Page 114 of Mayhem and Minnie

“So you will kill me, too?”

Is she…taunting me?

I narrow my eyes at her.

“I’m a selfish bastard,” I whisper, moving my hand up her cheek and caressing her skin. “I’d rather kill you with my own hands than know some other bastard laid his hands on you.”

“So you’re a killer, huh?” She raises a brow.

“That’s an understatement, little heathen.” I let out a dry laugh.

“I know, I know.” She giggles. “You’re a big, bad killer, aren’t you?”

I freeze. My eyes slowly widen.

“What did you just say?”

“I know who you are, Marlowe,” she whispers as she leans forward. Grabbing my hand, she keeps it against her cheek, grazing my thumb with her teeth. “I know what you’ve done.”

“What do you know?”

She chuckles.

“For starters, your silly story about art. But I know why you did it. And I approve,” she purrs softly. “Then there’s that story about my foster father? It was a lie. I was never in the system, nor was I in prison.”

“I know you’ve been lying about your identity,” I say, my eyes narrowing at her. How the hell does she know about slimy Pauly? “As for the prison, it’s only a matter of time,” I lie. “The police are actively looking for you for shoplifting.” Another lie, since she’s technically only a person of interest.

She shrugs, her expression nonchalant.

“They can’t prove it,” she adds with a smile. The little heathen… She must know about the faulty footage then. Her presence around those sites is the only thing tying her to the crimes, but that would not stand in court since it’s just conjecture.

“So you never stabbed your foster father, did you?” I ask, leaning back and watching her intently. Though I’d already guessed she lied about that, I’m curious why she’d been so specific. Had there been someone else she’d stabbed? Another man who hurt her? Because then I’ll need to know. She mentioned he was still alive.

Not for long…

“Nope,” she answers, popping the P in such a cute way that I momentarily forget I need to be mad at her. “I never stabbed anyone. I’m not a fan of knives, truthfully.” She feigns a shudder. “I prefer swords.”

“Then why the specific lie?”

“Well, it wasn’t technically a lie…” she starts.

I raise a brow.

“You stabbed him,” she states confidently.

My brows knit together in confusion. What the hell is she on about?

“What are you talking about?”

“Was it two years ago? It was snowing that night too,” she mentions.

My eyes flash at her.

Two years ago. A snowy night.

The memory assails me as if it were yesterday.

How could I forget the incident that rattled me so much I lost my usual calm? That day marked my official decline. Since then, I have not been able to kill anyone cleanly, methodically…

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