“You’re not weird, and your eyes are not what defines you.”
Stella swallowed, and a tiny glimmer of a smile crossed her face. This smile was a genuine smile, tiny and shallow, but there nonetheless. It was a smile I wanted to bottle up and save for later. Hopefully tonight I would see more smiles, bigger ones.
Our entrees came in ten minutes. I’d ordered a steak with fries, while Stella stuck to chicken fingers, like a ten-year-old. I might’ve made fun of her for her choice of meal, to which she simply said, “You never know what you’re going to get, but chicken? You can never go wrong with chicken.” She spoke them like they were words to live by.
I chuckled, feeling the need to reach over the table and grasp her hand. God, I wanted to make her see that we made so much sense, that this was right. Why was she so oblivious to it? What would it take for her to realize Mr. Right was standing in front of her all along? Yes, I’d made mistakes, but I was trying to make up for them.
I needed her to see it.
I also needed to know if she went home with that guy at the bar…for reasons.
“I still can’t believe you’ve never dated,” I spoke as I cut my steak. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched her reaction. She barely blinked, like she had nothing to hide. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was all in my head.
Maybe I needed to take a damn chill pill.
“Does that mean you’ve never held hands before?” I teased her. “Never been kissed?” Stella didn’t react one bit. Hmm. So maybe she hadn’t gone home with him. “Have you ever thought about it? Have you wanted to?”
What I should’ve done was follow her out of the bar and watch whether she walked home or got into his car—then I could’ve laid this nagging feeling I had to rest. If Stella went home with him…I would not be happy. I would be very, very upset. Too upset for words.
“It’s…complicated. Have I wanted to do those things just for the sake of doing them? Yes and no. I was jealous of Callie in the past, but only because I felt like it separated us, made me even more different. With the right person, I…I would do everything with the right person.”
Her words made me happy, made me almost forget about the stranger at the bar. Stella was a good person; she kept to herself. The odds of her throwing everything away and going home with a stranger were slim to none. It didn’t fit with her personality. I should stop worrying about it and move on.
Dinner passed in a blur of time, and it was as I went to pay the check that Stella’s phone buzzed, and I watched as she reached for it, her eyes flicking across the screen, reading whatever popped up. The plain look on her face morphed into one of amazement, one of shock and wonder.
I knew what it was—what it had to be, for only one thing ever made Stella so happy—before she said, “They found another body.” What I did not anticipate her saying was, “I have to go.” She grabbed her bag and was about to slide out of the booth; I would’ve followed her, if I would’ve paid already, but the waiter hadn’t yet come for the black book with my debit card in it.
She rushed out of the restaurant before I could catch her. What I should’ve done was just leave the bill, but I wasn’t the type of man who could dine and dash. The restaurant’s service had been good; they didn’t deserve that.
Just like I didn’t deserve to be stood up for a dead body.
By the time I got my debit card back and scribbled a tip on the restaurant’s copy of the receipt, I couldn’t even see her in the parking lot. Stella must’ve sprinted the moment she got outside.
Fuck.
I stood there for a while, in the waning light, watching the cars on the street pass by, stewing in my anger. I couldn’t blame Stella, because I knew how she was, knew her obsession. She was drawn to the unknown like a moth to flame. Still, this was not how I intended the night to go. Not at all.
I’d wanted her to realize she belonged with me, and our next stop would’ve been one step closer to it. I would’ve shown her how thoughtful I could be, but my chance was taken by the limelight of the fucking Angel Maker and his victims. There was only one way I could ever stand on the same ground as a killer in Stella’s eyes, only one thing I could do to make her see.
To make her see me, all of me.
It was a good thing I had a backup plan. It wasn’t what I wanted to do, but it was better than doing nothing. I refused to give up on Stella, refused to let her go. By all that was holy and right in the world, I would make her see her perfect man was standing right in front of her all along.
Stella would have to see sooner or later that I wasn’t going anywhere.
Chapter Twenty - Stella
I ran the fastest I think I ever ran, across the farthest distance ever, just to make it to the crime scene and see the news vans, the police’s flashing lights, and the crowd of nosy neighbors gathered in the street. The moment I got the notification from the local news station, the moment I saw the picture of the house, I knew.
I knew because the house was on a street only a few blocks away from mine. It was a house I passed almost daily. And now it was the second crime scene for the Angel Maker.
As I pushed my way through the whispering people, I couldn’t help but have a selfish hope: the body was arranged the same way, the hands bound together as if they were praying as they died. If he had a different MO, then my Angel Maker nickname was useless.
But I needn’t have worried, I realized as I pushed to the front of the crowd, against the yellow crime scene tape. I could see through the front windows of the house, giant glass panes whose light was on inside, the body sitting on the couch in the living room, soaked in blood and praying with her hands on her knees.
Fifty feet away, so it was hard for me to see any details, but I saw she was younger. Mid-twenties. Brown hair. She still wore her clothes, though they were soaked in blood, which would indicate this killer was not killing these people for a sexual purpose. He was killing them for another reason entirely—but what was it?
I studied the scene, like the outer crime scenes of grisly murders were my cup of tea. In a way, I supposed they were, but only because of the body and its implications.
This was getting close to home. Where would the next body be found? Was it just a coincidence I lived not too far from here?
The couple who must’ve been the owners of the house were busy talking to the police. A middle-aged couple, holding onto each other tightly. The wife was busy sobbing while the husband stuttered, “We—we came home from vacation a day early. We walking in and we…found her. I don’t…I’ve never seen her before, like I told you.”
“Forced entry?” The cop was busy scribbling something down on a tiny pad of paper. This obviously was not the first time the couple had been questioned, and inside the house, forensics were already busy gathering evidence. Without the light on inside the house, the body wouldn’t be visible if the curtain was drawn.
Which it wasn’t, meaning the body must’ve been placed here recently.
“None that I saw,” the husband spoke, his voice shaking.
If there was no forced entry, it meant whoever did this either had a key or could pick a lock. My bet would be on the second one, purely because anyone who had a key to this house would be a suspect, at least for a little while. This couple could easily prove they were out of town.
I wanted to stay, but as the sun set and darkness crept over the world, I knew I couldn’t. My fingers itched; I had to write about this. An unscheduled blog post would have to do.
Exiting the crowd, I meandered home. Before taking off my shoes, I flicked the TV on to the local news. Another breaking news banner ran across the screen, and as I sat my bag down on the couch, I heard Callie walking in heels behind me.
“What the hell is going on out there?” she asked, too dolled up for a night in.
I barely looked at her as I answered, “They found another body.” I pointed to the TV, and Callie let out a groan.
“I do not want to think about murders right now, Stel
la. I’m heading out with the girls. We’re going dancing like we’re twenty again.” Callie chuckled, although I didn’t see what was so funny, because we were only twenty-five. Plus, how could she want to go dancing now? She moved around the couch, slapping my knee. “You want to come with? You’re due for some stress relief.”
I shook my head, leaning around her to see the TV.
“Hold on. Weren’t you supposed to be on a date with Killian? What happened?” Callie’s blissful expression faded into seriousness, and she was suddenly so very grim when she asked me, “Do you want me to cancel? I can, if something happened and you want to talk—”
“I’m fine, just go,” I muttered. Why wouldn’t she just leave already? Take the hint and go, Callie.
“You can always let loose and have fun with me—”
“I’ll be fine here, thanks.” Usually she never even asked me if I wanted to go with her, because she knew I’d say no. What made tonight so different? My date with Killian? I’d already forgotten about it.
Callie lifted her hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll go. But if you need me tonight, text me. I’ll keep my phone on vibrate.”
The instant she was gone, I pulled out my laptop and opened up a blank word document. Inspiration was mine tonight, and I would not let it go until I had a post ready. I shouldn’t be, but I was happy about the second body; it meant we were one step closer to officially having our own serial killer. The Eastland Angel Maker.
I lost myself in my words.
Tonight there was another body. I don’t have to tell you all how it makes me feel. If you’ve followed this blog for long, you should already know. I won’t say I’m happy someone met their death at the hands of the Angel Maker, but we are that much closer to having a true serial killer on our hands.
It was at a house not too far from mine. I should be fearful, but I’m not. I might be one of the only people around who doesn’t fear death or whatever comes after. I’m not religious, so an afterlife brings me no comfort.
What I am is interested.
What I am is curious.
What I am is…so many things words fail to describe.
Who is the Angel Maker? Why does he arrange the bodies in a way that begets praying? The two victims were discovered nearly one after the other, but the first had been long dead, locked away and forgotten in a condemned house. This one had been propped onto a couch in a lively neighborhood, in plain view. The second victim was new, recent.
This means our Angel Maker is evolving, coming into his own. I cannot hazard to guess what his next victim will look like, but I know in my heart of hearts it will be one gory, glorious sight. It will
My focus was drawn away from my laptop when I heard something. What the hell was it? I wondered, setting my laptop aside, waiting to see if I heard it again. A few moments later, it repeated itself, louder this time.
Hold on a moment—was someone at my front door, knocking?
I was slow to get up, glancing at the time. It was far too late for any strangers to show up, way too late for any girl scouts to come around trying to sell their cookies. Who the hell could it possibly be?
As the knocks grew, I slowly moved away from the couch, to the front door. Inside my chest, my heart thumped rapidly, for I was in the middle of writing a blog post about the Angel Maker, and I’d just seen the body first hand. I was a little out of it.
I peered through the peephole for only a second before opening the door and letting the knocker in. Lincoln, wearing all black but looking good, pushed inside, closing the door with his foot and throwing the latch as his dark eyes ate me up.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, reflexively taking a step back as I remembered the girl on his bed. Her body. The reason he’d killed her, or so he said, was because her eyes reminded him too much of mine. Edward was the one who kept Lincoln in check, and it looked like Lincoln was alone.
So why was he here?
When Lincoln remained silent, I asked, “How do you know where I live?” This was when I should freak out and try to run, but Lincoln was tall—well over six foot. He’d catch me easily, so what was the point?
“Ed told me,” he muttered under his breath, glancing around. From his position, he could see the living room and the kitchen. “Ed knows a lot about you, Stella. Too fucking much.” He pushed past me, moving to the hall in the back, where Callie’s and my bedrooms were, along with the bathroom. He checked each room, making sure we were alone. “Ed lied to you, you know.”
Were his words meant to hurt me? I’d already suspected him of lying. Hard not to do when you come across a dead body and neither of them acted surprised or worried.
My steps were slow and measured as I returned to the living room, watching Lincoln check the bathroom last. He looked good in all black; it matched his hair and his eyes, made him seem bleaker, starker. More intimidating. But I wasn’t intimidated.
I wanted him to come to me, wrap his arms around me and smother me to his chest. I wanted to feel his lips on mine, something I hadn’t done before. It seemed I wanted many things I’d probably never get.
“He was obsessed with you before he even met you. He followed your fucking blog and read your fucking articles like some kind of fucking fan.” Lincoln paused at the end of the hallway, looking quite dominant and menacing as his shoulders rose and fell with a breath. “He followed your coworkers that day, and it just so happened you were already at the bar. He would’ve found you eventually.”
That was…interesting. I was secretly glad I merited a stalker, but I really wasn’t so important. “That explains Edward. What about you?”
“I am not like Ed. I don’t like you at all, which is why I’m here. I have to end it now, for Ed’s sake,” Lincoln said, wearing a scowl. It did not take away from his attractiveness. Maybe I was just drawn to the dangerous types. The ones who could kill you…the ones who would try.
I was just fucked up like them, I knew it, because as he spoke, as his meaning dawned on me, my heart fluttered in my chest. Not the frightened, I-should-make-a-run-for-it type of flutter, but more of a God-why-is-he-so-fucking-hot flutter.
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small switchblade. Its blade was tucked into a black handle, but with a flick of Lincoln’s wrist, the silvery metal came sliding out, an omen of what he came here to do.
Lincoln wanted to kill me, to save Edward from me. He didn’t want to do this because I’d seen the body of the girl, not because I’d been shared between them like some kind of toy, but because Edward had cared about me in his own way before he even met me. I was a threat to the normalcy Lincoln was used to; he thought I would hurt Edward.
I would never hurt Edward, and even though Lincoln could be a bit of a dick, I wouldn’t hurt him, either. I wouldn’t hurt either of them, even though I knew how murderous they were. They were what I needed, the only people who could complete me. I could never fight them, and now would be no different.
If Lincoln had to end it, if Edward would truly be better off without me, then I supposed I shouldn’t stand in the way of that happiness. It wasn’t like I was that happy with my life, so I didn’t have much to fight for anyway. A dress fitting with my mom and my sister? I’d definitely rather die.
Lincoln took a measured step out of the hall towards me, and I could tell by how tensed he was he thought I was going to run.
I wouldn’t.
I inhaled slowly, closing my eyes. Still, after all this time, I was not afraid of death.
Chapter Twenty-One – Lincoln
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when I basically told Stella I was here to kill her, but it definitely wasn’t what she did. It wasn’t her to relax her posture, close her fucking eyes and breathe in like she was meditating.
And I didn’t think she’d whisper out a meek “Okay.” Like she was agreeing with me, like she was just going to let me kill her.
What the hell kind of freak was she?
Within a few long strides, I was before he
r, towering over her. Even at my closeness, she didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes again. Stella was really going to let me kill her without a fight, which I found both peculiar and infuriating.
I wanted her to scream. I wanted her to fight, to run, to do something. I enjoyed killing as much as the next murderous psychopath, but when they didn’t fight? Took away the majority of the fun.
It wasn’t like I had anticipated this to be a fun event, though. I knew Ed liked her a lot, but he was too smitten to see she was dangerous for him, for us. This woman was not our missing link—we didn’t have a missing link, because there was nothing from us that was missing. We were as whole as we would ever be.
Stella…I wanted to kill Stella for Ed, wanted to end his obsession, but even now, I knew it was too late. I knew the obsession had already taken root. When I went to Ed to tell him Stella was dead, I knew he’d hate me for a while.
His hatred would pass. Eventually he would understand I only did this for him. For us.
I supposed I could keep it a secret, but Ed knew me too well. He would know instantly I was the one behind Stella’s sudden disappearance, because I was the one who could take care of the bodies, just like I’d taken care of Jessica this morning, before I went into work. Luckily my family had some ties to the junkyard outside of town, a portion of it no one was allowed to wander. It wasn’t the most respectful way to get rid of a body, but it was all that was available to me without loads of money. Money of which my family only paid me if I completed jobs.
I was getting off-track. Focus, I told my mind. Kill Stella, put her body in the car, and leave. Should be easy, especially with how she wasn’t putting up a fight. A shame, really, because I so did enjoy the screamers.
Cruel Black Hearts: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance Page 14
