Page 113 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

I’d listened intently, been as supportive as I could, and promised to spend more time with her to help get her out of the slump she’d fallen into. Then we kissed each other goodbye, and I headed home with a box of fresh cream cakes I’d brought from the coffee shop as a little treat for Alex when he got home later.

I took an Uber, and the driver dropped me off at the end of Sunford Manor’s driveway. I thanked him as I climbed out, putting my bag on my shoulder and carrying the box of cakes carefully. I sauntered leisurely down the driveway, then walked up the steps to the front door. Balancing the box in one hand, I took the keys that Alex had given me from my bag and unlocked the door. Then I closed it behind me and padded across the foyer, heading towards the kitchen.

Once I reached the kitchen, I took my bag off my shoulder and put it on the counter. Then I walked towards the fridge to put the cream cakes in, to keep them fresh. But I faltered when I heard someone whistling behind me. I hadn’t realised anyone else was in here.

A deep voice from behind asked me, “Would you like a cup of tea?” And I could hear the clinking sound of a spoon being stirred in a china cup.

“Oh, no thank you,” I replied. “I’ve just come from a coffee date. I’m not really thirsty.”

“That’s a shame. You took the last cup of tea I made for you so well...” My stomach dropped to the floor. “Even though you thought it was one of Alma’s.”

Bile rose from my stomach, burning right up my throat, making me feel sick. My head swam from dizziness and sheer panic.

I turned around slowly, my heart beating so fast I began to struggle for breath. Everything around me seemed to switch to slow motion. Even my mind couldn’t keep up or comprehend what was happening. I was petrified.

But he was here.

He’d fucking found me.

When I saw him for the first time, my limbs went limp, and I dropped the box of cakes on the floor, cream splattering everywhere as my mouth fell open in shock.

Dear God, no.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

This wasn’t happening.

The voice in my head screamed at me to run, to get out of there, but I knew I was trapped. He’d been standing behind the door when I’d come in, that’s why I’d missed him. A door that I needed to get through to escape. And as I stared at him, terror and panic gripping me in their evil claws, I knew it was him or me. I was about to experience the fight of my life.

He wore a navy-blue tailored suit that fitted his muscular frame to perfection.

His tattooed hand stirred the tea with precision.

And as he turned to smile at me, a slow, deadly smile that was full of murderous intent, I almost collapsed.

It couldn’t be.

No.

This had to be some kind of fucked-up joke, because he looked just like...

CHAPTER

FORTY-FIVE

S.K.A.M.

What a shame she’d dropped her box of pretty cream cakes when she saw me. But when she really saw me, when realisation set in and her eyes went wide, I felt a rush of adrenaline. This was going to be so fucking fun. The best kick I’d had in ages.

She couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing. Her eyes were showing her what her brain couldn’t comprehend.

“What’s up, Emma?” I asked casually, smirking as I turned back to the tea I was making and lifted the pot to pour another cup. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” I teased, and I felt the air between us shift.

She didn’t answer me, she just darted for the door to try and escape. She was so fucking predictable.

“Ah, not so fast,” I scolded, as my arm whipped out and grabbed her before she could reach the doorway. I yanked her to me, holding her back to my front. “We haven’t had any fun yet,” I whispered into her ear. “You’re not allowed to leave.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed, and I laughed.