Page 81 of A Wild Darkness

Sebastian may not be mine, but he will not be hers either.

Keeping my hand firmly tucked into his while the rest of the table gives sociopathic monologues about themselves, I grow more eager for my turn.

And then Silas gestures toward Sebastian and me. “And last, but certainly not least, our entertainment from the last event and newbies this year, the Dark Prince and Annabel Lee.”

Cotton forms in my throat as adrenaline seizes my limbs. I suck in a deep breath and remember my purpose. “Hello, I’m Annabel Lee.” I swallow dryly. “I like to seduce my victims first, then play with them a little before eventually stabbing them in the chest.” I fold my arms against my chest, giving them a little attitude. “But if you all think you’re gonna get the gory details of my process, you can think again. As like Poe, my favorite poet, I follow a certain level of mystery and like to keep it that way,” I say, keeping my voice steady and flat, hoping that closes the door on anything else they might press for.

Silas opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly Sebastian stands at my side, stopping the possibility of follow-up questions I’m not prepared to answer. “I’m the Dark Prince. It’s a stupid name, but it was written in a local news article once, and it’s stuck with me.” He rolls up his sleeves as they’ve fallen lower, flexing his arm muscles covered in black ink. “So, that’s what you all can call me, and do not expect me to respond to anything different.” The confidence and conviction in his voice sound real, even to me. “Annabel is my girlfriend, as you all know, and we’re from the Pacific Northwest.” Sebastian’s jaw clenches. “Now, to get into what I do. I choose my victims very carefully. They must follow a certain code for me to kill them. And if they do, I simply shoot them.”

As Sebastian speaks, I become hypnotized by his words. He’s a natural. No evidence of reluctance or nerves. The power he cultivates around him—danger simmering below the surface—is not so different from the other killers at the table. But with him, he hones it in a different way.

His choices may bend the rules of what the world would consider moral, but sometimes we have to bend the rules for the collective good.

Don’t we?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

SEBASTIAN

Stevie and I are back in the room a couple of hours later.

The barrel room conversations revolved around who’s dick is bigger type of talk, and honestly, it angered me because if they knew the size of my cock, there would be no competition. The deeper into the evening we went, the more sinister the dialog became. Each time I sensed Stevie’s agitation, I tried to soothe her by rubbing her leg or squeezing her hand, but she’s tough and showed it.

What I hadn’t planned for was the way my body responded to how she held her own during the night. I’m growing more infatuated with her with each passing day, and I’m perplexed on whether that’s a good or bad thing.

After closing the door behind us, I case the room, checking out each area for hidden cameras, microphones, or doors. This is a retreat for serial killers who are supposed to trust each other, so I doubt there’d be anything to worry about regarding our security, but I can never be too careful.

“How are you holding up?” I ask as soon as I feel more comfortable.

Only a few steps away from me, Stevie stops and pauses before turning around. “It was compelling, to say the least. And obviously not in a good way.”

“Compelling?”

She purses her lips together. “It kept my interest the entire time. Terrified me, but I was deeply interested in their sick introductions.”

“No matter how many monsters I’ve heard speak, it never gets easier.” I slowly close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around her shoulders from behind to give her some comfort after all that we heard tonight. She leans into me. “I know it was hard, but you did incredibly well.”

Her body relaxes under my embrace. “Thanks, Sebastian.”

I hold her tight for only a second longer, then release right before things get weird. Stevie turns to face me, her expression troubled. “These people are out of their damn minds.”

“Yeah, I’d say that.”

“I need a drink.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because there is an unopened bottle of cabernet in the fridge,” I say, walking over to the minibar.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to drink?” A smirk playing on her lips.

“Around them,” I correct, placing the bottle onto the counter and grabbing an opener from a side drawer. “But it’s just us, and it’s a sealed bottle. Tampering with it is unlikely.”

Stevie arches a brow. “You have trust issues, don’t you?”

“In my world, you can never be too careful.” I grab two glasses from the cupboard and pour us each one. I don’t drink when on the job, but tonight was a lot to take, even for me.

“I’ve been dying for a glass all night.” She kicks off her heels and sashays over to the bar. “Watching everyone enjoy that expensive wine was torture.”

I hand her a crystal wineglass, cocking my head at the interesting choice of words, considering the situation we’re in. “I would use that term loosely.”