Page 24 of The Heart of Midnight

“You couldn’t just let it go, could you,” he mumbles. “You had to keep saying it.”

“Saying what?” I hiss through gritted teeth. “That I’m yours? I’d be yours whether I was tied up or not, Scarcello.”

“Midnight,” he snaps. “We had a fucking good thing going, Avery.”

I know I shouldn’t, but I actually smile a second before it hits me he really isn’t happy. “And we don’t anymore?”

“I don’t know. I need time to think. Stay here.”

“Not like I can go anywhere,” I quip, then quickly change my tune as he backs away. “Wait, seriously. You don’t have to do this, I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’m gonna go make you food. I’ll be back.”

He turns his back to me and leaves, making fear creep up my spine. Scar is usually the one I run to when this feeling overtakes me, and now... he’s the reason I’m scared at all.

How the fuck did I get here?

Fifteen

Scar

I don’t have a choice anymore. I have to kill her if I want to keep my skeletons tucked inside the closet where I keep them.

She’s a fucking liability. It took her five seconds to work out that I’m Midnight, so how much longer will it be before she connects the dots to Muerte? What are the odds that two masked psychos are really running around Saint City when she’s had interactions with both?

She’s a smart woman. Intelligent, quick, and definitely not afraid to jump to a conclusion or two. She’s making me sloppy.

I fucking knew better than to give into her as Scar, yet here I am adding kidnapping to my growing list of crimes and making steak for a woman tied up in my basement.

Unsurprisingly, this is new for me. I don’t feed my victims before I kill them. It feels a little like fattening a pig up for slaughter, but even now I can’t handle the thought of Avery being uncomfortable. I’ll make her death quick, but I havesomestandards when it comes to her. I should take care of her before I... take care of her.

And then I’ll move on. Alone again like I’ve always been, I’ll pack up and move to some other unsuspecting city and ruin a few days to make myself feel better. I wonder how much blood I’ll have to spill to wash Avery’s off my hands.

Too much, I’m guessing. She’s a part of me now.

So much for her making me immortal.

Frustrated, I cut up the steak in small enough pieces that I can feed her without her choking, then plate it with some shitty instant mashed potatoes and pause outside my basement door.

She’ll hate me once the endorphins from good sex wear off. She’ll realize I’m a monster and look at me with terror and disdain, just like everyone else.

Unless she doesn’t live long enough.

I can do this.

Heading down, I avoid eye contact as I flip on the overhead light and sit on the edge of the bed. “Hope you like your steak medium rare. I’m not the well-done brand of psychopath.”

Adjusting to the lights, she blinks at me until I have her focus with her jaw set. “Why would you call yourself a psychopath?”

I know her well enough to know she’s not stupid, so she’s either probing me for information or playing dumb to save her own life. Either way, I’m not sure it matters. Dead women can’t spill secrets. “Because that’s what I am,” I say simply as I push a cube of steak into her mouth. “I’ve got the diagnosis to prove it.”

I watch her spitefully chew her food as she gears up to ask me more questions. “Then why feed me? Why take care of me at all these last few months?”

If I only knew the answer to that question.

“Because you were different,” I offer lamely. “And you were literally too close to home. Killing you would’ve led the cops straight to my door and I wanted to stay in Saint City for a while.”

“Killing me?” Her voice breaks as she blinks at me in disbelief. “You’ve... thought about killing me?”

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