Page 6 of Falling for a Killer

My stomach drops. I might be brave, but I’m not stupid. He knows exactly what that means and so do I. “No, I guess not. My sister knows I’m here but that’s it.”

“And she’s not going to pop up and interrupt you while you’re jacking off? That’s not a shared sister trait?”

My eyebrows raise, but I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole. At least not yet. “No. She has a family and we live thirteen hours away from here. It’s not like she can just swing by for a girl’s night.”

He seems to relax as he sets the gun on the coffee table. “Alright. Which room is yours? Is it the one with green bedding or pink?”

“Green. If I take a shower, will you promise not to shoot me through the glass?”

“Too messy. You have my word I’ll stay out here.”

Nodding, I grab my suitcases and drag them back to my room, only to find the bed messed up. He’s been sleeping in my bed.

For some reason, that makes me squirm.

My stomach won’t seem to settle as I undress and climb into the shower. I feel his eyes on me even though I can hear himin the living room, and every flicker of the dying bulb above the sink makes me twitch.

I’ll never be able to sleep here.

I’ll never be safe.

Maybe it’s time I just faced it.

Too much time passes before I shut the water off again and get dressed. He must’ve turned the heat up, because the mix of the lingering hot water on my skin and the temperature in the room makes me lightheaded — or maybe it’s just my circumstances.

Either way, I dress lightly in a tank top and shorts before walking back out.

I find him frowning at the television angrily even though it’s on silent, and before he can turn it off fast enough I see he was watching the news.

He was too quick for me to see what they were covering.

When I turn my gaze back on him, I find him watching me intently with that stupid mask still in place.

“Are you planning on keeping that on all year?” I ask.

I watch his chest rise and fall with a deep breath before he shakes his head no. “I’m going to need a little more from you before I feel comfortable enough to remove it. Will you sit?”

My eyes fall to the gun on the end table. Knowing I don’t have a choice, I obey. “You’ve asked about Ryan twice. He’s my ex-fiance. We were together for three years and everything was great, but one night he asked me for eighty-thousand dollars to pay his gambling debts. I said no. A few weeks later, he asked again, but for double the amount. Again, I said no and urged him to get help. The third time he asked, he was in for a quarter of a million dollars and threatening my life. I kicked him out of our house, ended the engagement, and spent the last year trying and failing to avoid him as he stalked me, threatened me, set fires to scare me. Two nights ago, he tried to shoot me. The gunjammed.” I sit back, curling my legs in front of me. “So that’s Ryan. And since the cops wouldn’t do anything about it, I came here to save my own life.”

He looks troubled as he takes in my story, his expression morphing into something more angry by the time he finds his voice. “Fucking cops. You’d think they’d have done more for someone in your tax bracket, but it seems they only give a fuck if you’re one of them or a politician.” His sharp jaw tenses. “So your ex. Why didn’t you stab him in the balls?”

“Because he was bigger than me,” I say simply. “As a woman, if you’re gonna hurt a man, you’d better be prepared — and able — to kill him. If you don’t, chances are good it’ll be you that ends up in the ground.”

His eyes drop to his lap, because unless he’s a piece of shit, he has absolutely no argument for what I just said. It’s a tale as old as time, and it doesn’t matter what year we’re in or whether women have voting rights, men will always feel superior. “Do you know who he owed the money to? Maybe they’ll get to him sooner rather than later. You’re right, men prey on who they deem weak and that includes other men like him.”

“I don’t know. I don’t care,” I admit. “If he lives, if he dies, I just hope I never see him again. So that’s why I’m here. Why are you here?”

“I had nowhere to go,” he admits. “I don’t have family or friends anymore, and unfortunately I used the last of my money to get me here. I’m pretty good with a computer so I managed to find this place after a little digging. Found the information on your parents and made my plans to disappear here when they went on vacation. All the family photos of this place are from Christmas time so I figured I’d have a few months before I had to find somewhere else. Imagine my surprise when you walked through that door four days into my stay.”

That’s something, but doesn’t tell me why he’s on the run. For all I know, he could be the guy who shot that senator. The eyes are similar enough. He has a gun. And four days... the timeline sort of checks out. He’s too damn close to that gun for me to say a word, though.

“I’m sorry you don’t have anyone. My parents are hardly ever around, but they support me. And my sister has been amazing.”

“It was always just my mom and I, and the friends I was surrounded by turned out to be nothing more than leaves in the wind when shit got real.”

How real? Like shooting a politician real?

“So where’s your mom?”

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