Page 184 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

“There are trails here,” I murmur. “I stuck around until I couldn’t see him anymore, but what was I supposed to do?” Pinning him with my gaze in the moonlight, I can see the slight discomfort in the way he shifts and looks into the trees. “Come on.” Without giving him an option to refuse, I walk past him to the mouth of the trail we’d taken when he had Alan’s body held between us.

Has it really only been two weeks?

Somehow, it feels both shorter and longer than that. It’s been two weeks since Larkin found me, and just under that since he contacted me for the first time.

Two weeks that I’ve known him, and already I can’t imagine going back to my life before Larkin. The clarity was missing, I realize. But not just clarity. There’s something disingenuous about how I’ve been living for the past few years post-mental hospital. Though I couldn’t see it, I was sinking further and further into a life and a self that isn’t mine.

That’s over now, though. Alan’s death and Larkin’s insinuation into my life ripped away the fog and the complacency that had grown over my bones like ivy. Now, I simply have to finish that transition back to the girl I maybe always was.

Was Larkin right?

I haven’t thought much about his words from that night in the cabin. His insinuation that I was born this way had made me feel things that make me uncomfortable and confused. His words had shaken something in me, and it’s been easier to just push them away to worry about another time. Preferably never, if I’m being honest. But here in the cold moonlight, while leading another man to his death like some kind of siren come to life from myth, I can’t help but wonder if he was right all along.

If he’s seen it in me since the moment we met.

“Hmm?” I realize belatedly that Flanagan is speaking, though his words aren’t particularly important to me. Still, I’m trying to play nice, and I glance back at him through the darkness of the trail, because the moon above is hidden enough that we’re mostly in darkness.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up as he replies, and this time when I look around, my eyes narrow at the feeling of being watched.

There shouldn’t be anyone else here, though. This place is an old trail, pretty deserted in the winter, and ours were the only cars in the lot. Shrugging it off, I focus back on Flanagan’s words, determined to at least make him think I care.

“He really came this way?” When Flanagan trips over a root, I stop to watch him recover, listening to his soft, snarled curses under his breath. “You sure about that?”

“Pretty sure. From the lot he went down this trail, and it’s not connected to any others. He seemed really upset, though. He was…frantic.” I sigh the word and start walking again, hands clasped behind my back. “You know, Alan wasn’t very nice.” My words are musing, and I find myself loosening up, drunk on feelings of excitement and anticipation. “He was cruel to Esme. I told her to break up with him…a lot, actually.”

I snort ruefully, the trail beginning to open up to the cliffs where the water of the bay crashes against the rocks. When I turn to glance at him, I’m happy to see that Flanagan is still half-distracted as he fights for his life on unfamiliar footing. It’s adorably pathetic, and my smile widens slightly.

“But he wouldn’t let her. That night? When he came to our apartment? He stood there, banging on our fucking door. He was demanding Esme let him in, since apparently they had another fight at work and she finally decided to leave him. How fucked up is that, Mr. Flanagan?” In the open space and with the open air of the ocean behind me, I stop walking, my hands behind my back as I watch him trip the rest of the way out of the trees.

“How fucked up can a guy be to just not take a hint? She finally had to let him in because he turned on me when I came home, and Es was afraid for me. She’s always afraid for me,” I add with a rueful chuckle. “It’s very nice of her. Though I don’t usually need it. She wanted him gone and kept trying to tell him that after he got into the apartment. You know how men rant and rave, saying women should just tell them no instead of playing games?”

Flanagan looks at me with confused suspicion on his face.

“Well, Esme did all that. She told him no in every single way imaginable, but he didn’t listen. He put his dirty fucking hands around her throat and I honestly believe he would’ve killed her, Mr. Flanagan. So…” I tilt my head to the side, my gaze fixed on his expression. “What would you have done? If it were your wife, or your best friend? Would you have stood there and just let that happen?”

Realization dawns across his face, and a rush of excitement goes through me. But like any overconfident man who can’t fathom the idea that a woman could be dangerous, he takes a few steps toward me with a bewildered look on his pockmarked face. “You killed him. You didn’t drive him here⁠—”

“No, we definitely did,” I assure him. “He just didn’t get to appreciate the drive. We drove him here and carried him along the same trail that you and I just walked.” Every step closer that he takes, something else lights up inside me. I nod my head towards the water and sidestep to give him access.

“This was the last place anyone saw him, Mr. Flanagan,” I promise the private investigator with a smile. “I made sure of that when I wrapped him in garbage bags, filled them with rocks, and rolled him over the edge that night.”

He turns to me, but the horror is tempered with suspicious disbelief as he searches my face for any sign of a bluff. Flanagan looks toward the cliff, then back at me, and I can tell he’s trying to decide if I’m full of shit or actually telling the truth.

I let him work through it, enjoying the conflicting emotions on his face. It’s a bit disappointing he doesn’t believe I’m capable of it straight off, but that’s okay. I don’t mind proving it to him, and that’s my goal for tonight, anyway.

He’ll believe me.

Even if it only sinks in once I’ve opened a hole in his throat and let him bleed all over the ground before shoving him off the cliff as well.

“Why?” he asks finally, when he’s stared at the ocean for a few long minutes. I don’t answer right away, however. Yet again I’m distracted by the feeling of being watched, and I’m tempted to search around the clearing to see if I’m missing something.

Who would be here?

Esme sure as hell wouldn’t follow me. She’s probably shaking herself apart by now. And if it’s not here, then the only other option is⁠—

My eyes find Larkin in the dark just as the realization hits me. He doesn’t move when I notice him, and he’s barely visible leaning against the broad trunk of a pine at the end of the trail. Still, I can feel his gaze, and I can sense his small smile, even in the dark.

Instead of fear, excitement floods me, pushing the cold of my murderous intent deeper through my bones. Somehow, the idea of doing this while he watches, of putting on some kind of fucked-up show for my new, psychotic lover, puts this on another level in my brain.