Page 37 of Killing Emma

“And he took you in?” Emma’s voice is even, calm, and it’s as if she’s just having an everyday conversation.

“Yeah, he did. He thought I was mean-spirited enough to be his protégé—and I was. Still am,” I say with a shrug. “Maybe a little meaner than he expected. I was incredibly angry, and when I’d get angry, I’d snap, and just murder whatever I could get my hands around.”

Her expression doesn’t falter. She doesn’t even frown. Emma just stares at me, intrigue in her eyes. “I see… I must’ve made you angry in the shower then.”

I blink twice. That is what she has to say? “No, I wasn’t angry at you. I just… I was just trying another method.”

She raises a brow. “Oh, so you were going to screw me, and then kill me. That’s really romantic. Gives off true crime documentary date vibes.”

“Maybe it does.” I smile. This woman confuses the shit out of me. She should be terrified—and maybe she is—but she’s not showing her cards.

“Is that how you kill other women?” Her question causes my humor to fade.

I sit up straight in the chair. “No, it’s not. I’ve never played with my prey in that way. I choose not to defile women at their weakest.”

“But you chose to do it to me,” she shoots back, her voice sharpening. I must’ve hit a nerve somewhere inside of her.

And while my stomach lurches at the accusation, my body thrums with excitement at the chance to rile her up. “You wanted me.”

“I’m locked in a basement,” she cuts back coldly. “There might be some kind of chemistry between us, but let’s be honest, I never… I wouldn’t…” Her voice trails off, and I smirk. She doesn’t have the answer to why she didn’t tell me to stop. No and stop never left her lips when we were in that shower.

“You’d let me do it again, wouldn’t you?” I stand from the chair, my cock rigid now. “You like being a slut for me.”

“I’d like it more if you’d call me something other than slut and whore,” she bites back again, but her breath picks up. “And if you think I’m going to let you touch me after you tried to murder—” She cries out as I grab her ankles, dragging her across the bed. The shirt she has on, bunches up around her waist, exposing her.

“What do you want me to call you? Huh? Princess? Because I don’t find that one very fitting for you…” I release her ankles, half expecting her to kick me, but she doesn’t. She lays still, letting me trace my fingertips down her bare thighs.

She meets my gaze and holds it, daring me. “I want to know how you kill the women you catch.”

She avoided my question, but I let it go, giving her a wicked grin. “Are you asking me to kill you, Little Red? Or do you just want to play?”

Her breath catches as I lean over her, skimming my lips where my fingers just were. “If you kill me, I’ll come back to haunt you every fucking night for the rest of your life.”

I freeze, dread trickling through my body. I know she’s right.

Chapter Seventeen

Emma

His silence and immobility have me on edge. I don’t know if he’s going to snap and kill me, or if my boldness caught him off guard. However, I do know that my body is aching for him to move, and it might be fucked up for me to want him so badly after he attempted to kill me…

But I can’t help it.

“I’ll show you.” His voice comes out in nearly a growl as he straightens above me. “But I can’t promise I won’t kill you.”

My heart thunders in my chest at his words, and I swallow the bile rising up the back of my throat as his hands fall to his jeans—and begin to undo his belt. “I thought you said you didn’t screw the women you murder.” My voice shakes as I watch him methodically pull the leather belt through the loops.

“I don’t,” he says slowly, his voice losing its husky tone as it shifts to cold, maybe even calculating. “I just prefer a murder weapon that’s easily hidden. I typically carry backup, but I didn’t with you. I thought you’d be easy. Don’t get me wrong,” he pauses, raking his eyes over me, “I was intrigued. But I thought my intrigue was surface level.”

I tense as his touch returns, his fingers gliding along my thighs. He breathes in deep and even, and I focus my gaze on the rise and fall of his chest rather than the belt in his hand. My mind flashes back to the woods—to the strap across my neck that was cutting off my air supply.

He was trying to kill me.

And I knew that. I know that. I know he’s tried twice. Will the third time be the charm? I tense as his fingers brush against my pussy.

“All this fuckery, and you’re still wet for me,” he rumbles, though he still sounds unemotional. “I don’t understand you, Little Red. You shouldn’t want me.”

I don’t want you.

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