Page 189 of Bad for Me

A loud crash rings out, focusing my attention. The woman dashes away from the couch and disappears. The lights briefly go out before blue ones switch on, revealing painted words etched on the walls. I freeze as each one seems to punch me in the gut.

Murderer. Rapist. Abuser. Pedo. Liar. Thief. Adulterer. Bigot. Racist.

An eerily beautiful voice rises to the rafters, the words sending a shiver down my spine. Evan pulls himself off the couch, clutching his head as he hobbles away. Instead of heading toward the door, he stumbles into the bathroom and trips over the toilet.

“Ring around the rosie…”The woman seems to melt out of the wall, and it’s then I notice just how thick they are. There must be passageways inside them. Clever girl.“A pocket full of posies…”Evan scrambles to his feet and veers into the kitchen. My little stalker enters from the opposite side, swinging a bat.

“No, please!” Evan shouts, raising his hands and backing away.

“Ashes, ashes…”Evan turns on his heel, but it’s too late. The bat swings in a vicious arc and connects with the back of his knees.“We all fall down.”

My dick hardens so fast, my head spins with the loss of blood. Jesus fucking Christ. She’s magnificent. Who the hell is she?

The woman uses her foot to press against his shoulder, flipping him over. Tears stream down the man’s face as he begs for mercy. She withdraws something from her pocket and shoves it in front of his face.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he cries, raising his hands to cover his head.

“We all fall down,”she repeats, lifting the bat above her head. She swings it repeatedly until blood splatters the walls and cabinets and he’s no longer moving. As I lean forward, the catwalk emits a rusty squeak. She spins around, her eyes narrowing as she scans the warehouse. I hold my breath, not daring to move in case she somehow spots me. But true to form, she doesn’t glance up, and after a moment, turns away and begins to clean up the mess she made.

* * *

She sleeps with a night-light.

I waited for an hour after she retired before searching her out. She turned the overseer’s office into a bedroom, if you can call it that. A thin mattress more suitable for a prison lies on the floor, complete with one blanket and two thin pillows. The rest of the room contains little else—a dressing table, a mirror, and a small railing with a few items of clothing. Her famous hoodie lies abandoned on a stool with mended legs.

After pocketing my gloves, I drop to my haunches and study my little stalker better. She lies on her side in the fetal position with her fist tucked under her chin. The pale glow from the night-light gives off just enough light to illuminate the soft skin of her cheeks and the fan of dark lashes hiding her eyes from me.

Who is she?The intricate warehouse setup, combined with her obvious skill, suggests this isn’t her first time killing, and most likely won’t be her last.

It’s rare that someone intrigues me. I care about Aidan and my revenge and very little else. I suppose, if I’m honest, I also have my minuscule list of “tolerables” that I wouldn’t want harm to come to. But you won’t find me asking about their families, or if they even have any. We don’t go for beers or watch the game together.

I just don’t care.

So this morbid fascination for this girl, who doesn’t look older than twenty or so, is curious. My arm reaches out, unbidden, and I ghost my thumb over her cheek.

Only to find myself flat on my back a moment later with a knife to my throat.

7

DOLLY

My lips curlinto a smile as I stare down at my prey. “‘Will you walk into my parlor? said the Spider to the Fly.’” I tilt my head and reach out to tear his ski mask off. Years of controlling my features save me from gasping. He’s beautiful. Even lying on the ground, I can tell he’s tall and well built. His dark-brown hair begs my fingers to run through the silky-looking strands, while thick lashes line eyes that match the color of his hair. Light stubble edges a firm jaw, and his full lips make me want to test their softness.

The grainy pictures Eric found before they shut down the compound’s computers didn’t do The Carver justice. Not one bit.

“I suppose I’m the fly in this scenario?” Sinister asks in a husky voice. He lifts his head, but I smack my hand against his forehead and push it back down. Little sparks dance across my skin, and I wipe it against my thigh as my brow creases. What was that?

“It took you long enough,” I murmur, pressing the knife closer to his Adam’s apple. “I was expecting you at least a week ago.”

His eyebrows climb to his hairline. “Mmm. Well played, little stalker. You’ve trapped your fly in your web. What will you do now?”

“I suppose that dep—” I shriek as he knocks my knife away and spins us around so he’s on top. He presses himself into the cradle of my thighs, his hard length brushing against me. My mouth dries as I blink up at him, unused to the feeling of heat pooling in my core.

After the systemic abuse I suffered most of my life, I never dreamed I’d be in a position where I’d find myself wondering what a man tasted like. I’ve never had consensual sex, and besides my occasional yearnings for companionship—generally after seeing my guardian angels with their men—I never thought it was something I’d even want.

But I do now. How would it be to kiss someone for the first time? To actually invite someone’s touch, to give myself to someone because I wanted to, not because I’m forced?

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’re going to have a very different kind of conversation. One that starts with me peeling that silky nightie off you and ending with you coming all over my cock.” His words spike a fever inside me, and my heart speeds up. Sinister groans and presses his forehead against mine. “Fuck. I can smell your desire, little stalker.”

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