Page 64 of The Ripper

“Why were you crying on the night Justin tragically bit the dust?”

Her eyes widened, and I almost slapped myself because the words came out before I could stop them. I waited for the disgust to cross her features, for her to get up and make a scene, or simply leave, but she only seemed thoughtful for a second before raising her head to look at me.

“Why did you do it?” she whispered.

I took out my phone and searched my gallery for the photo Hannibal sent me, then pushed it on the table towards her.

When her eyes fell over the image, I saw it. The disgust I waited for earlier, only it wasn’t directed at me, and my heart clenched inside my chest.

~ You really need to get that shit checked out.

“Did you,” she mouthed ‘kill,’ “any of the other guys I’ve dated?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Fourteen,” I answered honestly. “Justin was lucky number fifteen.”

The waiter approached us with the food and drinks, setting everything on the table, then went on his way without giving us a second glance.

“Why?” she asked as she took a sip of her coffee.

I reached for an egg muffin and shoved the whole thing in my mouth at once. I chewed, swallowed, then took another one off the plate while she played with the fork in the pancakes.

“They touched you,” I shrugged. “But they were also worse than Justin. I couldn’t let them continue, especially since you were involved.”

“Do you ever feel remorse?”

“No,” I propped my elbows on the table and brought my hands together under my chin. “Eat the fucking pancakes, Arella, or I’ll tie you to the chair and feed them to you.”

“You can’t make me eat if I don’t want to,” she argued, but kept her voice down.

“Your stomach has been screaming for food since last night when you passed out in my arms, so stop lying to me. I know you’re hungry, so eat. We’re not leaving here until you finish that plate and the smoothie.”

She angrily cut into the pancakes, muttering to herself as she took the first bite, and the second, and the third.

I almost laughed at how upset she was, and how utterly adorable she looked as she pouted and kept rolling her eyes with each mouthful.

“Good girl,” I praised, and her cheeks caught fire as she kicked my leg under the table.

“You’re an asshole.”

“Thanks for pointing that out.”

I winked at her, and she opened her mouth to say something but her phone buzzed on the table, and when she looked at it, a hint of worry crossed her face as she swallowed without chewing and wiped her mouth before answering.

“Hello?”

Her face went from peaceful and serene to scared in a matter of seconds, and I frowned.

“Did you call anyone else?” Pause. “I’ll be right there, Fleur, everything will be okay, I promise.” She looked at me briefly. “Lock the door and wait for me, okay?” Another pause. “I’m on my way,” she said before hanging up and getting up from the table.

“What’s wrong?” I pulled out my wallet and threw a hundred-dollar bill on the table.

She shook her head, then grabbed my arm, pulling me after her out of the restaurant and towards my car.

When we got in and I was already shaking with worry, she finally answered:

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