Page 82 of Pretty Cruel Love

“I walked in on a beating at a gas station last year,” I whisper. “The girl couldn’t have been any older than me. But the guy? He had to be at least sixty. She kept begging him to stop... and he didn’t. He beat her until she collapsed—then walked out to his truck like nothing happened.”

Ethan’s expression hardens, but he stays quiet.

“I followed him home that night. And then I kept following him. For weeks.”

He arches a brow, silent invitation for more.

“I waited until everything lined up—just right. Like the angles and shadows in one of my paintings.” I pause. “And then I erased him for good.”

I exhale, steady but quiet.

“He’ll never lay a hand on anyone again.”

Silence settles between us.

There are a lot more stories I could tell him, but I don’t know what he’s thinking.

Maybe I trusted him too soon.

“I…” My voice falters. “I shouldn’t have said that. You regret meeting me now, don’t you?”

“Not at all.”

He kisses my forehead.

“You’re exactly my type.”

36

ETHAN

Back then…

This was supposed to be a relatively simple murder.

Show up. Kill the men who irrevocably damaged the woman I love. Clean. Controlled. Cinematic.

They were conveniently all in the same place—The Baylor Estate—and I’d planned every detail down to the lighting. I even brought a camera to document the carnage for Sadie. Thought maybe she’d want to frame it. Hang it in her studio like vengeance reborn.

I was enjoying it. Savoring it. Making sure the stab wounds weren’t too deep at first—I wanted them to feel it. Wanted them to know it was personal.

But Sadie justhadto show up. Had to see Jonathan’s body before I was finished. Had to grab the knife and jab it in a little deeper herself.

She didn’t even tell me she was coming.

Pure, breathtakingly psychopathic behavior.

Now she’s standing in front of me in the living room, her cheeks wet, eyes wide, mascara running like she’s the victim.

“How long do you think it’ll take them to link this back to me?” she whispers.

“Not long.” I brush a tear from her face with my thumb. “But I won’t let them keep you. I swear.”

“You don’t have the power to make promises like that.”

“You’re going to have to play one hell of a part.” I ignore her pessimism, stepping closer. “You’re already good at masking—but this? This will require brilliance.”

“What are you saying?”

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