Page 24 of Serial Killer Games

“Maybe every few months. I change it up. Last time I wrapped her up in a rug and took her to the river.”

My mistake for thinking he’d break character. I suppress a smile. “Not my preferred approach. I think your bed will work just fine.”

Jake’s forehead puckers. “That’s my roommate’s bed.”

I freeze. “We’re doing this in your roommate’s room? Are you the roommate from hell?”

“No. He is.”

“Right.”

“We could do it in the bathroom,” he says, tipping his head in the direction of the en suite. “Easy cleanup.”

Exactly how messy are we going to get? Not that I’m…opposed. I turn away from him and pull my hair to one side. “Zip.”

“What?”

I glance at him over my shoulder and his face is blank.

“I don’t want to get blood on my clothes,” I say. “Zip.”

It takes a long moment, but I watch from the corner of my eye as he removes his gloves and tosses them on the bed. Hisfingertips are like ice when they brush against the back of my neck. I shiver. My zipper parts, and then my dress forms a red puddle around my feet. I turn to face him in my bra and panties.

His face is red. He swallows, and says nothing, and doesn’t allow his eyes to travel lower than my shoulders. He doesn’t even breathe.

I’veneverhad this effect on a man before. I could expire from the power trip.

“What do you think of my tattoos?”

He opens, closes, and opens his mouth again, and finally looks down. I feel warm everywhere his eyes touch me. “You’re going to make a very gaudy lampshade.”

Those are some valiant fighting words, but he’s lost this round of cat and mouse. He’d eat out of my hand. Hewilleat out of my hand. I win.

“There better be condoms in that bathroom,” I say, leading the way.

His expression turns alarmed. “Wait,” he says, and I stop. “Don’t…don’t go in there.”

“Why not? I was promised easy cleanup.”

His mouth swings open and shut again.

“I bet it’s one of those fancy waterfall showers,” I say, stepping into the doorway, but he remains frozen by the bed. A petrified, horny little mouse. I lean seductively against the jamb and drop into a throaty voice. “You could always slip on Mother’s clothes and bring that knife along if it helps you relax.”

He glances at the knife on the bed.

I enter the dark bathroom and rake the wall for a light switch. Suddenly there’s light, and now there’s Jake, inches from me—the fuckingknifebared in hisfuckinghand—

Tinkle.

Fucking.

Tinkle.

I pluck the pepper spray from my bra, raise it to his face, and spray. He’s flattened in a second, coughing and wheezing and dribbling tears and spit and snot all over the bathroom tiles. His lesson is not to fuck with a fellow predator.

My lesson hits me a second later: pepper spray in small spaces fucks everyone.

I can’t breathe—I have an inferno in my windpipe, in my lungs, and my entire face is turned on like a faucet. I’m on all fours, coughing uncontrollably, fat black tears of runny eyeliner dripping onto the white tiles in front of me. I spot the knife and grab it.

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