Page 51 of The Amendment

“Okay, sure. Excuse the mess. We’re just getting back from a trip.”

“Looks like you got a little bit of a tan,” he said, his eyeslingering on my shoulder, then trailing down the neckline of my tank top and over my legs.

I covered my shoulder instinctually, looking away as I moved to shut the door, turning my back to him. “Yeah, maybe.” I felt him step forward, so close to me I could feel his body heat.

I spun around, inching backward until I could move no farther. I felt like an ant he was waiting to squash. “S-so, what can I do for you?” I asked, sliding out from between him and the door, not daring to turn my back to him again.

“Well, I have a few ideas.”

Cold fear pounded in my ears.

“Peter really should be here any time…” I warned, praying it was true.

“We’ve got time.”

“Time for what?” I played innocent, continuing to make my way toward the kitchen.

“Peter and I have an agreement.”

“W-what kind of agreement?” My body trembled with fear, and I tried not to let him see it, crossing my arms to hide my fists.

“Come here and let me show you.” His eyes trailed down the length of my body again, more aggressively this time.

I took two more steps backward, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, I think maybe you have the wrong idea.”

His grin never wavered, though somehow it seemed as if his eyes darkened. “I don’t have the wrong idea at all, sweetheart. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

Near enough to the kitchen, I turned and bolted, running away from him with as much speed as I could muster. Seeing me run made it fun for him, I could hear that in the erratic, excited way he was breathing. He hurried after me, entering the kitchen just seconds after I had.

But it was seconds too late.

He stepped onto the plastic drop cloth I’d laid out, realizing what was happening just as he did so.

He glanced down at the crunch under his feet, then back up just as I pulled the knife from the pocket of my pants. I lunged forward, swinging it with a single, swift motion. It sliced his throat, blood spurting onto the drop cloth I’d carefully coated the room in, the pieces I’d taped to the cabinets and refrigerator.

His hand went to his neck, fingers suddenly stained crimson as he attempted to stanch the bleeding.

“You…bitch…” He sputtered, his voice garbled as he fell to the floor.

I stood over him, knife in hand and at the ready, but I knew I wouldn’t need to use it again. One slice, to the exact right spot, was all it took. I’d gotten lucky, but it had worked.

He was on the ground now, writhing in pain and fear. I relished the panic on his face, panic like I knew he’d enjoyed seeing on my own. Even if it was all an act.

“That’s right,” I whispered, lowering myself down closer to him. “This…bitch.” Then, just for good measure, I lifted the knife one last time and plunged it into his neck, next to the already open wound.

I waited and I watched, remembering what Peter had said about killing people. Finally, I saw the appeal.

It was empowering.

Magical.

For once,Iwas the whole damn world.

CHAPTER TWENTY

PETER

By the time I got back to my house from Jim’s, I was all pent up. I’d spent most of last night and all of this morning preparing to murder one of my longtime friends.

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