Page 46 of Savagely Scarred

Sadie charges up to me again and spits the ball out before I even glance in her direction. She nudges my leg with her nose, and when I look down at her she is staring back at me with sad eyes. I rub the top of her head and sigh. It amazes me how intuitive dogs are. She knows when I’m sick, when I’m sad, and when my thoughts linger a little too long on the past.

Footsteps approach from behind me and I turn to face Sage, dressed in black jeans and a tee. Sadie rubs up against him, making sure to coat his clean pants in a layer of black fur.

“I need to go pick Dorian up and take him to pick his bike up from the mechanic’s. Will you be okay by yourself?”

I give a wry smile and say, “Yeah. I think I’ll take Sadie to the park.”

“Do you feel well enough to run?” He raises a questioning brow.

“I’ll be fine. And if not, she gets a doggy playdate instead.”

“Maybe avoid the street meat today.” He jokes and pulls me into him.

“That’s probably for the best.” I grin up at him.

He leans down and kisses me slowly and softly. His goodbye kisses now seem to be languid, like he’s trying to memorize them in case it’s the last one.

“I love you. Be careful,” he whispers against my lips.

“Always.”

As he turns and walks back through the house, I glance over my shoulder toward the woods again.

This move was supposed to be a fresh start. I couldn't stay at my dad's house after what had happened. The bad memories snuffed out the good ones with a tormenting haze.

I fell in love with this house because I envisioned all the possibilities of our future together. Dinner parties with our friends. Our children playing with the dog, running around the yard, and swimming in the pond. For the first time in over ten years, I was excited to finally be able to live.

But we began our future under the delusion of security. It was supposed to be safe. Not just for me—for all of us.

My gaze runs along the back perimeter of the iron fence. It's designed to keep people out. But I feel like I'm trapped inside.

I turn and whistle for Sadie to follow. When she doesn't immediately come, I look back over my shoulder and find her staring into the woods.

My chest pulls inward and my pulse increases. I flinch when she barks at a squirrel before running to my side with her tail wagging.

Is this feeling ever going to go away?

Chapter Thirteen

Kyle

Clouds drift in over the Hudson River, muting the sunlight from the sky. The breeze that’s spilling in from the shoreline ruffles my hair. My pace slows to a crawl as I approach the overpass in Riverside Park.

Yellow crime scene tape waves in the distance and I take up a position out of the way, behind a crowd that is forming. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head to conceal my face.

Police officers are scattered everywhere. Some holding back the curious onlookers, some taking pictures, and the others pacing the area like snails, looking for evidence. The detectives gather around a body lying in the grass at their feet.

I shift my stance to get a better look over the man’s shoulder in front of me. The dark-haired woman is lying with her feet together and her hands clasped on her chest. She’s positioned perfectly to feign sleep.

The corner of my lips tug up in a sneer. There are too many people here. This murder is staged with precision and doesn’t deserve so many unworthy eyes feasting on it.

I linger a little longer before I retreat and head down sixty sixth street towards Central Park. An alert goes off on my phone, and I check my tracking app to see that Olivia is almost here.

She should really stop being so predictable if she doesn’t want to get caught. She’s making this so easy for me. But after last night, I need to take the next step. I cannot let this other woman distract me anymore.

I enter Central Park near the softball fields. Only one of them is being used, while the rest remain barren. Turning left, I head towards Runner’s Grove—the path specifically made for runner’s and bicyclists. I never understood the whole ‘health kick’ gimmick. We’re all going to die. It’s just a matter of when. And death doesn’t care how fit you are. He’s not picky.

But the Devil is.