Page 43 of Ricochet

I’ve never been jealous like this in my entire life.

But as I stand behind this tree, watching and listening and waiting, my envy grows. Something inside me cracks. The air turns a little thicker.

All those sketches I’ve done, the ones tucked safely inside my secret book, come flooding back to me.

Then they’re replaced by new images. Ones of a different face. A face I can’t make out clearly from where I stand, one shrouded in darkness, only briefly lit by distant lights and stars.

The context doesn’t change. There’s still blood.

So much blood.

Even more blood than before.

I realize my chest is rising and falling too quickly, yet I can hardly breathe. If I can’t get my shit together, they’re going to hear me from all the way out on the dock.

Closing my eyes, I think back to my last panic attack, when Stone’s face was inches from mine. His rain-washed eyes only on me. His thumbs softly stroking my cheeks. I force myself to breathe in sync with the Stone in my mind.

When I open my eyes again, the panic has calmed, but it still lingers around the edges.

The reflection of the stars across the surface of the water twinkle like little diamonds lost to the sea. The clouds above drift to the east, revealing the gleaming light of the silver moon.

There’s a flash of something else silver like another reflection from the sky to the earth.

It’s in Stone’s hand. Shimmering and sharp.

Then it’s gone, embedded to the hilt inside the other man’s abdomen.

My hand flies to my mouth.

Because…isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Isn’t that what a normal person would be doing? Stifling a scream? Except…there isn’t one. There’s no trace of a scream lodged in my throat. No noise being muffled by my hand.

I’m not screaming. I’m not afraid.

Ishouldbe. I should be running. Calling the police.

But I have zero desire to do any of that.

Instead, my feet move. First one step, then a second. There’s a couple more trees between me and the dock, and I’m still cloaked in shadow. But,fuck, I want to get closer. I want to see exactly what’s happening. See the damage. Smell the blood. I want to witness the life leaving the man’s eyes beneath the silver glow of the moon.

Whatever panic attack I was on the verge of before has vanished, replaced by a wave of calm.

I may not be able to see clearly, but…

Even the silhouette of death is breathtaking.

Stoneis breathtaking.

I watch, forcing myself to remain hidden, as Stone’s arm twists before he yanks the knife out of the guy. It’s not shining anymore, covered in dark blood. The stranger slumps, and Stone takes a step back, letting him crumble to the dock. He tilts his head back, staring up at the stars. His chest rises with a slow, deep breath. He lets it out as though he’s purging his demons.

I can’t fucking look away.

But I do. Just for a moment to sweep my gaze across the deserted beach. No one’s around. No one else saw.

I feel relief.

Turning my eyes back to the dock, I’m well aware that this relief—this undeniable, powerful calm that’s washed over me—is the last thing I should be feeling. However, I don’t care. Not when it feels so damn good. It’s been shot straight into my veins like a drug, and I might already be addicted. Like I’ll never have another care in the world if I can just hold onto it.

Stone wipes the knife on his shirt that’s probably already painted with blood anyway. He sets it aside before hefting the man beneath his limp arms. Dragging him to the side of the dock, he hoists him higher. Adrenaline probably helps give him the surge of strength he needs to force all that dead weight up and over the railing.

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