Page 20 of Chalk Outline
Confused, I furrow my brow and tighten my grip around my elbows. I feel so vulnerable and exposed, and I don’t even know why. “What does that mean?”
“Figure it out yourself.” He strides away, rotating his head from side to side like he does when he wants to punch someone. “And stay inside.”
“Yeah, just leave. Why don’t you go and lift something?” I peel my upper lip into a snarl as I gaze at his back.
He glances over his shoulder, and that wicked smirk pops so fast I want to smack it with a baseball bat.
“Not me,” I warn and turn away to climb the stairs to the second floor, but I halt when he calls my name.
“Winona,” he repeats, and each syllable melts against his seductive lips. “We can go for a ride later if you want.”
I screw my eyes shut. “I don’t want anything from you.” I feel like someone is prodding my chest with a callous finger, trying to leave a blue mark until he murmurs.
“If I give in, I won’t be able to control myself.”
The door slides to my right, and heavy boots slam against the floor as it shuts with a bang behind the person who entered. His presence fills the space beside me, while the van wobbles from the additional weight.
“Ready to go, boys.”That motherfucker. “I hope you brought snacks. This is going to be a long drive.”
The seat vibrates against my ass as soon as Jason finishes his statement.
“Oh, no snacks for you, I’m afraid, except for the ones that will knock you out for a few hours.”
I flip him off and lean back.
“Oh, yeah?” I can hear the humor escaping his wicked lips before it does. “Get in line.”
Somehow, it’s comforting to realize that I am already dealing with trained killers, as Grandma always asserted. She is one. My parents are. And I’ve trained to become a contract killer myself.
I just haven’t killed anyone yet.
A strong whiff of sandalwood fills my nose. The smell of cigarettes follows, mixing with leather. The safety belt rustles against the hook as Jason leans over me, radiating heat that makes my stomach drop. I elbow him hard in his ribs.
“Ouch.” A soft whimper slips from his lips as he clips it to the buckle.
“Don’t get any ideas, mister. You’d better get me there in one piece.”
“It’s not going to hurt. It’ll keep you out while we transfer you to your new location.” His voice is merely a whisper, still sinful and dark. “I got you.”
Chapter four
Reeve Hardy
Monsters — Tommee Profitt, XEAH
Killing one clown or a hundred, it doesn’t matter; I’ve always hated clowns anyway. In the end, I killed for her.
She has no idea what I’ve been through to get back here, and she doesn’t need to know because I would do it all over again if I must.
That is my responsibility.
I’m the monster who kills other monsters and parts of myself because she deserves to live.
I roll the old pocket knife in my palm and pause to glide my finger over the carved initials on the wooden handle.
My initials.
It’s been a minute since I’ve felt its weight in my palm.
