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Sweat dripped down my brows as I quickly deleted the pictures, hoping no one had seen them. I couldn’t shake the persistent chill that crept through my bones.
I am happy to be home.
Another comment popped up.
I will find you, you bastard.
Game on, K.Y. Wolff. But let me save you the disappointment. You won’t win.
27
A LIFE FOR A LIFE
RYDEN
Idreamed of Yara. Again. Her thick, silky hair was in my grasp, her beautiful breasts bouncing up and down as she rode me. Hard. Panting. Moaning. When she finally screamed my name, we unraveled together, and I woke up from the dream, drenched, aroused, and panting.
“Fuck. Not this fucking dream again.”
This wasn’t my first dream of her, and I knew this wouldn’t be the last.
My bed was wet from my cum—it was strange, this overwhelming obsession and need. Feeling guilty and feverish, I closed my eyes and almost smelled her on my skin.
Cursing myself and her, I jumped out of the bed and went to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of cold water, I emptied it in three large gulps, hoping it would satiate the hunger and heat.
It didn’t help.
My fingers itched to grab my phone back up and… use that app. Again and again until she felt my desperation. That little tease. She knew what this would do to me. She knew exactly how I would feel after this.
The need was like rusty nails drilling into my skull, and the sound was loud. I tried. I tried so hard to shut it out. But it was persistent. Screaming and begging for attention.
“You’re like a ghost, Yara West. Haunting me day and night,” I growled, punching against the wall, wondering if there was a way to shut off that part of my brain.
My sleep was long gone by now.
Taking a deep breath, I sat down on my table and switched on my laptop before opening the folder full of case notes on the tattoo girls.
After looking through the pictures for the hundredth time, I could recite everything by memory, and still, the killer was out of my fucking reach. “Where are you hiding?” I hissed. There was another constant question ringing in my head, even when I didn’t want to.
“When will you kill again? Who will you kill this time?”
Cursing, I closed the case file before starting the Hunters and Preys podcast. This would help me not think about the girls or Yara.
Here was another woman who haunted me. K.Y. Wolff.
Turning my mind to this disaster I had created for myself helped me forget Yara for a millisecond, but even the danger of my secret coming out to the world didn’t detract me from wanting her.
My spiraling thoughts were reined in by the dark voice coming out of the speaker.
“…and as the girl bled to her death in a public lavatory, the wolf watched. There was no sympathy in his eyes. Later, he would say… she asked for it.”
“Fuck Vic. What the fuck have you done?”
“She hadn’t asked for it. A mother who was dying. A drunk father. Every card dealt to her was against her. Her fate was against her,” K.Y. Wolff continued. “She was pushed toward a life she had never thought of for herself. She didn’t ask to become pregnant, she didn’t ask to die killing a child that came from a sin, she didn’t ask. It was his sin, and he must bear the price of it. A life for a life. Somehow, somewhere, the scales had to be balanced.”
Could Victor have really done that? Going to a prostitute was one thing, but impregnating a girl and then letting her die? And if he did, would it make me a hypocrite to mourn his loss? If he had truly committed such a heinous crime, he would be no different from the men I hunted and killed, and he’d deserve to die.
Knowing that didn’t alleviate the guilt or the pain, though.
