Page 27 of Killing Emma

I don’t know why I didn’t get it in the first place, but now I do—and I don’t know why it makes me feel sick. “Your husband.”

“My ex-husband in thirty something days.”

“Thirty-four days?” I throw it out there with caution.

“Yeah, sure. But you’re the one with the file on me,” she scoffs, wrapping her arms around herself.

“You got a prenup?”

Her brow creases. “Yeah. Of course, I do.”

Holy shit. It clicks in my head. Is it the husband trying to cash in? It’s always the husband. I know that, but the way Jared so desperately acted like he wanted her back…

“You love him?” I blurt out as I think about her reaction to him, bile rising in my throat. It’s immature to ask, and stupid. And I don’t care about the answer. I. Don’t. Care.

“No, not anymore… I don’t know,” she hums, her arms still wrapped around her small frame. She’s not the most petite woman I’ve ever seen, but she’s smaller than me, her curves soft and feminine. She’s weaker than me. Physically. Probably mentally. “I loved him for a long time—until I broke.”

I shift uncomfortably. I don’t talk about this kind of shit. I’ve never had a broken heart. God knows what would happen if I did. I used pussy for what it was, and never thought twice about the woman who provided it. But I hadn’t even gotten my dick wet in hers.

“When my mom got sick, I changed. He saw me change, and he tried to be there, but I wouldn’t let him in. She was my best friend.” Her voice trembles. “I shut him out. I shut Lydia out.”

Lydia. The name makes my stomach hurt.

“I didn’t let anyone in, and he found someone else who would. I can’t even blame him for it… But I realized that I didn’t want to fix it either. I just wanted to be alone. I sabotaged him. I cut off his access to my accounts. I treated him coldly—and that was before I ever saw that he was with her.” The tangible pain in her voice is troubling, but not nearly as troubling as what it’s doing to me.

“I hated him because I could.”

“I hate everyone because I can,” I reason, admitting the uncomfortable truth. “I prefer to stay here. In this place. I used to throw parties. Now I let other people throw parties at my house, and I stay here.” I don’t know why I tell her, but it feels safe. It’s not like this woman is ever going to leave this room alive. She’ll die with my truths.

“I hate parties,” she whispers, rolling over to face me. “And I hate you.”

I press my lips together, her words stinging. I don’t care if she hates me. I’m a fucking monster—and she reminds me of that every time she looks at me. I was numb before these last forty-eight hours.

“Why did you pick me?” Her eyes search my mask, like it’ll give her some kind of expression.

“You’re not special to me,” I force the words out. “I didn’t choose you. I didn’t search for someone who looks like you. I didn’t target you because there was anything that stood out about you.” I didn’t have a choice. If I did, I wouldn’t have taken it.

Her face falls, her eyes dropping to the floor. I tracked dirt in when I carried her here, and I see the remnants of it around my feet. I’ll clean it later—when I have to seal the window back up.

I clear my throat. “You should drink the water, Emma. I can’t get someone here for an IV for another few hours. I don’t know what you need.”

Her face contorts with confusion. “Why are you even worrying about that if you’re going to kill me? You make no sense.”

I know I don’t. I don’t even make any sense to myself. Maybe I just want to fuck her. Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I should just do it and kill her right after. Ivan did it. Victor did it. Manny has killed multiple women after sex. My mentor always pushed me to take what I want, and show no mercy doing it—as long as I separated from my emotions.

“Can I have one?” Emma slowly sits up, still shivering. Her shirt is soaked from the water I threw at the wall, and I feel guilty. Again. But I also feel angry. Angry at her for making me feel things. Angry at me for not killing her sooner. Angry at whoever the fuck put this hit on her—a person who I’m certain I saw at her house that night.

I open the bottle of water for her and hand it to her, our fingers brushing. My cock stiffens at the minor touch, and I damn near roll my eyes at it. Maybe I will fuck her, but not like this. If I have to fuck her and then kill her, I want her to at least put up a fight.

“Thank you.” Once again, she’s showing gratitude, and while it irks me, I don’t run.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask her flatly. “Why’d you pass out? There’s no medical conditions listed in your file.”

“My file?”

Shit.

“Just answer me.”

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