Page 204 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Another danger.

And I want him too.

I feel his chest rise and fall beneath my cheek, steady, unbothered.

The urge to tilt my head and find his mouth hits hot and sharp, twisting my stomach.

I’ve seen his lips—twice—just enough to haunt me.

Enough to wonder what they’d feel like: hard and claiming, or slow and devastating.

I should hate him.

I should scream, run, call for help—anything but lean in closer.

But I crave him. Crave what he makes me feel.

The realization cuts deep, carving away the last of the girl who thought she could be normal.

Who thought she was still whole.

Dexter trots over and plops down at my feet, tail wagging half-heartedly.

He bumps my ankle with his head and whines when I ignore him.

It dawns on me that Dexter doesn’t growl anymore.

He trusts the masked man like he belongs here.

The realization hits like a punch.

He’s been here while I’m gone.

Often.

Maybe always.

Maybe long before I ever caught the first shiver of awareness.

“Do you come here when I’m not home?”

My voice barely breaks the silence.

He nods. Once.

Unbothered.

My stomach flips.

The questions tumble out, sharp and frantic.

“Why?”

Silence.

“When did it start?”

Nothing.

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