Killing Emma: A Dark Captive Romance

Chapter One

I’ve waited over well over six months for this. Why? I don’t fuckin’ know. I don’t make the rules, and I was taught a long time ago not to question the man who calls in the order. So, when he put a hold on my target, I waited. When he said it’s go-time…I went.

And now here I am with gnarly, thorned bushes tearing my black denim and scraping my skin. It’s uncomfortable, but the view into Emma Nightingale’s bedroom window?

Impeccable.

The glow of the setting sun gleams right into the room, illuminating the white walls of the pristine space with an orangish-pink hue. The cast of light is nearly the same color as her fiery hair, cascading down her bare back as she faces away from me.

Emma Marie Nightingale’s pictures don’t do her justice.

No, not in the slightest. Her porcelain skin is a constellation of freckles, covering her body like the night sky dotted with stars. My eyes strain to get a clearer view of her as she drops her black dress to the floor. Her curves are soft, beckoning me to run my calloused fingers along them and press my olive skin against hers—what a contrast that would be. I imagine my body against hers, wrapping around her five-foot-six frame with ease, while I slide my fingers beneath the front of her violet underwear. I grit my teeth, warring with the unwanted lustful thoughts.

I don’t intend to defile her. I’ll steal the light from her eyes, but only out of obligation. I wouldn’t choose to kill a woman like Emma, but then again, for all I know, she deserves what she has coming. Even women can be demons, after all. And Emma is beautiful enough to be a siren, that’s for sure.

But I’ve killed pretty women before, and Emma will be no different. They fight. They cry. They beg and plead…until they don’t. I bring them to silence. I lead them to the next life. It’s nothing personal at all. It’s just my job, and it’s one I do well. Call me the Grim Reaper’s right-hand man—or the Devil’s. I’m friends with both.

“Are you going in anytime soon, or are you just gonna spend the night in the woods?” Manny’s gritty voice chirps in my earbud, breaking the fixation of my thoughts.

I blow out a breath and keep my voice low. “I don’t know. It’s only six-thirty. I still have some time.” My gaze continues to follow Emma as she bends over, giving me the kind of view that makes my jeans feel constrictive. I adjust myself. I rarely have this problem when I’m stalking my prey—no matter how beautiful the target is. However, Emma, while not necessarily conventionally pretty to the world’s standards, is strangely intriguing to me.

Well, and that ass of hers…Damn.

“If you give it another hour, it’ll be dark. I’ve already disabled the cameras, but she doesn’t know. She hasn’t even checked them since I started keeping tabs on her…months ago.” Manny’s voice sounds bland and unenthused. We’re equally unhinged, and he doesn’t get into it until the real chase begins. All the backstory, tracking, stalking is uneventful at best. I haven’t even bothered with it. I have other priorities that come first. Besides, I have a feeling this one is going to be too easy. Emma has made it that way.

In the two days I’ve been here, I’ve realized she lives in oblivion, and I can’t decide if it’s a blatant disregard for her own safety or if it’s because she doesn’t care. Regardless of the answer, I could creep around here in broad daylight, and she wouldn’t break from her meaningless, empty stares. I intend to change that though. I might not violate her body in a way that would satisfy my darker side, but I still like to have my own fun. Her sanity will slip before she leaves this world—if it hasn’t already.

“When we get back to LA, Ivan wants to meet up with us,” Manny’s voice cuts in again. He’s getting bored, and I don’t blame him, but the mention of his mentor has my stomach immediately sinking with grief.

I lean against the rough bark of an old oak. “I’d rather skip it.”

“He hates it when you skip.”

“He hates me regardless,” I grumble as Emma disappears from the bedroom, now wearing a pair of light wash denim shorts and T-shirt. She’s probably headed downstairs to the kitchen—and then to one of the many bottles of wine she hides out of sight. She’s done it the last two nights in a row.

Damnit, don’t get drunk again, Emma. It’ll make this much less exciting.

I breathe in deep and start to shift my position, staying in the woods that surround her three-story manor. The walls of her castle are elegant white brick, accented with black and speckled red in some places. Its historic fa?ade is fitting for this part of Georgia, though I know the house was built less than ten years ago. However, her wealth is anything but new. She’s old money—and has no living relatives. The fortune is all hers.

“Wonder if Jared is going to call her again tonight,” Manny muses in my ear, and I shrug at the mention of the name. I’m not worried about her accountant husband. He’s not really in the picture, but if he calls again, that could mean she drinks extra.

I frown. “I’ll have to put it off if she’s unconscious.”

“Depends on what kind of fun you wanna have.”

I curl my lip as I skate through the deep, shaded brush. “I prefer my women to be of sound mind.”

“Yeah, right,” he laughs. “You make yourself out to be some fucking deviant playboy, but I don’t know the last time you even had that kind of fun.”

“You do enough for the both of us,” I quip as I settle in with the view of the kitchen window, stationed about one-hundred-feet away. There’s a large line of oak trees giving me cover, the woods circling her manicured lawn. Her estate isn’t far from the Blue Ridge Mountain Range, and I have to admit, it’s a picturesque location. She has good taste—in that way. Her neighbors have equally enchanting homes, though they’re all separated by tall fences and woods.

Another advantage for me. No one will hear her scream.

I run my tongue along my chapped bottom lip as I watch Emma open a new bottle of red wine. I can”t make out the label from where I stand and I don’t know if this is how she unwinds, but a bottle a night is a little excessive.

It’ll slow her down when she runs.

That thought causes my heart to take an extra beat, my palms sweating with anticipation. I can’t wait for the words to leave my lips…

“Run, Emma. Run.”

But right now, she has no idea what’s coming. Emma’s thick lips purse as she pours an overly full glass, and she then sets the bottle down on her butcher block kitchen island. She stares into the liquid, and I can’t help but wonder what the hell she’s thinking—if she is at all.

Is she missing her accountant ex-husband? Is she just that fucking lonely? Possible mental health problems? Or is this her happy? Fuck, she doesn’t look happy.

I don’t know the answers, and I don’t know why I’m wondering anything at all. Maybe it’s because for the first time in my career, I actually can’t figure out what type of fight she’s going to put up when I wrap my fingers around her pale throat. Part of me thinks she might just close her eyes and let go.

And I don’t like that. That’s not fun.

“So, lunch with Ivan Saturday?” Manny’s back in my ear.

I swallow the knot in my throat. “I don’t want to go to lunch. I’ve already told you. Ivan fucking hates me, remember?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

My jaw tenses. “I don’t like the reminder of my fuck up.” He falls silent at that, and as the words leave my lips, my mind pulls from Emma. It flashes with the images of my mentor—my own fucking father—lying lifeless on the floor, covered in blood. It’s amazing how many lives I can take and never think twice, but the life taken of someone I care about stays forever burned in my memory. It’s my only crutch.

Because it was myfault.

I shake my head and force it away, thinking of Emma, sweating and bloody in my grasp, cut from the same briars that got me. Fuck, I want the sun to set now. I don’t need any more alone time with myself or Manny, and as I shift my gaze back to the window, I nearly jump. Emma is standing right there, peering out into the evening as if she”s searching for someone…

Something jars in my chest at the sight of the longing in her usual blank face. She can’t see me. I know that, but there’s still something unsettling about the sight, her hand resting against the glass—like she’s in a fucking prison and she”s rotting away inside.

My stomach tightens as her lips stay flatlined. I don’t think she ever smiles. For some reason, I can’t even picture the woman with a grin on her face. Well, an authentic one. I’ve seen plenty of photos of her; a terse, fake smile pulling upward at her mouth in an almost painful way. I feel something. I push it away.

“I’m ready to move,” I grunt, no longer enjoying the view in front of me. Emma can’t be a person to me—she can’t. She’s just another body to add to the count, and it’s time to carve that notch into my headstone. She’s already affected my dick once today anyway; I don’t need her to reach any deeper than that.

I push myself off the tree I was leaning against and roll my shoulders. My traps are tense and tight beneath my black sweatshirt. I dig the mask from my hoodie pocket and fasten it to my face. I’d like to go out with a bang tonight. I could use a good fucking chase—anything to get my adrenaline pumping. However, as I step out into the clearing, Emma spins away from the glass, missing me by only a couple of seconds.

Well, that was fucking anticlimactic.

“Someone’s there,” Manny’s voice rings out with annoyance.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I scoff. “I’m going to kill the power.”

“No,” he snaps. “Get back to the tree line. It’s the husband.”

My shoulders fall. “Seriously? Why the hell is he showing up?”

“You act like I know or care. Just get back. I don’t want the cops to be called. This is high profile.”

“High profile?” I laugh quietly as I retreat to my cover. “This is hardly that. We’ve been here for two days, and the woman hasn’t left her house. She hasn’t even gone outside.”

“Doesn’t change the fact she’s worth millions.”

“With no one to give it to.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Manny says. “In fact, I don’t think anyone will miss this one. Her only contact is an outgoing phone call to an Oklahoma number every now and then—but not consistently. She’s listed as a writer, but she doesn’t have anything published. However, the last name makes her high profile, even if that’s the only thing. The media loves rich white women.”

“Sad,” I mutter, but my voice is emotionless as I creep to the front of the place, careful not to lose my cover. More thorns tear at my jeans, but it’s just another annoyance tonight has gifted me with. My eyes land on a white Porsche in the driveway. A dark-headed man, handsome by society’s standards, stands outside of the front door.

“Come on, Emma. Just answer the door!” he snaps loud enough for me to hear. “I just wanna talk to you. I don’t like the fact you’re ignoring me. I hate this.”

Damn, maybe she is cold.

Jared stands outside the house, his head falling to his hands, and I swear I hear his muffled sobs. I shift my weight uncomfortably. I’ve seen men cry before—a lot, actually—but they’re usually on the brink of death, begging for mercy. Mercy, I don’t give them.

“Emma, please.” He beats his fist into the heavy black door, the sound of his desperation echoing into the still night. “I just wanna see you.”

Oh fuck, there are real tears. I can see the moisture glistening as he looks back over at the door. Every ounce of my cold blood recoils.

“Can you see this?” I ask Manny, keeping my voice in a near whisper.

“Yeah, but I wish I couldn’t. This guy is pathetic.”

I nod, my curiosity piqued at the thought of this man showing so many emotions, and deadpanned Emma, always blank faced. “What’s she doing? I can’t see inside.”

“She’s standing two feet away from the guy on the other side, holding her wine and staring at the door. I don’t know if she’s going to answer it or not, but she looks stone cold.”

“Unreadable Emma.”

I can’t wait to break her open and take a peek at what’s inside.