Page 25

“Oh, I don’t know, Charlie. From where I’m standing, it looks like you might be the monster here.”

I arch a brow, surprised he knows Charlie’s name. It’s not like Charlie Foreman hasn’t been in the news numerous times, but the fact that he pegged Charlie right away means that he must have had his sights on him, right?

“Let’s see, four reports of sexual harassment. Three known cases of sexual assault. Buried. Gone. Poof.” Skylar taps his chin, the gesture mockingly innocent as he paces a deliberate path between me and the bleeding man on the ground. Every pass is a calculated torment, taunting Charlie while teasing me. The ghost of his knuckles brushes my hip. My arm. My thigh. A fleeting, heavy heat that promises everything and guarantees nothing.

“No!” he shouts. “I was cleared of all that. Lies!”

Skylar continues as if Charlie hadn’t said a thing. “There are even numerous rumors that you’re a pedophile, Charlie. So, no, I don’t think Jericho is a monster. The only monster here is you.” The little minx never raises his voice; he doesn’t lose his composure. But I see it: his pretty eyes are vibrant, wild, and a touch deranged. Fucking hell. I’m not looking at Skylar King, the porn star and entrepreneur. I’m catching a glimpse of the White Amethyst Killer, and I’m obsessed.

Chapter thirteen

Skylar

The moment Jericho’s fist collided with Charlie’s face, I got hard. Then again, I’m pretty sure Jericho could read me a dictionary, and I’d have a damn flagpole in my pants. I didn’t expect my sexy hitman to use his fists, and I must admit it does something to me.

Charlie is still sitting in the dirt, gravel from the asphalt digging into his hands as he blubbers and begs. His cheek is gushing blood, and honestly, it’s getting everywhere. Some people don’t realize there are so many little blood vessels in the cheek. One little gash or cut can be just as alarming and bloody as a head wound.

“Please,” Charlie says again, using his hand to try to swipe his sweat-drenched hair out of his eyes. One eye keeps squinting shut.

I squat down to his level and press my index finger against his cut. He keens, flinching in pain. “Damn,” I say. “Look at you, Charlie Boy. Blood, snot, and tears everywhere. You’re making a fucking mess.” He’s crying even harder now.

My attention is drawn to the tiny white items on the ground. As I pick them up, it dawns on me that these are the pills Charlie planned on using on Jericho.

Jericho steps up behind me. His delicious scent of shea butter and vanilla mingles with the fresh copper in the air. I’m tempted to lean back and press my cheek against his thigh like a damn cat scenting its territory. Jericho has such a dominating presence; I want to bask in it. Finally, I glance up and peer at him. He’s idly caressing the dull edge of a folding tactical knife, its blade catching in the dim streetlight.

Charlie seems to notice the large blade at the same time as I do and screams. I roll my eyes. “You should probably be quiet, or Jericho here might be tempted to cut out your tongue,” I say. Jericho’s lips curl into another smile. He’s handsome like this.

It dawns on me then that the two of us can’t stop grinning around each other. It’s kinda romantic, especially if you consider murder our love language.

“Did you leave me a flower at the gym?” Jericho asks suddenly, as if he’s thinking romantic thoughts too.

“Yes, sir,” I tease. “I also left you one by your mailbox the other day. Did you see it?”

Charlie’s face scrunches with confusion as his gaze bounces between the two of us. His pathetic whimpers are starting to ruin the mood.

Jericho chuckles. “I did. Never thought I’d have the White Amethyst Killer courting me with flowers.”

Charlie’s head whips back my way and studies me. I’m still squatting at eye level. I see the moment it clicks. Fear. True fear oozes off him in waves. I close my eyes, savoring it. My fingers toy with the pills in my hand.

“Wh-why did he say that?”

Eyes still closed, I tilt my head, smiling. “Say what?” I ask, playing stupid.

“Are you really the White Amethyst Killer?”

I’m about to confirm it when he jumps up. I snap my eyes open in time to see Charlie try to bolt. Jericho is already there, pressing his chest against Charlie’s back and holding his intimidating blade to his throat. “Now that’s just rude, Charlie. You weren’t that scared of me, and I’m holding a fucking knife. But suddenly, you find out Skylar is a famous serial killer, and now you want to run?”

I can’t help it; I laugh. This is so fucking ridiculous. And exhilarating. Intoxicating. Fun. Who knew having a partner in crime could be like this?

“Tell me, Skylar. Is Charlie here worth poisoning, or should we just slice his throat open?”

My fingers wander up to the pendant around my neck. “I’ve never poisoned anyone who didn’t directly hurt my sister,” I confess. “My special blend is only meant for them. I’ve spent years secretly planting White Amethyst all over New Vernon in honor of Fiona. So much so, it’s now considered the city’s flower, despite the serial killer moniker now attached to it.” Then, I remember all the victims Charlie hurt. One of them died by suicide. Another gone, their body never found. I didn’t have much time to dig any further, but I’m sure there are more victims. Even so, everything I did see is enough for me to want this man killed.

Jericho is studying me, that gleeful manic look still mirroring mine. He’s fucking perfect. A vigilante who also gets off on a kill. I can tell he needs this as much as I do. I never really thought much about killing other rapists and abusers who haven’t hurt my sister, but as I continue to stare at the handsome killer in front of me, I know what I want.

I saunter up to Jericho, press my body against his side, and place my hand over his. “No,” I reply. “He’s a piece of shit who isn’t worth the poison in my sister’s pendant.” With that, I yank Jericho’s hand, using it to slash the blade across Charlie’s neck.

Blood gushes from the cut. Jericho shoves Charlie to the ground before he can spray us. We both step back, perfectly in sync. It takes about ten seconds for Charlie to pass out. He’ll be dead in less than five minutes. Our eyes meet. Intense dark orbs drown out the blue as he stares at me, waiting. Wanting. The streetlight flickers before giving out. Suddenly, it feels like the world around us falls away. It’s only us, swallowed by the night, bathed in the quiet glow of the moon.