Page 34 of The Heart of Midnight

His eyes widen. “Huh. If it helps, I couldn’t get it up for the last girl. Pissed me off badly enough I killed two more people that day. And I was always either with you or not with you, never both. But what I did to them... it wasn’t attraction. I didn’t want them, I didn’t want to be with them. It was about power, control, and trying like hell to protect you the only way I knew how — staying away from you. They were all you in my head.”

“I’m safest in your arms and you know it.” I press our foreheads together and inhale his woodsy scent. “What do the cops know?”

He takes a shaky breath, but for once, he doesn’t try to push me away or shut down. “Enough. They took a DNA sample at thestation today. It’s only a matter of time before they match it. I was careful, but I’m not perfect.”

My heart begins to race. “And if they don’t have DNA that matches, what do they have? An eyewitness? Do you think they’ll be questioning me soon?”

“Yes, they have an eyewitness and the car I used which might have DNA or trace evidence from the victims. I’m sure they saw the monitors in the basement which means they know I’ve been watching you, so I’ll be shocked if they don’t question you.”

“Okay,” I breathe, scared of what’s to come, but only because of the possibility that I might lose him after finally getting him to myself. “So you shouldn’t be here when they come.”

His jaw ticks as he nods and carefully moves me off his lap. “I understand.”

I don’t want to watch him leave, but we don’t have much of a choice here. “Everything is going to work out how it’s supposed to. It has to.”

Scar stands and slowly makes his way toward the door. “You’re right. It’ll end the way it was always meant to, no matter what that is. Just know that I never would’ve hurt you. Not in ways you didn’t like.”

The door closes behind him and I feel a sadness settle over me at how he just looked. A part of him still fears I might turn on him, and there’s only one way for me to remedy it.

I’ll just hope it works.

Twenty-One

Scar

Blind faith isn’t for the weak.

I barely got out of Avery’s before the cops descended, and it wassoclose that it’s possible they were watching and waiting for me to leave. Probable, even. And I have to give them props for it because now they’ll find the mask and the box of evidence sitting on her coffee table as easily as if I’d have handed all the shit over myself.

No way she had time to hide it all.

Yet as I turn on the monitors to watch what happens, I don’t see either one. All I can make out are Avery, Detectives Harbough and Lange, and a couple of uniformed cops I don’t recognize. No box, no mask. I’m not stupid enough to think she hid them well, so the most likely scenario is that they’ve already been taken out of the house and are probably on their way to the lab for testing already.

That’s strike one.

It’s killing me that I can’t hear what’s going on. I see their mouths moving, but I’ve always been shit at reading lips. She could be standing up for me if she meant what she said, or she could be recounting every sordid detail I just shared with her. Her body language is tense and defensive, but that tells me nothing. Avery is the type of person who wears her emotions for others on her sleeve as readily as she does her own, so there’s no way of knowing if she’s tense and defensive because she’s scared to deathofme, orforme.

Harbough is clearly a seasoned detective. We don’t get many murders here in Saint City that I’m not responsible for, but shit happens over at St. Andrew’s Academy that rarely makesthe news. The provost of that weird sex-training academy is a drug lord who manages to stay under wraps thanks to the “students” he calls The Wardens, and my guess is Harbough’s had a few run-ins with them over the years. He’s not new to this. His posture is rigid, expression neutral as he fires off clipped questions to her I can’t understand. But Lange, he’s about as green as they come. It’s obvious even to me that he’s not getting the answers he wants... right up until Avery throws my ass so far under the bus I get hit by all four wheels.

She’s pointing out my cameras. Every single one of them. When all five of the people on screen seem to make eye contact with me through the monitors, I know I’m finished. Lange looks triumphant. Harbough looks disgusted. The cops look curious and apprehensive, like they aren’t sure exactly what it means... but Avery looks embarrassed. Apologetic, even. I may be shit at reading lips, but even I can tell she’s mouthing “sorry” to the camera.

Sorry tome.

Strike two.

On a fundamental level, I know she’s trying to give me time to get away. It’s the one thing shecando for me now since she chose the wrong side, yet I find I don’t have it in me to leave. Running won’t solve any of my problems, won’t bring me any peace. I’ll constantly be looking over my shoulder and wishing I could get back to her. No, Avery Valentine stole all the running I had left in me the minute I fell in love with her.

So that’s it. Once again, I’m down to prison or suicide by cop, and I can’t put that on her. She’d blame herself if I died here today and I promised her I wouldn’t hurt her. Ridiculous time for me to decide to have scruples, but hey. Even psychopaths can keep a promise every once in a while.

Deciding not to watch anymore, I unplug the monitors and give my little basement lair a final once-over. I doubt I’ll eversee it again. The bed was never that comfortable so it’s not any great loss, though the memories of having Avery tied to it... hell. It doesn’t matter. Those memories will be with me until they execute me. Maybe even after, if I’m lucky.

The mask is gone, the weapons are gone, and the monitors bring me no peace now. The only thing down here she didn’t find where the pictures I’d taken of her that she so badly wanted to know existed. She just looked in the wrong place. They’re under the mattress, not under the bed frame where the rest of it was. Part of me hopes they make her smile once they’re found. She stole the heart of a serial killer, after all. That’s a claim to fame not many people have.

But now, there’s nothing to do but wait to be arrested. I go upstairs to change clothes, put my boots on, gather my wallet, keys, and cell phone and place them all on my kitchen table. Nice, neat, tidy. I barely have time to sit down after all that before my doorbell rings twice.

Strike three.

Sighing, I ignore the fear and adrenaline in my chest as I take measured steps toward the door and open it. “Back so soon, Detectives?” I quip. “I’m assuming you got the DNA results?”

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