Page 20 of Killing Emma

And that’s when I met Jared.

Yuck. I pull myself from my memories. Everything with Jared was picture perfect, and it would only cause my heart to ache with grief and regret from my own changes. I roll onto my back and open my eyes.

My heart thumps unevenly as I register the surrounding darkness. Where did the lights go? I stare into the pitch black as I try to calm my nerves. Why would he turn off the lights like this? Is this how he’s going to kill me? Sneak up on me in the darkness?

I wrap my arms around myself, trying not to dive headfirst into a panic attack. I force deep, even breaths as the basement door creaks.

No, no… Please don’t kill me like this.

But then again, maybe it would be better to die in the dark. I tune my ears into the silence, picking up the gentle thump of his shoes. I think of the glowing eyes on his mask and shudder. I turn my head in the direction he’s coming from, expecting to see the blue neon x’s…

But there’s nothing—other than his footsteps of course.

Panic rages inside of me. I’m going to fight him. I will, even if I die trying. As he approaches the bed, my heart pounds harder than ever, rattling my entire body. I can smell him, his cologne lingering in the blackness as he leans forward. I brace.

The quilt rips off my body.

I shiver violently, holding my breath. What’s he going to do? The answer comes in a brush of contact against my calf, his fingertips like fire on my skin. Goosebumps follow his trailing hand, until he reaches the cuff.

Is he…

The cuff clicks and he removes it. I’m free. But…

“Why are the lights off?” I squeak out, sounding as terrified as I feel.

He chuckles. “Because I can’t let you have power down here. You might get creative with the appliances or something. I’ll turn on the stairwell light when I leave.”

I swallow hard, giving into the dare. “Why isn’t it on now?”

“Because then you might have to look into the face of the devil, Little Red.” His voice draws arousal from deep in my core, and I find myself ashamed of my reaction… But also, so incredibly intrigued by the man behind the mask.

I sit up on the bed, still feeling his presence close enough that I could reach out and touch him. A charged silence grows between us, and I don’t know if it’s the lure of attraction or just the dangerous darkness causing it. His shoes slide on the concrete, and I reach out, my fingers connecting with his bare arm. It’s the first time I’ve touched him on my own accord, and he draws a sharp breath.

“What’re you doing, Emma?” His tone is strained, sounding almost pained that I’m touching him. I expect him to pull away from my grasp, but he doesn’t—and I don’t either.

“Why are you keeping me here?”

“Because I have to kill you,” he answers flatly. “That’s why.”

“So, it’s not a ransom?” I can’t help but throw the question out there. I know it’s already been answered once, but deep down there’s still a part of me hoping for the best-case scenario.

He hesitates, leaning into my grip. “No, it’s not a ransom.”

“Why are you going to kill me then?” I pull at him, the gesture seeming less bold in the darkness. He gives to the tug, and before I can process it, his hand is threaded through my hair, and I feel something brush across my nose.

Now I can really smell him and feel the heat of his breath on my face. My captor is fucking inches from me, and I can’t see him in the blackness. An unsteady excitement pulses through my body, and without thinking, yet again, I reach up, feeling the face of the man who calls himself the big bad wolf and devil. My fingertips run along a sharp jaw, stubble tickling my touch.

“You’re making a mistake,” he growls, tightening his grip on my hair. “You’re not going to get what you want from me—and you’re not going to seduce your way to freedom.” He says them like they’re two different things…

But are they two different things? What I want from him and my freedom?

The ache between my legs says so. I shift on the bed, already squirming without him laying a hand on my body. It’s borderline embarrassing. Is this what Stockholm Syndrome feels like?

I trail my fingers to his lips, feeling the soft flesh of his bottom lip. “You didn’t answer my question, Devil.”

“I’m not going to.”

“Why? I think the least you could give me is the truth as to why you’ve chosen to kill me. I don’t stand out from the crowd, and if it’s about the money… You can get that from me without killing me. I haven’t seen you. I don’t know where we are.” I list the reasons, trying to make sense of them, all the while feeling the warmth of his breath.

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