Page 5 of Killer Kiss

“Mom’s. Tomorrow night.”

There was silence on his end.

Enough for me to notice the footsteps of a man walking too close behind me. I tightened my grasp on the straps of my bag. “Scythe, I gotta go. I’ll see you over there.”

I ended the call before he could launch into another rant about his favorite and least favorite celebrity chefs, and tucked my phone into my purse, nudging aside my knitting so the phone could sit in its designated pocket.

Instead of following the crowd up the stairs that led to the road, I veered to the right, striding down the empty platform in the opposite direction. I kept my pace steady, even when there was a squeak of old sneakers on the cracked tiles behind me.

The man’s chuckle wasn’t quiet. “Look at all that long leg, practically running to get away from me.”

I glanced over my shoulder, my suspicions confirmed by the leer of the creep from the train. I turned back around, quickening my pace, heading for the dark shadows engulfing the very end of the platform.

“Where you running to, pretty lady? There ain’t nothing down here.” He lengthened his stride, matching mine until I reached the end, the shadows swallowing us up.

I had nowhere to go. It was the end of the road. I spun around.

He closed the gap between us, grabbing my left arm roughly. “You thought you were real smart, calling the cops on me. Not so smart now, are you?”

He was probably an inch shorter than me, but I shrank away from his touch, so it seemed like he was bigger. “Please don’t hurt me.”

He dragged me in, so my chest hit his. He ran his nose up the side of my neck and inhaled. “Don’t scream, and maybe I’ll even try to make it good for you. Capiche?”

I nodded quickly, a tiny whimper escaping my mouth.

“You should have just minded your own damn business.”

“I should have.” I reached into my purse with my free hand, my fingers wrapping around the stainless-steel knitting needle and sliding it out of the yarn loops. I straightened to my full height and dropped the scared little mouse act. “But it really kinda pisses me off when pieces of shit like you think they can prey on helpless women.”

That girl on the train had reminded me too much of Fawn.

And this guy reminded me too much of her asshole ex.

He reared back at the sudden change in my tone, the acid in my voice. “What the—”

I moved quick. The knitting needle to his jugular cut off any further attempts at words, blood spurting across my hand in the darkness as the man slumped to his knees at my feet, clutching at his neck.

I frowned at the crimson seeping beneath my nails and ruining the manicure I’d gotten earlier in the week. “Now look what you made me do.” I sighed. I didn’t have any of my usual cleanup supplies. My brother would say that was lazy and unprepared of me, but in my defense, I hadn’t expected to be murdering someone in the subway this afternoon.

Sometimes things happened, even when you were just quietly trying to knit a scarf. Dammit. I’d have to start over again now.

The thought made me irrationally angry.

Knitting was hard.

I gripped the man’s collar, wiping my fingers off on the material. Red foamed at the corners of his mouth, and he made pathetic noises that almost sounded like begging.

I leaned in closer. “What was that?”

“Help,” he choked out. “I don’t deserve to die.”

Bitch, please. “The only place you belong is on your knees, begging me to let you live.”

Not that I was going to.

I let him go, and he fell to the side, blood rapidly flowing from the well-aimed puncture wound, no longer plugged by the needle.

I’d paid good money to upgrade my plastic ones. I wasn’t leaving one of my expensive metal ones sticking out of this guy’s neck.

---