Page 41 of The Hellkeeper

“I ran that night. Didn’t stop running until I arrived here, and Margaret kindly gave me an opportunity to live.”

Still nothing.

I finally muster the courage to look at him. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful. His eyes, black and bottomless, burn with something that makes my stomach drop.

He breathes out hard, pacing a slow circle. “They chose you. Dragged your name through those filthy prayers like they owned you.”

“I don’t belong to them,” I whisper.

“No,” he snarls. “You belong to me.”

I’m starting to get used to him saying I’m his. That I actually belong somewhere—to someone. And that is dangerous.

“I should go there and burn the lies out of their throats. Smash the bones they kneel on,” he growls like a caged beast.

I place a hand on his chest to calm him down. “I don’t want to think about them anymore. I want to leave them in the past, where they belong. I want to live. I want to try the weird food carts on the street, and dance like the girls in the movies do, and sit in a shitty park and let the sun touch my skin.”

His rage is quiet, but it crackles under his skin like a live wire. Yet he looks like he wants to push all of this violence he’s feeling down... for me.

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through it. A song starts to play, slipping into the air like smoke.

“Dance with me.”

“What?”

“You said you want to live. Let’s start here.”

My heart is a drum, and his voice is a match. I take his hand.

His palm is rough, warm. His hand settles against my lower back, the other gripping mine. We move slow, swaying more than dancing, but his body is all heat and tension and hunger pressed against mine.

“You never got this, did you?” he murmurs into my ear.

I shake my head. “No one ever looked at me like I was anything more than a vessel.”

“I’m not them,” he hisses.

The music curls around us, and his lips brush the side of my head.

“I don’t know what this is between us,” I say honestly.

“It’s whatever you want it to be. For now, it’s just this.”

The song loops. I yawn without meaning to. He carries me to the bed, tucking me in like my mother used to. I watch him settle on the hard ground, propping his head against the wall, ready to sleep on the floor like he always does.

“Don’t sleep down there,” I catch myself saying. What am I doing? Am I really inviting my stalker into my bed?

But he isn’t just my stalker, is he? He’s the man who spoils me, who protects me, who makes sure no one disrespects me. How can I stop myself from craving him instead of fearing him, when he shows me more care than anyone else in my life?

I pat the mattress beside me. He hesitates for a second. Just one. Then he almost teleports to the bed with how quickly he jumps in. I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.

Tonight, I officially invited my monster into my bed. I regret nothing.

Chapter Fifteen

Amelia

Ithink I’m in love with a hitman.

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