Page 9 of Desperate Valentine

I head into my bedroom and grab what I need to take a quick shower. Unlike most of my showers, I keep it short and sweet.

As I step out, my phone starts to ring.

It’s Jude.

Shit. Should I even answer? I really have no reason to. The job is done. Blaise is gone. Mission accomplished.

Confusion sets back in as I reach for the towel while my phone continues to ring.

I at least owe him a ‘thank you’.

So I answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey. I’m at the front door,” he says. There’s a tone to his voice that makes me shiver in anticipation. Morally, I shouldn’t be so willing to let him back in, but I sure as hell want to.

“I just got out of the shower. Give me a few minutes.”

“Fine.”

I wrap the towel around me, opting not to get dressed. I can’t stand putting clothes over my still damp skin. The feeling just freaks me out.

Walking over to the door, I unlock it and tighten the towel around my chest as I open it.

“Holy shit. You did a good job cleaning up,” he says, handing me a coffee and a lemon poppyseed muffin.

My absolute favorite muffin. Of all muffins, he picked this one?

“I have a feeling I forgot something.” I sigh, the unease settling in as I take another glance around the room. “Like there’s a huge chunk of his skin hiding somewhere or something.”

“His skin was fully intact,” he reassures. “It’s not like you butchered him.”

“I dunno. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“It’s not supposed to feel right, Veronica,” he whispers, taking a seat in a chair I have tucked into the corner of my bedroom.

“How many times have you—” I lick my lips nervously, realizing that I’m still standing in the middle of my room with just a towel on.

“Killed someone? More times than I can count.” He chuckles, seemingly satisfied with his answer.

“Seriously? Why that many?” I ask, suddenly regretting my decision to let him back in.

“I’m kidding. The answer is twelve, if you really want to know.”

“Twelve?!”

Who the fuck is this guy?

“That’s what I said—twelve.” He sits up, resting his elbows on his legs as his eyes explore my body from head to toe.

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. My throat suddenly becomes excruciatingly dry and I’m once again seemingly frozen in place.

“Cat got your tongue?” he smirks.

Before he can say another word, I turn and head toward the bathroom. I can hear him chuckle and mumble something under his breath as I shut the door.

How the hell did I end up trailing along with a fucking serial killer?

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