Page 62 of In The Dark
“That’s a little offensive. I’m in full control of my emotions and behavior. I’m well aware of my what I’m doing. In fact, I’m making a conscious decision to do so.”
“Then why the hell are you holding a knife covered in blood?” she almost screams, and I have to hold back a laugh.
She’s so fucking cute when she gets fired up about something.
“I haven’t been honest with you.”
I hold up my hands in surrender then put the knife on my desk. Realizing it’s going to make a mess, I strip off my jacketand shirt. I wrap the stained white cotton around the dirty blade, carefully setting it next to my laptop. When I face her, I don’t miss the way her gaze roams down my body. How she admires my tattoos and muscles with lust.
“Start talking,” she damands.
“Hey. My eyes are up here, sweetheart.”
Max scowls and throws another book my way. This one hits my shoulder, and I rub the small red mark it leaves behind.
“Hunter.”
“Being a scare actor isn’t the only job I have. I also dabble in extracurricular activities,” I start with, watching her eyebrows wrinkle. “I have a friend who runs an unground organization. He’s a former cop who hated how corrupt the force became, and he took matters into his own hands. He started getting rid of the horrible people who freely walked the streets after getting a pass from law enforcement.”
“Wereyoua cop?” she asks, another book poised and ready to toss my way.
“Fuck, no. Do I look like I’d be a cop?”
“I don’t know anything about you.”
“Is this the fuckingmob? Am I going to be followed for sleeping with you?”
“I’m flattered you think I’m special.” I flash her another smile and she flips me off. “I wasn’t sure I was even going to join this group, but I started the process with them in case it all panned out. I took a weapons handling class. Learned how to use a knife, an ax, and fifteen other tools I can use as weapons. Then I discovered all the ways I could kill a man—a very, very, bad man—with a towel, and I was hooked. I took out my first rapist six years ago, and I’ve done plenty more since.”
“Hang on.” Max slowly lowers the book. The color drains from her face, and her chest rises and falls. “You’re… you’re a serial killer?”
“That’s offensive, Max.”
She digs her phone out of her pocket, types something on the screen, then tosses it my way. I catch it midair, reading what she’s looking up on the internet and chuckling.
“How to tell if the guy you’re seeing is a serial killer? Aw.” I put a hand on my bare chest. “How sweet.”
“Keep reading.”
“Okay.” I nod, because I’ll do anything she asks. “I guess since the dictionary defines a serial killer as someone who’s killed three or more people in a month, I technically am. But I’m a good serial killer. I promise.”
“There aregoodserial killers?” she shouts, another book raised to throw at my head. It’s alarming how much her feistiness turns me on.
“Of course there are, Max. We have tiers, sweetheart. The good ones get rid of the bad guys on the streets: murderers who have walked free after making a deal with someone in power. Rapists. Abusers. The bad ones kill without any reason because they like the thrill of it. They’re vile and deserve to go straight to hell.”
Max stares at me. Her eyes flick to the knife, then back to me. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you’re not going to hurt me? We said no more secrets, and here you fucking are: telling me you’re a goddamn murderer.”
“You don’t know I’m not going to hurt you.” I shrug and unwrap the knife from the shirt keeping it safe. I walk toward her, glad when she doesn’t run away. “But if you want to hold onto this so you feel safer when I’m around, be my guest.”
She blinks. Her fingers close around the handle and she weighs it, getting used to the heaviness. Keeping her gaze on me, she draws it back behind her head. “What if I threw it at you right now?”
“Well, your grip is all wrong. It would probably fall about two feet shy of actually hitting me. In the off chance you did stab me? I’d get the mark tattooed. I’d add a heart and writeproperty of Maxunder it.”
“You’re insane,” she mumbles.
“Not insane,” I murmur, bringing my mouth to hers. The hitch in her breathing makes my cock throb in my jeans. “Thoroughly obsessed, remember? There’s a big difference.”
“Yeah?” She lifts her chin, defiance behind her eyes when her gaze meets mine. “And what’s that?”
