Page 39 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

Charlotte pulls away, the moment ruptured, like a balloon popping in slow motion. The spell is broken. She gives the man a quick smile, but her attention has already shifted. He stands there, awkward now, unsure of how to re-enter the scene, but she’s already moved on.

Her daughter speaks to her, and Charlotte, without missing a beat, answers her, her voice soft, controlled, back to the mother she has been for so long, where her kids come first, her job not included.

But I saw it. That crack. That brief, fleeting moment where she almost let herself go.

And I’ll be waiting.

Waiting for the next time.

Because it’s only a matter of time before she lets it happen again.

33

CHARLOTTE

Iwas only supposed to be in New York for a few weeks. That’s what I told myself. Just a short stay to tie up some things, get a bit of work done. A brief detour. But here I am, three months later, settled into a routine I never saw coming. A job here, a kill list there, my regular work, and the flight attending—it’s kept me busier than expected. It’s hard to believe how quickly time passes when you’re constantly moving. What started as a few weeks has turned into months. I’ve made my peace with it, though. The city doesn’t give you a chance to do anything else.

But if I’m honest with myself, it’s not just the work that’s kept me here. It’s Sophie. It’s always been Sophie. I never expected to worry this much, never thought I’d be this attached. But that’s not even the main reason. Here, in the noise of New York, I can almost forget about everything else.

This city makes Texas feels like a distant memory. Back home, the silence creeps in at night, and I’m forced to hear my own thoughts. There, it’s just me and the ghost of Michael, spare parts tossed around, reminders of what we had, of what we once were, and I can’t even think about that right now. Idon’t want to go back to that life. Not yet. Not with the holidays upon us.

Here, in the chaos, I’m never really alone. The city moves around me, and it’s almost as though it’s keeping me from remembering all the things I try so hard to forget.

I’ve gotten used to Hayley’s presence—too used to it, in fact. It’s easier having her here than it would be back home, and I don’t mind having her around as much as I thought I would. But there’s something else, something I hadn’t expected.

My neighbor down the hall. The chemistry between us. He’s charming, funny, and confident, and I’ve found myself thinking about him more than I’d care to admit. I told myself it was just a passing distraction. But when he asked to meet up tonight, I didn’t say no.

So here I am, in a hotel room, waiting for him. The clock on the nightstand ticks slowly, but every second feels heavy, charged. A quiet tension that prickles at my skin. When the knock comes, I almost jump, startled by the sudden sound. I hesitate for only a moment before I open the door. He stands there, looking exactly like I remember—tall, confident, dangerous in that casual way that makes my pulse quicken.

“Hey,” he says, his smile full of mystery. “Nice place.”

I keep my voice steady, even as my heart races. “Sorry about the hotel. My daughter lives at home, and I like to keep things separate.”

He tilts his head, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “We could’ve just gone to my place.”

I close the door behind him, my gaze lingering on his lips as he steps inside. “I like things clean.”

His lips twitch into a slow smile. “You might be the strangest woman I’ve ever met.”

I shrug. “I get that a lot.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. The air is thick with something unspoken,something hot and dangerous. I can feel the weight of his stare, and it sends a flicker of anticipation through me, sharp as a knife. For a moment, it’s like the world outside has disappeared. It’s just the two of us—magnetic, raw, no false pretenses. No promise of this being anything more than what it is.

I tell him exactly that.

“Anything more than what?” he says. “Neighbors?”

“Neighbors who fuck.”

He quirks a brow. “Sounds messy.”

“Whatever. I’ll move.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

Before I know it, his hands are on me, fingers digging into my skin, possessive and unyielding. He slams me against the wall, his chest pressing into mine, and his lips crash onto mine—rough, urgent. I let him take the lead, the heat of it pulling me in. It’s not gentle, it’s raw—an insistent demand I didn’t know I wanted.

His hands roam with urgency, every touch sharp, and I respond in kind, matching his need. There’s no thought, only fire and instinct. He doesn’t ask for anything—he just takes—and I fucking love it. His lips leave mine, and I feel his teeth graze my neck before they press in, sharp and deliberate. The bite is intense, possessive, and I move into it, welcoming the sting.

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