then he presses the knife into my hand.
“You’ve been denying yourself the honesty of who you are,” he says, his eyes animated, wild.
“And I’ve been weak. I have as much to answer for as you.
My victims didn’t deserve the mercy I showed them…
giving them a choice to redeem themselves.
We were put here for one reason alone, designed for one purpose.
Now that we’ve found each other, we don’t have to follow their rules anymore. ”
I stare up at him, a beautiful, dark god towering over his own insane creation. “You’re absolutely mad.”
His smile is shattering. “I can’t wait for you to join me.”
I grip the knife, adrenaline surging through my veins.
“But it is your choice, London,” he says. “After this, there are no more choices. This is the final one—the one that determines us.”
I stare into the darkness, then turn my gaze to him. A restless anticipation coils through my chest. “What are my options?”
He leans against the table, his gaze cast into that dark void. “Before I was taken into custody a year ago, I was stalking someone. He was going to be my next victim.” His eyes meet mine. “Now he’s yours. My gift to you.”
The screaming may have stopped, but with a shock of frightening awareness, I now know who they belong to. “No, Grayson, please. You can’t make me do this. I won’t play your sick, twisted game.” I throw the knife down, furiously emphasizing my point.
“So you’re going to go back to your life and…what?” he demands. “Confess your misconduct? Lose your license and possibly even serve a prison sentence?”
No, I refuse to suffer the way the filth beneath me does. I shake the thought away.
“I didn’t think so.” He picks up the knife and places it in my grasp once more. “So choose, London. After everything we’ve uncovered, everything you now know, do you think you’re above taking a life?”
“Yes.”
A devastating smile lifts his lips. “Let’s find out.”
He faces the darkness. “You have until morning to decide,” he tells me. “Free yourself of the string, run the maze, and make your choice. You can either set our victim free through rehabilitation, or you can take his life.”
Oh, god.
“Begin.”