Chapter 9 – Lily
LILY
Sweat drips down my spine, my calves burn, and my heart pounds so hard with adrenaline it may crack my chest open.
For the first time in two weeks, Aster’s broken his routine.
And I have no clue why.
I took an early Pilates class tonight so I could case Aster’s place again.
After I sat in his bushes for twenty minutes, he rushed out of the house, and given his glasses and messenger bag were left behind, it didn’t seem he was leaving for a journalistic reason.
His outfit was similar to the night we met.
All black with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Tall, brooding, and suspicious.
While I’m curious if there are more secrets inside, I couldn’t pass on the chance to potentially catch him in the act.
That’s why I’m kneeling on the roof of Hell’s Bar with jagged pebbles piercing my skin.
The brick building is old and the cracks on the roof are worrisome, but I haven’t fallen through yet, so I’ll take that as a win.
Aster’s been hiding in the shadows of the alley, wearing that weird half skull mask like a creep for about ten minutes.
Maybe he’s waiting for some unassuming drunk to stumble out and become his next target? My mind wanders to the photo of the X-man. I cringe at the horrible nickname I’ve given the poor corpse. Who killed him? And why?
I’ve yet to determine how the Kodak Killer chooses his victims. Even after reviewing all the articles, it’s still not clear.
Liam’s theory is they’re all criminals, but he and I know that’s bullshit considering Violet was one of them.
The unwelcome thought is shoved away and down a metaphorical flight of stairs.
I can’t get emotional.
Not tonight.
Being emotional gets you caught. Or killed.
Or caught and killed, then chopped up and shoved in someone’s meat freezer in their basement.
I shiver, repositioning myself on the ledge, knocking a small rock off, and it hits the ground below with a quiet but obvious clack.
Gasping, I rear back and count to sixty before peering over the ledge once more.
Aster’s gone.
Hurrying along the edge of the roof, I peruse the perimeter of the alleyway for any signs of him with zero luck. He’s on his way up here to murder me. Changing directions to view behind the building, I stall in place, finding two figures briefly illuminated in the moonlight.
I’ve spent enough time watching Aster the past few weeks to know he’s one of them. Who the other is, I have no clue. They turn a corner, disappearing out of sight.
This is my chance for proof.
The creaking of the structure gives away my position as I rush down the fire escape, and I cringe with each movement. Please be out of earshot or otherwise preoccupied.
Once near the bottom, I hop to the gravel lot with a soft thud, then rush after them. At the corner, I peer around the wall and freeze in place.
Aster holds a man against the rustic brick of the alley, an arm firmly pressed against the victim’s throat.
“Why?” the man chokes out, struggling under his hold, and my leg muscles tighten.
“You know exactly why I’m here,” Aster growls out. “Have fun in hell.”
“I swear I—” A knife pierces the man’s neck, silencing his words, and I cover my mouth with my hands to stifle a gasp as chills scatter across my body.
Aster twists the blade, and he doesn’t so much as flinch when blood spurts against his face.
The victim grunts, twitches, and shudders, thick crimson liquid gushing from the wound, until he finally goes still. Bile creeps up my esophagus.
Run.
Call the police.
Do anything but stand here as a witness and possibly his next victim!
Aster removes the knife, and the body collapses to the ground with a thud as blood pools against the concrete in an amount I’ve never witnessed. Its appearance is almost syrup-like as the streetlights reflect off of it in the dark alleyway.
Aster Blake is the Kodak Killer.
He is the fucking Kodak Killer! And I let him distract me with his stupid smile and took the souvenir of his delicious smelling T-shirt that’s still shoved in the bottom of my tote.
With a calmness that’s freaking me the hell out, he retrieves a bottle from his backpack and pours it over the knife. With a small towel, he dries the weapon and returns it in a sheath on his belt loop. He then pulls another bottle out and douses it all over the body. What the hell is he doing?
Aster kicks the large corpse, and the head slowly slumps to the side, vacant stare meeting mine.
A shudder racks through me as my eyes wander from the corpse to Aster, and I recoil at his gaze targeted straight towards me.
The skull mask doesn’t cover his eyes, and his stare weighs on me so intensely it’s as if a two-ton elephant is pressed on my chest.
Half his face is illuminated by the streetlight, and awareness trickles across my body as his head tilts to the side.
He can’t see you, I remind myself. You’re hidden by darkness.
I blink. He’s gone.
My breathing sputters.
What do I do?
The lifeless body holds my attention.
Make a decision, Lily. Before someone else arrives and pins you as the killer.
My hands tremble. I’ve witnessed a lot in my life, hell, I’ve done a lot of shit myself… but straight up murder?
Maybe I—
A large hand covers my mouth, limiting my oxygen, and another loops my waist and lifts me in the air.
He found me.
I kick and thrash and screech through his hand.
This is how I die.
My lungs burn as I force another scream, then attempt to bite him.
“Quiet, or you’re next.” His voice grates through me like gravel, and although my fight or flight instincts tell me to make a scene—that letting this man take me anywhere besides this partially public alley is a mistake—I go still and silent. Survival instincts of a goat.
Seconds later he’s dragging me through a metal door, and it clangs shut behind us. A dim light illuminates my surroundings, giving view to a small storage room. What a beautifully boring place to die.
Aster spins me to face him, and I suck in a sharp breath as he pins me against a wall, the faint scent of gasoline infiltrating my senses.
It’s such a mirror to the night we met. Only I wasn’t committing first-degree murder when he found me.
Cool metal presses against my neck, and I freeze, terrified to move a single muscle.
“Enjoy the show?” he murmurs, the words muffled by his mask while his piercing green eyes hold mine. The tip of his blade glides down the column of my throat, and I attempt indifference, but my body trembles, giving me away. “If you wanted my phone number, you could have just asked for it.”
My mouth falls open in disbelief. “That’s what you have to say to me?!”
“Then why else are you following me?” he growls.
“Would you believe me if I said wrong place, right time?”
“No.” Shit.
“You…” I swallow hard, my throat dry with panic. “You killed him.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Are you surprised?”
My brows furrow. “Surprised I witnessed a stranger murder another stranger right before me?” He laughs, low and warm. “Is someone dying funny to you?!”
“No.” His eyes assess me, and another dangerous chuckle rumbles through him. “I just find hearing you call me a stranger after you’ve spent the past two weeks stalking me amusing.”
“I…” Chills scatter down my spine. “What?”
“Come on, Lillian,” he rasps, and my blood turns cold. I definitely didn’t tell him my name at either of our run-ins, yet he knows who I am. Knows I’ve been following him. How long has he known? “Don’t play coy.”
My mouth opens and closes.
This is bad.
This is very, very, bad.
“Why did you kill him?” I ask, forcing confidence I do not possess to obtain answers I’m desperate for.
“Because he deserved it,” Aster replies easily. Like he’s just told me the answer to a crossword or a question on fucking Jeopardy! My face scrunches in disbelief, and I shove him off, the knife nicking my neck as he goes. A gasp escapes my lips, hand flying to my throat.
“So, you’re the judge of that?” I ask, pulling my fingers away, glancing down to the sight of blood.
“And the executioner, it seems.” Aster steps towards me, and our eyes meet.
“Am…” My breathing shudders. “Am I your next victim?”
He tilts his head from side to side, looking way too pleased at the suggestion. He presses the dull side of the blade against my chest, then slides it between my breasts. I shudder, frenzied to stifle the heat growing between my thighs. “Should you be?”
I choke in disbelief. “You want my opinion if you should murder me or not?”
His laugh is wicked and sinful. Why is it so damn sexy? Something is fundamentally wrong with me. Yep. That’s it. My fear and horny receptors are swapped. It’s not my fault; it’s biological. “That’s not what I said.”
My hands tremble as I struggle to untangle my emotions. “What are you going to do with me?”
He increases his pressure on the blade. “Are you going to talk to the police?”
“I probably should.” But then I’d have to explain to Liam how I landed in this position in the first place.
“You won’t.” His tone is firm, but it’s not a suggestion. It’s a statement of fact. Am I so easily readable?
“Are you going to kill me?”
“I probably should,” he mimics, the pupils of his green eyes dilating until they appear entirely unhinged in a way that makes me squirm.
“Now, that wouldn’t be any fun.” I bat my lashes. Maybe if I match his energy, he’ll consider sparing me.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small rope, and my stomach sinks, optimism escaping me. “Hmm.” He grabs my hands, lifting them to the side of a rack containing various cleaning supplies. “True.”
“What are you doing?!” I yank, but he’s too strong.
My heart pounds. This is how I die. He tugs them tighter, the cool metal digging in, and wraps the scratchy material around my wrists and the post. My skin burns at the friction as I fight him, but it’s no use.
He smirks at his handiwork, and then those sea-glass eyes meet mine.
“It’ll take you at least fifteen minutes to get out of those. I suggest hurrying unless you’d like to be caught in the alleyway with burnt remains.”
Then he’s out the door without another word.