Page 18 of The Heart of Midnight

The screen changes to show a grainy cell phone video. The first thing I see is the same demon mask that was staring at me in the parking lot that day, but then the camera pans to Angelo and John. They’re so bloody I can’t tell who is who anymore. All I can make out are terrified expressions and the blood-soaked remains of the cheap suits they always wear.

Just when I think it can’t get worse, Muerte speaks: “Does it bother you that they didn’t even put up a fight?”

The video abruptly ends and the feed cuts back to the newscaster, all pursed lips and barely-concealed fright. “Chilling words from a psychopath. Detectives are currently pursuing all leads and ask that the public stays vigilant. Don’t go out alone, lock your doors, and stay home after dark. And please, if you know something or suspect someone... say something. I’m Ingrid Alden reporting live from Rines, Inc. Stay safe out there.”

I look away from the TV as my heart rate kicks up to panic attack levels. I was so sure he was there for me, and yet he’s switched up everything and killed two men instead? Why? Why the hell would a serial killer change everything about his M.O., and why them, specifically? They were assholes sure, but they were harmless, and even though we weren’t friends I feel sad for how they died.

Tears well in my eyes as I try to figure out why that voice is familiar, but it doesn’t sound like either of the two men in my life, and honestly, they’re the only ones I actually pay attention to.

The first tear falls just as someone knocks on my door, and although I can check the feed to see who it is, I have a feeling it’sScar. I’m running on autopilot as I make my way over to let him in. It’s like he has some sort of sensor for when I’m upset. “Hi,” I whisper, another tear falling as he looks me over.

“Avery?” he asks, stepping inside and locking the door behind him like always. “What’s the matter? What happened?”

I point over at the television and then melt into his arms before he can move away. I just need to feel him for a while, so I hold on tight and inhale his captivating scent. “More people were murdered and I knew two of them. The guys. They were dumb, but still... I feel sorry for them.”

“Guys? There’s another killer out there?” he asks. “As if one wasn’t enough.”

“No.” I pull back so I can see his face. “It was Muerte again. They even have video proof like he wanted people to know it was him. I don’t understand why.”

He huffs, guiding me back to his chest as his arms wrap around me. “How’d you know them?”

“They worked with me.” Ugh, he feels so damn good holding me. “They were killed at my office building. Do you think they were who he was after all along?”

“It sounds like it to me,” he says softly. “Especially if he took the time to leave video evidence.”

“But why?” I whisper like he can give me any answers here. “It doesn’t really make sense. I’m his type, not them.”

Scar’s lips glance the top of my head as he pulls back to step around me. “Okay. It’s starting to sound like you’re jealous he picked them and not you, so I think you need a drink. I definitely need one. Any objections?”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just trying to understand,” I argue. “But yes, I have no objections. Why do you need one too?”

He hands me a beer and takes one for himself as he shrugs. “It’s been a long day. Shop shit, you know how it is. Feel like I’m crawling out of my skin there sometimes.”

Probably because you need to get laid. Unless... “When’s the last time you fucked someone, Scar?” Why do I feel jealous? I have absolutely no right to, but I can’t help it.

“I think I’m gonna need a few more drinks before we start spilling secrets like that,” he laughs. “Something stronger, too.”

I take that as it’s been a while and decide not to push. I’ll stay delusional for a little longer. “Game for something much stronger. I have tequila if you’re really feeling bold.”

“Tequila sounds like a terrible idea. I’m in.”

Tears forgotten, I make my way to the kitchen to grab the bottle and some lime juice, then join him on the couch with a soft smile. “Take it you don’t need the chaser?”

“Nah. I’ll take it like it is.”

After about forty minutes, we’re both good and drunk. Not sloppy, but drunk enough for me to have my legs tossed over his lap and a dopey smile on my face that nearly matches his. “Are you drunk enough to dirty talk with me yet?” I realize how stupid that came out a second too late, then giggle. “That’s not how I meant to say that.”

“No? Then how’d you mean to say it?” he laughs. “Whatever it is, yes, I think I’m drunk enough. You fed me half the bottle.”

“You weren’t complaining.” I reach over to touch the scruff on his chin. “How long has it been, Scar? Since you’ve kissed and touched someone.”

His eyes darken as he contemplates the question, then shakes his head slowly. “A long time. A very long time, actually. Three, almost four years, I think.”

Shit. As much as I wanted him to not be casual with anyone else, I hate that he’s been alone so long. “Wow,” I breathe. “I haven’t been kissed in a very long time either. I get it.”

He nods a little, then blurts, “Why not? Why haven’t you tried to date at all lately?”

Because none of them are you or Midnight.

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