Page 24 of War

“We tracked him to Oklahoma.He moves from state to state, avoiding capture.”

Sickness twists my stomach.My bones turn to ash.I struggle to remain standing, my gaze pinging between the three of them.“The FBI believe they can link him to six confirmed kills, but he could be responsible for as many as twenty-eight—all women under twenty-two.”Dodger sneers.

Dread engulfs me, staining all my memories of Harley.A serial killer?I imagine her fear, fighting for her life.The marks he left on her body, the pain she must have endured.Would she have known she was going to die?

Clammy hands clutching Callan and teeth bared, I ask, “Is she one of those twenty-eight?”

“They don’t know for sure.It might not be him.”Monster intervenes.

“But it might.”I swallow, my breath quickening.

“Let’s find out.”Callan opens the door and steps inside.I follow him on trembling legs.My hand flies to my mouth, smothering the scream I want to release as Callan says, “Meet the Blind Date Killer, Edward Jarvis.”

CHAPTER7

LOVE

A naked man, bar a pair of black-rimmed glasses, is tied to a table.His body is athletically built.His muscles strain against the metal restraints keeping him contained.My legs move of their own accord, until I’m close enough to see small white scars decorating his arms and hands.Nail marks.A vice constricts my heart.

“Help me,” the man cries out, jerking his chains.The clink of the metal makes me startle.“I’m not who they think I am,” he pleads.Bruises color his cheeks.Crimson stains sit beneath his nose.I sense Callan’s presence behind me as I walk around the table, inspecting every inch of the man.Did he wrap those hands around Harley’s throat?Did he push his weight down on her as she struggled to be free?She was a fighter.She wouldn’t have gone quietly.Are those scars up his arms from her fighting him?Closing my eyes, I squeeze my hands so tight, I feel my own nails puncture the skin.

“Please,” the killer tries again.

My eyes spring open, glaring down at him.“You’ll never leave here.”

He begins to laugh, chilling the room, turning the atmosphere into a chamber reserved for hell.Evil, pure and undiluted, is among us.We’re all killers, but he has no soul.Empathy eludes the minds of psychopaths—and that makes them demons walking the earth.He smirks, inhaling like he can smell the humanity surrounding him.

“I like little girls with fire in them.”His face contorts into a sneer.“Makes snuffing it out all the more fun.”

“You’re the one dying today, asshole,” Callan informs him.

Bending, I unsheathe the knife Callan keeps on his ankle and rise to plunge the blade into the bastard’s hip.It takes more effort than I expect.I throw all my weight down on the blade, ripping into his skin and muscle, hitting bone.Blood blooms around the knife’s edge.

“Bitch!”he screeches, the veins in his head almost bursting as he recoils, shaking the bindings, spittle spraying his own face.

“You have no idea,” I taunt, tugging on the blade.I wiggle it to get it free as he grunts and spits vile words into the ether.“I know every part of the body that can withstand injury without killing you,” I whisper, walking around his body, stabbing into his other hip.

“I’m glad we get to keep her,” Monster pipes in.Dragging a chair from the corner of the room, he takes a seat.

“And that she’s on our team,” Dodger adds, folding his arms.He jerks his chin at me, a silent request to keep going.

“I had a sister.”Energy vibrates through me.Adrenaline ignites in my blood.

“Does she look like you?Because I’d love to open her up,” the bastard grits out.Callan pinches the bastard’s already broken nose, the cartilage grinding beneath his fingers.

“Would you?”I push the blade’s tip into his sternum, nicking the flesh and dragging the edge down to his groin.Anguished cries pierce the air, urging me on.I want him to hurt, to bleed.

“She had a tattoo on her thigh.”A stone lodges in my throat.“That you cut away,” I choke out.

“Tattoos are for sluts.”He bares his teeth, and Callan punches him in the jaw, whipping his face to the side.Spitting blood, the evil fuck chuckles, gurgling on the liquid filling his mouth, his glasses hanging crooked across his nose.

“Pure.”He clenches as I drag the blade back up his torso.“I only take them if they’re pure!”he hollers, the pain weakening him.“You have the wrong guy, little girl.”

“He’s a lying piece of shit,” Dodger grinds out.“Let me at him, Rogue.”He steps up to the table, pushing his finger into the knife wound on the bastards hip, making him buck.

“I didn’t kill no whore with a tattoo,” he bellows.

Monster gets to his feet and comes to stand by the animal’s head.“You’re going to kill me either way.Why the fuck would I lie?My girls are pure.”

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