Page 161 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

Well, the world is better with him not in it. Though I can’t help wondering what Larkin would’ve done to him. If he really was supposed to be Larkin’s first kill, was there some elaborate plan in place to kill the man? Would he have made him suffer more than I did?

The fear recedes a little, replaced with curiosity and fascination about the man who put me in his trunk. Just out of spite, I kick the top of the trunk, though I end up yelping at the pain in my toes from hitting it the wrong way. Belatedly, I glance at my phone screen, noting that I have service, and I consider calling someone.

Cass.

9-1-1.

Esme.

Cass.

But he’ll just lecture me, and there isn’t really anything he can do for me anyway. Unless Winnie is into some weird shit, I doubt he’s ever had the unpleasant experience of being thrown in a trunk and driven to some unknown location to be murdered.

The cops will help, sure, until they find out what I’ve done recently. I don’t trust Larkin to keep his mouth shut, and I’m sure the video of me and Alan would end up in the hands of a detective before his body was cold, if I could even manage to kill him before he kills me.

I shine the light around in the small space again, finding nothing out of the ordinary again. It’s just a trunk, and there’s not even a stray tire iron I could use to defend myself, unfortunately. But then again, that would be careless. Larkin doesn’t strike me as careless.

Taking a breath, I can’t help but focus on the tightness of my chest and the racing of my heart. I’m afraid, and still marveling at the unfamiliar feeling that I haven’t felt since I was a child. Have I ever felt this way since I killed my mother?

The car slows and I tense, expecting the car to come to a full stop, but we start moving again, making me think it was just a stoplight. The pattern continues for a bit; slow, stop, turn, drive—until I’m staring up at the trunk with trepidation and impatience.

Where are we going?

I almost don’t notice when the car turns and finally slows to a stop. I’ve become too used to the takeoff happening again, so when I feel the car shift into park, my reaction is belated. Quickly, I pocket my phone, uncomfortable with how I can feel every thump of my heart in my chest. From the front of the car, I can hear and feel the driver’s door being closed once the engine is off. It’s warm enough back here that my shivers are purely from emotions, rather than the cold, and I brace myself as much as I can.

While I don’t have a plan, I can at least give this my best effort. I don’t want to die and get thrown in the bay with Alan. I may not be able to kill Larkin, but I’m determined to take a chunk of him with me. Anger and something too much like terror make my blood race, and when the trunk opens, I surge upward, not wanting to wait for the attack I foresee in my head.

But there’s no knife being plunged into my chest, though. No gun in my face. No hand around my throat. I’m able to sit up uninhibited until I’m on my knees in the trunk, hunched a little to avoid hitting my head, and staring up at Larkin as he gives me a bemused look.

“Jumpy, much?” he observes, looking me over with shrewd, dark eyes. “What’s wrong? Did you expect me to stab you and get your blood all over my trunk the moment I opened it?”

Well…yeah. I had. My hesitation makes him grin, and Larkin tilts his head to the side with an impish curl to his lips. “Poor silly girl.” With a sweeping gesture, he steps back, allowing me my space to get out of the trunk at my leisure.

I do so, glancing around the parking garage that’s not even half the size of the one for my apartment. The other cars here are shiny and new, just like Larkin’s, though nothing outright luxurious. But still, there’s a marked difference from the vehicles with their dents and dings in my area.

“Where are we?” I demand, confused. This isn’t what I expected, and I hate being thrown off like this. But then again, everything tonight has thrown me off. When he doesn’t answer, I turn to look at Larkin, a jolt of surprise going through me when I see the way he’s watching me get my bearings. His dark eyes are fixed on me, on my movements. There’s no uncertainty or suspicion in his gaze, just pure interest.

“My apartment building,” he tells me after a few seconds, his gaze dragging up my body to my face. “We’re on a date, remember?”

“We’re not on a date.” I glance around the garage, noting the glass doors leading to an elevator on one side and the closed metal gate on the other. There’s just enough space beside the gate for a person to walk through, and I know that if I can make it out to the street, I’ll be able to use the public to my advantage. There’s no way he’ll come after me or drag me back if there are people around. With my heart racing and that new, uncomfortable fear making me feel shaky, I’m starting to think I’m more desperate than I’ve ever been before trying to save myself from a true serial killer like Larkin.

“Careful.” The word is so quiet that I almost don’t hear him. I hold Larkin’s gaze for just a moment longer, my body vibrating with nervous energy. I take a breath, then another, my body tight with tension. Something in his gaze tells me I shouldn’t do this. That I should just see what he wants, instead of making my own plan.

But fuck that.

Without warning, I dart toward the metal gate, my steps quickly taking me over the asphalt of the parking garage. My steps echo, and my heart pounds in my ears as I run without looking back. That’ll only slow me down.

A sound somewhere between a scream and a gasp leaves me when my hoodie is grabbed, putting pressure on my neck. It forces me to slow down enough for Larkin to wrap an arm around my waist and yank me back to him, his body solid and unyielding. “Pathetic,” he growls in my ear. “Though predictable from such a silly girl.”

“Stop calling me that!” I snarl, forcibly spinning in his hold. My nose nearly brushes his as he grins down at me, and I wrap my fingers in his jacket, yanking on him, trying to destabilize him or pull him off balance.

Larkin, however, has other ideas.

He yields to the force of my hand, letting me drag him down until his lips press to mine. Softly, at first, his mouth slides, slightly open, against mine where I’m panting and hissing out a protest. His chuckle is soft and breathy, and I’m still snarling as my brain processes what the hell is going on.

But he’s ahead of the game. Part of me wonders if this was his intention all along, with how quickly he reacts. His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in tightly through my hoodie as he drags me closer to him. Larkin breathes sharply against my open, panting mouth, and I swear I feel him grin against my lips before he yanks me against him sharply.

His mouth is hot and sharp and intense against mine. My hands grab for his jacket, pushing and pulling, though I can’t decide if I want more or if I want to get away from him. Out of spite, I bite down on his lower lip, digging my teeth in until I taste blood.