Page 47 of How To Catch A Killer … And Date His Best Friend

I glare at him. “I’m not raging.”

“You’re raging.”

Fuck. He’s such a pain in the ass.

Letting out a breath, I try to find just a shred of control before I find something else heavy to chuck at his head. “I meant that I know who you are. What you do.” I level him with a hard stare, letting him know that the time for games is over.

He watches me for a moment, those pitch-black eyes calculating, then a smirk lifts the corner of his lips, and he scoffs. “You don’t know.”

I gape at him. Why the fuck did that just remind me of Joey Tribiani?

Okay, I know I clearly failed to kill him before, but the night is still young. There’s more than enough time to finish this bastard. “I saw you,” I insist. “Today. Around the corner from Black Velvet. Right after you messaged me about leaving your ass on read, which you deserved, by the way. You got out of your stupid sexy car, and I thought you were stalking me, and so I figured, I’d stalk you back.”

His brow arches just a fraction as his hands slightly twitch. “Oh, you did, did you?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And then what?”

I pause, my gaze narrowing on him. “You’re careful, but not careful enough.”

His gaze narrows right back. “Is that so?”

I nod, my palms starting to sweat.

“Savage,” Hunter prompts. “What did you see?”

I swallow hard, and he lets out a sigh. “If you don’t start talking, I’m gonna put your ass in the trunk of my Challenger and help people look for you.”

Holy shit. This guy really is a psychopath.

A lump grows in my throat, and it suddenly becomes much harder to speak. “I watched you waltz into that building like you had every right to be there, and then shoot some guy straight through the eyes.”

He just watches me a moment before that stupid smirk returns. “Wow. And you still let me fuck you? Shit, Savage. You’ve got it bad. You really are a wild one, aren’t you?”

My jaw drops. What the actual fuck?

“I . . . I saw you, Hunter,” I sputter. He truly isn’t grasping the concept. “You killed a man in his doorway and then took off as though you’d done it a million times before.”

I start pacing the living room again.

Hunter scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. A million is a little overkill. Hundreds, sure.”

I gape at the bound man. “Hundreds? You’ve killed hundreds of men?”

“Men and women,” he clarifies.

“What the . . . What is wrong with you? You can’t just go around killing people.”

He grins, his eyes sparkling with silent laughter. “When someone is willing to pay the right price, then I assure you, Lyra, I certainly can.”

“I . . . I don’t even know what to say to you,” I sputter, tossing my hands around and remembering too late that there’s a kitchen knife still grasped in my palm, almost costing me an ear. “So, you just . . . kill people for fun?”

His only response is a careless shrug, and all I can do is stare, completely dumbfounded, frantically trying to wrap my head around this. He’s a killer. A cold-blooded killer, and he does it for fun.

What the actual fuck have I gotten myself into?

“So, ahh . . . At what point are you going to let me go?”