Page 53 of Silent Stalker

His muscles tense beneath my touch. “You think I only kill innocents?”

“The choir members?—”

“Were covering up abuse at the church.” His voice turns cold. “The priest was molesting children. They knew. Did nothing.”

My breath catches. “What?”

“I do my research, Clara.” His fingers trail down my spine. “The partridge victim? Beat his wife into a coma last year. Walked free on a technicality.”

“And the others?”

“Each one harbored dark secrets. The kind that slip through the cracks of your precious justice system.” He shifts, pulling me closer. “I won’t stop killing. It’s who I am. But together...” His lips brush my ear. “We could choose them. The ones who deserve it.”

My training screams at me to reject this, but another part that’s seen countless monsters walk free whispers something different. “Like who?”

“Child abusers. Rapists who buy their way out of prison. The true monsters hiding behind money and power.” His hand cups my face. “Your knowledge of cases, my skills—we could deliver real justice.”

“That’s not justice,” I whisper, but my conviction wavers.

“Isn’t it?” His thumb traces my lower lip. “How many cases have you lost because the system failed? How many victims never saw their abusers pay?”

Images flash through my mind—crying children, broken women, destroyed families. Cases that ended in acquittals despite overwhelming evidence.

“I can’t—” But the words stick in my throat.

“You already want to.” His voice drops lower. “I see it in your eyes. The same darkness that drew me to you.”

Silas’s fingers trace patterns on my skin. The question hanging in the air between us feels heavier than any confession of murder.

“Would you still want me if I wasn’t what I am?” His blue eyes pierce into mine. “If I was just another man without the darkness that draws you in?”

My throat tightens. The truth burns, but I can’t lie to him. Not now. “No.”

His grip on my hip tightens. “Why?”

“Because...” I swallow hard. “I’ve always been drawn to the forbidden. To men who could hurt me, who walk that line between control and chaos. It’s sick, but?—”

“It’s who you are.” His voice drops lower. “Just as killing is who I am.”

“Does it have to be?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

His hand slides up to my throat, not squeezing, just resting there. “What do you mean?”

“This darkness in you, this need to kill...” I meet his gaze. “What if there was another way to channel it?”

“Through you?” His lips curve into a predatory smile. “Fighting me in bed? Submitting to my control?”

“Yes.” My pulse races under his palm. “Let me be your outlet. Your prey.”

“It wouldn’t stop completely.” His grip tightens slightly. “But with you... maybe I wouldn’t need it as much. Having you fightme, resist me, then surrender...” He presses his body against mine. “It could be enough to quiet the urges.”

“I can help.” My voice is steady, filled with conviction. “I can give you an outlet for your darker urges. Channel your violence into something more controlled.”

Silas chuckles, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “Clara, my dear, if you saw what I’m capable of—the depths of my depravity—you wouldn’t be so eager to help.”

I swallow, my pulse quickening at the challenge in his eyes. “Try me.”

His thumb traces my jaw, his touch feather-light. “What if I told you that sometimes before I kill, I get hard? That the thought of taking a life arouses me?”

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