Page 46 of Don't Speak
“My name is Dean Miller. My sister was Charlie Miller,” he confesses, his eyes becoming glossy.
I’m taken aback a bit, trying to rack my brain on where I know that name from. When it dawns on me, my eyes widen. “No.” My heart rate kicks up.
“Yes,” he breathes out, walking toward me, knowing this information is like a punch to the stomach.
The man I’ve been sleeping with for weeks is the brother of the girl who took her life after what Seandid. Tears form in my eyes, and my chest aches, feeling like I’ve just been stabbed directly in the heart. The air rushes out of my lungs, leaving me with a feeling of suffocation.
“How could you keep this from me?!” I scream. He’s standing in front of me now. “Why are you here?” I pound on his chest. “WHY.”Pound. “Me?”Pound.
He tries to grab my wrists, but I push him against the chest, and he takes a few steps back, regaining his balance. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you since the trial. Something about you captivated me, and I wanted to know more. I kept my distance at first, but when I received notification of Sean’s escape, I decided to introduce myself. I knew it wasn’t safe for you.”
“Why don’t I recognize you if you’re Charlie’s brother?” I say with a rush, breezing past what he just said.
“I kept myself out of the spotlight. I sat in the back, observing. I didn’t want my face broadcasted because I knew one day I’d need to get revenge.”
“Revenge?” I question, a roiling feeling forming in my stomach.
“I’ve always had a plan to kill Sean for what he did to my sister.”
I stare at him in shock at his confession. Don’t get me wrong, I’d always hoped the fucker suffered in prison. I had dreamed about him becoming someone’s bitch, suffering like his victims suffered before ultimately being killed by a prison guard or prisoner, but hearing the idea of murder come from the man I fell in love with is shocking.
“So you planned to just kill him one day, and what? Get away with it?” I question again, disbelief washing over me that he feels like he is capable of that.
“Yes,” he says matter-of-factly.
“How does someone who has never killed before expect to get away with murder?”
There’s a long pause as he stares at me, his expression falling to one of sorrow, and my heart sinks, vomit threatening to work its way up.
“You’ve killed before,” I whisper, the words coming out as a statement rather than a question.
He nods. “I have.”
“How many?”
“Dozens over the last several years. It’s what I do for a living.”
“So, you’re telling me that you’ve been killing people as a job?”
“Yes. I'm mostly hired by victims’ mothers. When the justice system has failed them and leaves their child’s abuser on the street, they contact me to handle it.”
“So you make a living killing pedophiles.” Again, I say it as a statement.
“That’s correct.”
He seems so nonchalant when talking about murder; it’s concerning. But also… hot?Shit, no, Nikki. Murder is bad.But I mean, if he’s going to kill anyone, I’m glad they’re child abusers.
I can’t do anything right now but stare. Then, it dawns on me.
“Eric?”
A flash of fury graces his eyes before it softens. “The night I wrote the note on the receipt,” he starts, but I chime in.
“Oh, you mean the one about people not being who they seem? Yeah, I remember that one well.” I glare at him, hoping he feels the fury beneath it, and he winces.
I’m angry and lashing out, and he knows it, so he doesn't even address that comment with a response. He just continues. “He was planning on raping you and recording it. He had two buddies here that night, and I overheard them talking about you. When I left the bar, I waited out back. I heard you screaming and saw you running. When you weren’t looking, I grabbed him and dragged him into the darkness until you drove off. I… disposed of him. So he couldn’t hurt you anymore. Afterward, I went to his buddy’s apartment. I found tapes that they’ve been recording of raping unconscious or semi-conscious women. He deserved it.”
My head is spinning. “So it was you who texted Ben to let him know he was leaving town,” I questioned, putting the pieces together.
