Chapter 11
KAYLA
He chuckles, and when he leans back into his seat and shows me that mask, my body sags in relief. For one moment, I thought it could be the Midnight Murderer, ready to take me as his newest trophy kill.
“Hey there, little wolf. Got hungry?” He extends his hand, the blade glistening as I slowly make it toward him.
“Wha-what are you doing here?” My stammering is quite pathetic, but I can’t get over the fact that he’s here. That he somehow found the man I was going after and…what?
I scan the body behind me and don’t see any signs of death. Fred is still groaning and mumbling now, the effects of the meds taking hold.
Unless…unless A had already drugged him too.
“Did you know I’d be here? That I was after him?”
He nods once.
“How?”
“I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.” He laughs. “I told you, I know everything about you, Kayla Jenkins.”
“Then why didn’t you kill him already? Why is he still alive?”
He tilts his head to the side and says nothing. That creepy mask is staring at me, yet it no longer terrifies me.
“I was being a gentleman, waiting for you to take care of it.”
“And they say chivalry is dead.” I take the knife offering, but stay rooted in place, wishing he’d take the mask off so I could see his face, know who he truly is.
“Never knew myself to be the chivalrous kind. Guess there’s a first time for everything.”
The handle is warm in my grip, and my eyes scan the sparkling blade. “You know what he’s done? Why I chose him?”
He nods. “I do. He deserves it.” Climbing to his feet, he towers over me, and tentatively, his fingers trek closer to mine, like he wants to touch me, but is afraid to. “I’d always be by your side, no matter who you chose to kill.”
He would?
“Why? Why are you watching me? Covering for me?”
My pulse goes faster, my heart lurching at the thought of finally being touched by him. This man. This stranger. This killer. Someone who’s like me in so many ways.
When I’m near him, all thoughts of Chris fade, because whoever this man is, no one compares.
As soon as he brushes the top of my hand with the barest touch, my whole body comes alive, this shivery feeling casting over me. My breaths still as I wait for more, needing it so damn much. But just as quickly, he rips his hand away as though I’m made of acid.
“You excite me. It’s a feeling I’m not quite used to. But one I’m starting to enjoy.” He grunts almost to himself. “A little too much.”
My gut somersaults. “I got the lily you left. How…” I swallow down the rush of desire. “How long were you there watching me?”
His breaths are audible through the mask. Seconds pass before he speaks again.
“I just like to watch you sleep. Everything else was just a bonus.”
“Why?” I whisper, my heart thudding to a beat all of its own. “Why did you want to watch me sleep?”
“Because…” His voice falls to almost a whisper. “It brings me peace.”
A sudden ache hits the back of my throat. In his tone is a shred of humanity, a vulnerability I had yet to hear from him.
I want to rip the mask off and hold his face in my palms and tell him it’s okay. Whatever happened to him, whatever made him this way, it’s okay.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he grits.
“Like what?”
“Like you feel sorry for me. Because you don’t need to.” He treks forward, causing my heartbeats to gallop. “The only ones who you should feel sorry for are the ones who meet me.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you. I just wonder what happened to you.” My tenor drops.
His chest rattles up with battering breaths.
I immediately change the subject, even while wishing I didn’t have to.
“How many have you killed?” I ask this time.
“Enough.” His words are firm, rugged. And it turns me on even more. “Now, are you going to do this or keep stalling?”
His humor is back, and I snicker.
“I’m not stalling. I’m not afraid.”
“Never said you were.” Extending a hand, he follows me to Fred, who still lies there breathing a bit shallower, moaning like he’s drunk.
“Did you give him something before I came?”
“Of course. I wanted to have him ready for you. Little did I know how prepared you’d be.” He gently tugs on the strap of my duffel.
“I learned from a friend.” My mouth curls.
“Must be a smart friend.”
“He certainly thinks so.” I pop a brow. “Me? Still undecided.”
He chuckles, and it sends a chill scurrying down my spine.
If I am going to do this, there’s no coming back from that. This time, it’s different. I chose him.
The knife burns my palm as I breathe a little faster. Lowering my duffel onto the floor, I wonder why it suddenly feels heavier now.
I swallow down the anxiety while he saunters behind me, his body too close. And when he moves into me, I can feel the thickness of his cock pushing into the small of my back.
Is this turning him on? The anticipation of seeing me kill someone?
“You’re hard.” My voice comes out small, sheepish, yet every inch of me feels braver now that he’s right here, as though sewn into my skin, giving me the courage.
“Does that bother you? Does the fact that you make me hard scare you?” he whispers into the crook of my neck.
All the hairs on my arms rise to attention.
“No…” I shake my head lightly. “I’ve been to hell and back. Nothing scares me anymore. And I…”
A’s hand draws out, fingers tracing up my arm, leaving my flesh wicked and wanton.
“And you what?” The timbre of his voice strokes me in places long forgotten.
My core grows tight and uncomfortable, and I hate the feeling, yet I want it too. A conundrum of sensations I don’t fully comprehend. Not with this stranger, who could be anyone. Hell, he could be the Midnight Murderer himself. But I want him. More than I’ve wanted anyone ever.
“I like that you want me.”
He growls deep in his chest. “Don’t tempt the devil. He may come out to play.”
“I’m every bit the devil you are.”
With a groan, he takes my hands in his, the knife perched within our evil palms. “Maybe it’s why I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The confession sends a ripple of heat down my curves. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
“Fuck, you are a tempting little devil.” That deep pitch has my skin prickling.
He arches into me as he lifts our hands in the air, the tip of the blade staring downward onto its victim.
“Shall we do this together?” he asks. “Shall I show you how to slice his throat?”
The man groans, but we both have long ignored him, our souls marked by the foulness of our making, the life that made us who we are.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Do it.”
“No, you’re gonna do it. You will take the blade across the right side of his throat.”
The nerves begin to dissipate, and instead I see the cunning men and their faces, so many of them. The way they grabbed me, ripped off the little amount of clothes I was allowed to wear. Watched as they took everything. Used every inch of my body like I was a toy built for their enjoyment.
I don’t notice the tear fall from my eye until another comes. And behind me, he swallows a sharp pull of an inhale, his grip tightening around my hands like he saw what I didn’t want him to see: the weakness there, the vulnerability when the pain comes. And it comes more often than I’d like.
My heart races with unfathomable rage. And with a roar, I jam the knife into the man’s throat, over and over, until my tears mingle with my wrath, until blood pours out of him like all the years I’ve lost. All the agony I’ve endured. It’s there, staining my fingers, turning my soul black.
But it’s been black for a while, hasn’t it? Even before I was saved from that place. I was just afraid to expose that part of myself. Because what would my friends and family think about precious little Kayla turning into this?
Oh my God. Kayla? You need help. Let us help you.
They’d stare at me with horror, the eyes of a killer. The Kayla they once knew no longer there at all.
But I don’t need help. I need this.
I need to kill them all—the monsters who roam the streets looking for their next victim. And if I can save one of them, even one, then I have done good. My evil has served a purpose.
I stab him again and again, and I realize A is no longer holding my hands. No longer there to release the rage with me. But I’m too far gone to even care.
I plunge the knife so many times, I’ve made a mess I promised not to make.
I don’t know how long I keep doing it, but eventually he’s there, hands clasping my shoulders. I feel them—heavy, yet comforting. Lulling me with a calming voice I didn’t know he was capable of.
“It’s okay, little wolf. He’s gone now. You can let go.”
When I don’t, when my hands ache with how hard I hold the weapon, he shushes me, heaving breaths causing mine to mellow second by second.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore. I’ve got you.”
I tremble, gasping with a cry.
Does he know? Does he know what they’ve done to me?
And with a quivering sob, I instantly push off of him, the knife still in my grasp.
“Anymore?” I ask, shaking my head, tears leaking out. “Do you…do you know what happened to me? Before?”
When he just stands there, I know instantly he does.
This feeling of being violated by this stranger surges me with so much anger, I want to use the knife on him!
With a scream, I lift it up in the air and aim it at his throat, wanting to hurt him the way I am in this very moment.
But instead, he grabs my wrist with one hand and clasps the back of my head with the other. “If you want to kill me, then do it. Whatever you need to help take away your pain. But just know killing me won’t help. It won’t make it hurt any less. It won’t make you less angry. Less scared.”
His thumb massages my nape, and I whimper, the knife jittering in my hands.
“It’ll just make you regret it. But killing someone who deserves it, someone who’s hurt others? Well, that? That is power. That is good, and we can be good together.”
My hand continues to shake until it falls to my side, the knife plundering to my feet. And instead of running this time, I hold on and I don’t want to let go.