Page 23 of Pen Pal

Amara

After I saw my first client ever since I returned to work, I ended my work day early and headed back to the domestic violence shelter. I was still shaken from the meeting I had with that murderer.

I don’t need a reason to kill. I enjoy it.

I shuddered at the memory of his words. In the past, I gave all my clients the benefit of the doubt, but I was sure this man was guilty. Enzo Ricci had that cold, hard glint in his eye that I’ve seen in every hardened criminal. It was like he didn’t have a soul.

When I first saw him, I was taken aback. He had curly blonde hair that hovered over his piercing blue eyes. He was tall, tattooed on his arms, hands, neck, and face. His chest piece disappeared under his orange jumpsuit, and it made me wonder what other ink he hid under thoseclothes…

He was dangerous and had a deadly smile with gleaming white teeth. He had a thin and small mustache above his upper lip. I never liked facial hair, but it suited him perfectly and framed his big, kissable lips. The scent of his cologne was still in my nose, smelling of fresh pine and cedarwood. Enzo was devilishly handsome, and I bet he was the downfall of many ladies and the breaker of many hearts.

His story was a sad one. He and his sister were taken from their parents at ages twelve and ten, and they bounced around from foster home to foster home. Enzo consistently scored abnormally high in protective instincts, always his sister’s keeper. He was placed in a group home at age fourteen and then returned to a foster home two years later. His anger issues progressively got worse until he snapped and killed his gym teacher. No one knew why, and he was given twenty years.

As time went on, he grew a penchant for killing. At first, they were almost reasonable, with the hits mostly being child molesters and rapists. He got into multiple fights in jail, always ending up back in court and solitary confinement. In prison, those fights turned into beatdowns and murders. The motivation behind the killings became more petty, with this recent murder listed as the result of a fight over an insult about Enzo’s family member.

After his third murder, Enzo was sentenced to life in prison, and that was five years ago. Hisbehavior kept worsening, and it seemed he no longer cared what happened to him. He was an intellectual puzzle and one of the reasons why I studied criminology in the first place.

I was always curious about how the mind worked, especially those of criminals. What brought them to commit crimes? Did they have any other choice? Was it due to trauma or a messed-up childhood? Each person was different, and they were all puzzling and fascinating.

Plus, this particular puzzle was six-foot-eight, muscled, and terrifying. Enzo was also sexy in his own way, with his commanding aura and unwavering confidence.

Wow, you sure know how to pick them, I thought to myself dryly. First, my husband, and now this guy. There was something seriously wrong with me.

A knock sounded at my door, and I jumped, clutching my chest as I attempted to calm down. Reluctantly, I opened the door. Of course, my social worker was there and all smiles as usual.

“Hi, Amara, I’m just checking in. How was your first day at work?”

“Hi, Sylvia. Um…eventful,” I admitted, biting my lip in apprehension. “Honestly, it was alot.”

“You’ve been out of the game for years; it’s bound to be a little overwhelming at first, but you can do it,” Sylvia encouraged. “Once you get your first paycheck in two weeks, you’ll be very proud of yourself. You just wait.”

“Sure,” I said, trying to placate her so she could leave my room. “I need to eat and rest now. Can we talk about this later?”

“Of course, you know where to find me. Have a good evening,” Sylvia sang as she turned away and headed back down the hallway.

I closed the door behind her and turned around, pressing my back against it. I locked the door before I slowly sank to the ground. I couldn’t believe this was my new reality.

I had a psycho client who was my first assignment in a new job I needed to keep to start over. My social worker was kind enough to drive me to work until I could afford a bus pass, but since my job was in the next town over, I couldn’t walk there. I also had this impending divorce I needed to deal with…it was all a lot.

But I had to suck it up if I wanted to survive.

A large crash sounded, and I screamed, ducking for cover. Glass rained on top of me as I cowered on the floor, shaking and crying.

I looked up and saw my bedroom window was shattered and glass littered all over my floor. I looked on the floor and saw a brick with a note attached to it. I tentatively reached for it as I heard shouting and running in the hall beyond my door. I flipped the brick over and gasped as I read the note.

I’m coming for you, bitch.

There was only one person who ever called me that. Mark.

I was numb as my door burst open and people flooded in my room, exclaiming over the mess, patting my back, and saying soothing words…

But all I could think of was that Mark found me.

I was in danger, and I had nowhere to go.

7

Enzo

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