Page 56 of Under Fyre

“Stop!”

Fyre’s jaw clenches. “This is the world we live in, Charlotte. Putting your fingers in your ears doesn’t make it go away.”

I’m biting the inside of my lip as I stare at Fyre. “He killed her. I get it.”

“No, you don’tgetit,” Fyre snaps. He takes a deep breath, glances at me. “Men like him, men like Peter Monroe…Once they’ve had a taste, they can’t live without it. It becomes their addiction, their fucking fuel. Pain and suffering are their drugs. If you don’t incarcerate them, if you don’t—” he cuts off suddenly, shakes his head. “You have to make sure they can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

The road begins to incline. Fyre grits his teeth and reluctantly slows down.

“That’swhat I do, Charlotte.”

There’s a ringing in my ears. I blink at Fyre, for a long moment not understanding why he stopped talking.

That’s what he does.

Hestopsthem.

My eyes go wide.

Like how hestoppedPeter Monroe. It wasn’t for me. Some kind of retaliation for the girl he claimed he loved.

Oh no.

Gideon Fyre is a fucking serial killer.

That’swho the photos and videos are for. That’s how he lures them in. Using me as bait. Maybe some of his other patients too.

I’m not a hobby.

I’m his…vocation.

“And one of them is after me.” Fyre turns. His black eyes pin me. “Afterus.”

I feel like I’m floating. Maybe it’s the painkillers mixed with the alcohol. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have taken that second round.

Although, in my defense, I didn’t know we’d be fleeing for our lives.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you. You have to trust me, Charlotte.”

Blood drains from my face, leaving behind numb skin. The car plows through slushy drifts of snow that have started to melt since the sun came up hours ago. In the confined cavity of the truck’s cab, it’s like we’re driving over children’s bones.

“How many?” My voice is rusty. My throat too dry. “How many of them have you killed?”

Fyre whips his head to look at me, his dark eyes wide. In the cold light thrown off the snow around us, the flecks in his irises are the color of old teeth. “How many?”

“Rapists.” I have to push my words out through clenched teeth.

“I’ve healed so many women since Geraldine,” Fyre says, ignoring my question. “I’ve only lost two since her. Both suicides.”

“How. Many. Have. You.Killed?” My voice keeps rising and rising, until the last word is a hoarse yell.

Bones crunch under the tires. Fyre stares at the road, silent. Arrow pants, pants, pants between us.

“How many?” Tears brim in my eyes, blurring the world, making it shake and wobble. I blink to free them, but everything is still so surreal. “Please, Gideon. Tell me.”

He swallows visibly. The car slows, and for a heart-pounding moment I think he’s going to stop.

To do what? To stop me from asking my questions?

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