Chapter 18
Pain shot through my body as Preston grabbed the handcuffs and flipped me onto my back. Before I had the chance to catch my breath, he was on top of me, pinning my legs beneath his weight.
For the first time since I’d seen him standing in my kitchen, I got a good look at his face, and what I saw terrified me.
The charming smile was gone, and the warmth in his eyes had vanished.
What stared back at me now was something cold and empty, something lifeless.
It was the face of a man who felt no guilt or remorse for the things he’d done.
He leaned closer, gritting his teeth as he said, “Who else knows about the photographs?”
I swallowed hard and said nothing.
“I assume you told Estelle,” he said. “Who else?”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
In one violent motion, he slammed the back of my head against the hardwood floor.
As the pain exploded through my body, he issued one last warning. “I’m only going to ask you one more time.”
Tears filled my eyes.
He was going to kill me, and that meant I had nothing left to lose.
“If you answer my questions,” I whispered, “I’ll answer yours.”
To my surprise, he smiled. “Fine.”
“Did you kill Estelle’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“What about Christy Meyers and Melinda Bellamy? Did you kill them too?”
“Yes.”
“Why?"
He shrugged, his voice calm and conversational. “Why not? They were beautiful but na?ve, trusting me when they shouldn’t have. I showed them a good time, and then I suppose I indulged myself, gave in to my urges.”
The way he said it made my stomach turn. “What urges?”
“I have lived a life of indulgence, a life where anything I’ve ever wanted is mine.
For a long time, it was fun, the endless trips, and the unlimited money at my disposal.
At some point fun turned to boredom. I was desperate for a thrill, the kind money can’t buy, something to make me feel alive. That’s when the fantasies started.”
“Fantasies about killing women?”
He nodded. “They were simple at first. I’d bring women home, and when things became intimate, I’d get a little rough.
I enjoyed the looks on their faces when they realized I wasn’t the man they imagined.
What can I say? There was something intoxicating about it.
And the more I indulged, the more my boundaries disappeared.
Then, one night, I crossed a line I couldn’t uncross, and I discovered something about myself.
I liked the feeling of having someone’s life in my hands, of watching the fear in their eyes as they understood what was happening. After that, nothing else compared.”
My entire body trembled as the realization washed over me: I was about to die the same way they had.
He looked into my eyes and laughed. “They all had that same expression, the one you have now, the moment they understood that no one was coming to save them.”
I turned away. “The women … what did you do with them? Where are they?”
He said nothing.
“Where are they buried?” I pressed.
“I’m not answering that.”
I looked back at him. “You’ve admitted to killing three women. Are there more?”
He hesitated. “Not here. In other towns. Other states.”
“Why not here?”
“Because your father ruined my operation.” He climbed off me and sat back on his heels. “When Julian caught me with Melinda that night, I knew where he was going as soon as he left his house. I had no time to think, to come up with a plan. But I had to stop him.”
“You’re an awful, horrible person! I hate you!”
Preston studied me with a look of amusement. “I did what I had to do.”
“And then you got away with it.”
“The whole thing was sloppy, I’ll admit. I called my father, and he helped me clean up the mess I’d created. Afterward, he made me promise never to do it again. He said that if I ever killed another woman, he’d cut me off and leave me with nothing.”
“And you listened?”
“For twenty years.” He leaned closer, his lips inches from my ear. “But guess what? My father died a month ago, and I plan to make up for lost time.”
I jerked back and did the only thing I could think to do.
I screamed.
The back of his hand struck my face so hard my vision blurred. “Don’t do that again.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as he grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I’ve answered your questions. Now it’s time for you to answer mine. Who else knows about the photographs?”
I stared back at him.
And for the first time since he’d entered my house, I stopped being afraid of dying.
“I’ll never tell you. Go ahead and kill me.”
He smiled, then brushed a few strands of hair from my face.
“Oh, Olivia. I am going to kill you. But first, we’re going to have a little fun.”