Page 132 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

I swipe to unlock.

Dexter stops and stiffens. Growls low in his throat, snaggletooth front and center like he’s auditioning forCujo: Teacup Edition.

“Dex…” I whisper.

My eyes drop to the most recent message.

UNKNOWN: HE’S COMING TO KILL YOU!!!

And just like that, every scrap of calm I’d managed to gather slams into the pavement.

I’m a goddamn wildfire tearing through the city.

Horn blaring. Tires screaming. My hand glued to the wheel while my foot punishes the gas like it insulted me.

Every red light is a dare.

Every slow car in front of me is a target.

I swing the car up onto the curb without hesitation, clipping a trash bin that explodes across the sidewalk in my rearview like confetti at the world’s worst parade.

I don’t give a shit.

This car’s a junkyard decoy. Old, dented, and forgettable. It’s not meant to last. It’s meant to get me there fast enough to stop a murder.

Hermurder.

It can burn, crumble, wrap around a lamppost—I’ll still be crawling toward her with broken ribs and blood in my lungs if that’s what it takes.

My phone is in the cup holder, screen glowing like a flare—her location dot moving on the map with agonizing slowness.

She’s on the way home.

Heading straight back to the place he’s already defiled. The house he broke into.

The house where he tucked a hunting knife under her cushion and coiled rope under another like she’s some piece of prey.

And now she’s in his car.

Alone with a fucking monster.

I hit the button to call her for the hundredth goddamn time.

Come on, come on, come on.

I blow through a stop sign. Some asshole honks.

I flip him off. “Die mad, dickhead.”

The phone rings and rings. “FUCK!” I slam my hand onto the steering wheel like it’s the cause of all this.

She has no idea she’s sitting three feet away from a mother fucking serial predator.

And if I don’t get there in time, she’s going to die.

My iPad is running the security feeds from her house—every motion-triggered camera I’ve wired into the place. Living room. Porch. Hallway.

I can’t look at it for more than a second at a time. Eyes on the road. Eyes on the feed. Eyes on the road. Eyes on her.

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