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He probably had one hundred different calls that quizzed my sanity, all from the creeps who’d survived both of my slaughters down at the shithole where I spent too much of my time.
The gravel driveway between me and my home grew smaller. I parked nowhere near Ollie, just so he wouldn’t see the filth inside my truck, giving him less to complain about.
I stepped out and took a second to look at the blood staining my seat. Maybe it was time for a new one. I wouldn’t miss this one. It was old and dated and not a thing of beauty. But blood aside, it wasn’t quite ready for the junkyard, either.
Long strides carried me to the house.
The front door, beautified by its stained glass, creaked shut as I stepped inside.
“Honeys, I’m home,” I told whoever was around.
Everyone was gathered in the open-plan living space, sitting in the muted glow of a weak-ass lamp. I didn’t look their way or listen to any conversations they were having.
I rushed to my bathroom, bloody footprints following me because I hadn’t taken off my shoes.
“Remi,” Ollie called, his feet quickly catching up with me. His shiny shoes avoided the filth I’d dragged in. “What the fuck—”
“Context, Ollie?”
“What the fuck were you playing at today!”
I thought about answering, but the words I opted for closed the conversation. “I need to shower.”
I looked away from his perfectly pressed suit, gelled hair, and tanned skin, feeling like I looked like fucking death in comparison. And because I’d been acting like the Grim Reaper recently, slashing through so many bodies, that was a good way of describing myself.
“What happened?” He guided me back around when I tried to walk away. His eyes roved over me quickly, checking me for injuries.
“Are you done perving? I’m fine.”
“Whose blood is this?” Disgust coated his face.
“Have you not looked at your phone? There’ll be messages.”
“I’ve been busy.”
My eyebrow raised, and my sweat-dripping hair tickled it. “Me, too.”
“What happened?”
I stopped with my hand on the door knob. My fingers were desperate to turn it.
“I’ll explain tomorrow. I’m tired, and—”
“And we both know you won’t sleep. So, tell me. What happened?”
“I killed another one.” I shrugged like it meant as little as the life I’d taken.
I headed into my room, kicking off my shoes at the door. The hallway’s wooden floor would be much easier to clean than my fluffy carpet.
Ollie followed me into my bathroom, leaving that door and my bedroom one open for the words of our conversation to escape.
“Why?” His body tensed, and all the agitation I caused became harder to hold inside.
“Why not?”
“Don’t be a cocky asshole. Why did you kill another—”
“Monster? I take it you’re looking for something more than because he didn’t deserve to live?”
