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Indeed, she’s a woman after my heart. My goddess of death in the flesh.
The way she leaned into me for comfort as she, consumed with paranoia, barely slept. I welcomed her with open arms, kept her company, and allowed her some reprieve—even if I was one of the shadows that haunted her every waking moment.
Because, my dear Gwen, I’llalwaysmake time for you.
Disbelief flickers across her face. Then she runs, blood pooling around her hand as she desperately applies pressure to her wounded side. It drips along the floor, spattering crimson on the carpet, leaving a trail. It’s like she’s enacting her own horror movie—and I’m the one who brought it to life.
I lock the door and start after her with long strides. She stumbles as she reaches the hall, briefly losing her balance. Stabilizing herself, she leaves a bloody handprint smeared on the wall as she runs into her bedroom. Fuck, it’s beautiful—she’sbeautiful. I hear her moving something, probably furniture to barricade the door because it doesn’t have a lock.
“Gwen,” I call out, wiping the blood from the blade on my pants. “I know what you did. Don’t worry, I’m not angry. I just wanna talk!”
“Fuck you!” she yells, still fortifying her little sanctuary.
Her defiance is admirable, but it’s also futile. I try the doorknob, but it doesn’t budge much. With a sigh, I stand back and count to three. On one, I slam my shoulder into the door at full force. She shrieks as it flies open, her vanity crashing to the floor. Broken shards of mirror crunch under my feet as I step inside.
Gwen retreats to the other side of the room, her hands searching for a weapon behind her. Settling on a lamp, she chucks it at me. I dodge it and smirk, even though she can’t see it behind the mask. Her chest heaves with the effort of her breathing, blood seeping from between her fingers as she continues to hold her side.
Slowly, I step toward her. “We can do this the easy way,” I say, brandishing my knife and pointing it at her. “Or the hard way. You choose.”
“Go to hell,” she spits through gritted teeth.
Before she can blink, I’m on her. Blood loss has slowed her reaction time, and I’m easily able to shove her to the floor, straddling her. She tries to push me off, but I snatch her wrists and hold them above her head. With my free hand, I press the tip of my knife against her lips, silencing her protests.
“Don’t worry, my Little Finch,” I say, grinding against her. “I’ll take good care of you.”
“Don’t—”
“Don’t what?” I mock, dragging the knife ever so slowly down to her neck. She shivers—from fear or arousal, maybe both—when I shallowly cut into her flesh. My laughter fills the room as I slide the knife down to her wound. “Stab you? ‘fraid I already did.” I trace it, coating the blade in blood, and lift it so that she sees it before wiping it on her cheek. “You’re beautiful, covered in blood.”
“Blake, stop. I?—”
I grind my teeth, my nostrils flaring as irrational anger courses through me. “Who gives a shit about that fucking dork?” I slip my blade underneath her blouse, breaking each button until her breasts bounce free. “You’re mine.” I grasp her chin and force her to look at me. “You belong tome. Do you understand?”
She bares her teeth, glaring at me. “And if I don’t?”
I squeeze her face and let out a sinister laugh. “Then you’ll suffer the consequences,” I say, sliding the knife down her sternum, causing a thin line of blood to trickle down her chest. “I’m sure you remember what happened the last time you defied me. And all the other times you strayed from me.”
Her eyes widen as the truth sinks in—before her lips curl into a snarl, the pieces coming together. “You killed them, didn’t you?Allof them.”
“Yes. They paid the price for trying to take you away from me.” I brush my thumb across her bottom lip. “Grace, Briar, Chris, Otto, Jen?—”
“You son of a bitch!” she screams, angry tears welling up in her eyes. “Grace and Jen didn’t deserve to die! They weren’t like us—they were good people!”
I tilt my head and chuckle. “So youfinallyadmit it, then? That we’re alike?”
“You’re a fucking hypocrite,” she snaps, ignoring me. “You claim you want to right wrongs, kill bad people. But then you murder people who don’t deserve it. What sort of crooked ass ‘justice’ is that?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I don’t always get rid of the ‘right’ people. But what did you expect, Little Finch? I’m akiller.”
Fury blazes in her eyes before she breaks free of my grasp. In some pathetic last-ditch effort to escape, she attempts to kick me in the face. But I catch her by the ankle, squeezing it hard as I twist it. She yelps in pain, yet still tries to scramble away. But I’m stronger, faster. And with that wound, there’s no way she can gain the upper hand.
“Let me go!” she cries out.
Before she can make it to her feet, I grab her wrists and push her back until she’s restrained against the wall. She scowls, breathing heavily, her wound handicapping her.
“The justice system fails people every day. The only way to make a change is doing it the right way—by taking it into your own hands.” She tries to thrash her way out of my grasp, but I keep her pinned, my grip like iron. “I may have murdered some people who didn’t ‘deserve’ it. But others needed to be punished. That’s why I do this—to make sure justice is served.”
She narrows her eyes at me, though I know she understands what I’m trying to tell her. After sheathing my knife, I take off my mask and toss it aside.
