Page 16 of Choke

My sister ignores Cyrus and turns to me. “Doesn’t mean it won’t happen. Maybe it’s some twisted fuck who gets his sick kicks by making you think you’re safe, and then bam.”

“Well,” I say as I regret having them over for dinner, “it’s been a year, and since I haven’t died, I’m gonna assume it’s a good Samaritan.”

“Or a stalker completely obsessed with you,” Cyrus mumbles between mouthfuls.

Azadeh smacks him on the back of the head. Cyrus just beams at my sister as if she’s hung the moon. “If you want to get frisky, Hellcat, say the word, and I’ll get you home in a jiffy.”

Azadeh shakes her head but cracks a smile. “You say that like it’s not a big deal.”

Cyrus shrugs as he looks at Lev. “Sometimes, stalkers aren’t that bad.”

“Yeah.” I point to Lev. “If stalkers were that bad, you wouldn’t have married yours.”

Zeke clears his throat. “Um, she’s married to me, and I did not do any kind of unhinged nonsense.”

Cyrus rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. “Zeke takes out eyes before he kills people. Lev put a tracker on Azadeh for ten years. Oh, and he was a perv who recorded her while she slept. I burn people for shits and giggles. Azadeh has a thing for knives. All I’m saying is that it’s obvious the person sendingMona food isn’t trying to hurt her. Maybe they’re shy or fucked up and can’t ask her for a simple dinner date.”

The plates jump as I stand and slam my palms on the table. “Listen, I’m a big girl. A big fuckin’ girl. I’ve been through shit, and I know I have to be careful. For fuck's sake, I’ve been around danger my whole life. Now, the four of you are going to eat and tell me about your week, and that’s that.”

Azadeh sighs as she picks up her fork. “I just worry about you.”

“You’re my sister, Az, not my mother. If I need your help, I’ll ask. I love you, but you don’t get to impose bullshit on me that you’ve ignored your entire adult life.”

“Fine, but if whoever is sending you this food hurts you, I won’t be held responsible for stabbing them to death.”

I smile at my sister. “Deal.”

14

CALLUM

I’ve only ever been good at one thing, and that’s killing. I could’ve been an artist or a doctor with a better upbringing, but fate had other plans. I was born to a charming woman addicted to poison. At least my mother tried her best to protect me. I wasn’t harmed to supply her addiction or wound up on drugs—something unheard of with heroin addiction. No, the issue of growing up where I did, surrounded by certain types of people, schooled me in crime and survival rather than mathematics and science.

From the age of seven, I did what I needed to do. I stole a loaf of bread to fill my belly. I slipped a diamond ring off the finger of a tourist in Edinburgh when I was twelve. As I filled out, I took on odd jobs shaking down rich geeks who owed money to loan sharks. Despite those crimes, I never imagined killing anyone. Not until I was sixteen and walked in on a man raping my mother. Bashing his brains in with a frying pan felt good. Too good.

The pent-up energy festering in my blood was released in a storm of rage and retribution. I should’ve served jail time for what I did to that man, but my mother grabbed the pan and toldme to burn my clothes and leave the house. Once she knew I was in the clear, she called the cops and spent three years in jail. The good news? She got clean while locked up. The bad news? I discovered I had a taste for killing.

Three years of surviving on the streets alone forced me into situations that no one should have to endure. One thing led to another, and I found myself face-to-face with Marcus Meyer. He took a scared punk-ass kid and turned him into a meticulous cold killer. I committed a string of murders in his name.

I’d like to say that meeting Marcus was the lowest point in my life, but it brought me my first taste of happiness with Atlas.

“Where are you going?” Atlas asks, walking toward me with a beer bottle in his hand. His eyes narrow as he takes a sip.

Atlas isn’t a fan of my extracurricular activities. He seems to think that leaving his father’s perverse lifestyle means we should put the past in the rearview. He’s tried to convince me to leave it be, to move on, but I can’t. He loves me and craves her, so he bends easily, but a part of me hates that I’ve turned his already dark existence to pitch black.

Atlas has always struggled with the darkness that resides within him. Constantly running from it, contriving an image that allows him to delude himself and those he comes in contact with into believing he’s upstanding. Didn’t hurt that he landed a trust fund from his rich mother. Money his father couldn’t squander. That wealth allowed him to set us up.

“Where are you going, Callum?” Atlas asks again.

“For a walk,” I lie.

Atlas squints, removing his light gray suit jacket and throwing it on the sofa. “It’s a lovely night for it. Let me get out of this monkey suit, and I’ll come with you.”

Two years ago, we started a security company. It’s rather amusing when I think about it: two criminals setting up the cops and government institutions with all their surveillance needs.It’s also come in handy with my other seedy activities pertaining to a certain girl who’s been consuming my thoughts.

“No, that’s okay. I’m sure you’re tired.” I tap on the earphones. “Thought I’d listen to some music and decompress.”

Atlas stalks me like a predator cornering his prey, his lips tilting up in a smirk. “Decompress by staring into a certain woman’s window?”

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