Page 59 of Half the Summer's Night
to be here with me
—but she’s not happy anymore. Something like fear surges through her, although it’s more acrid. Embarrassment, I think. Humiliation. She scrambles the rest of the way up the ladder.
“Hey, don’t stop!” shouts my victim. “I was enjoying the show!”
His friend dissolves into laughter. I glare at them, blood coursing through my body. I’m afraid to do anything else, though. Afraid to speak. Afraid to move toward them. Because if I do, I don’t think I could stop myself from slaughtering them, even out here in the open.
When I look at them, rage boiling inside me, I see dead men. I see dismembered limbs. I see blood dripping from that stupid giant crab they’re leaning against.
“What’re you looking at?” my victim taunts. “You got something to say, fat ass?”
“Rowan, ignore them.” Abi’s voice is like a cool breeze in the heat. “They’re just drunk.”
I glance over to find her standing on the edge of the pirate ship, the wind blowing her hair back. She seems pale. Worried. It reminds me of how she looked after I killed the interloper in her house.
My two victims laugh again, jeering and cruel. I force myself toward Abi, who looks down at her hands. And I hate them in a way I never hate my victims. I hate that they ruined this for her.
But it’s going to be so satisfying to watch them die.
22
ROWAN
I’m parked outside the La Arena condos, wrapped in shadow because I smashed all the lights in the parking lot. It’s nearly midnight, and my fingers are itching for death.
It was torture, parting ways with Abi at Neptune’s Adventure. I sensed the sadness radiating off her when she walked off, like she was disappointed that I didn’t want to stay with her. I wish I could have told her I’d see her later, that she’d hear from me soon. But I knew she was sad about Rowan, not me.
No matter. I couldn’t go with her as Rowan because I needed to follow my victims when they left the mini golf course. I waited on the little bench on the boardwalk, scrolling idly through my phone without really looking at anything, until I caught the whiff of their scents. The two of them spilled out, still laughing, still drunk, and made their way toward the beach.
I followed.
That was how I found out they were staying here, at La Arena, a shabby little property that’s half locals and half short-term rentals. Not exactly a competitor to the Palm Breeze Hotel.
This was all the information I needed to put my plan into motion. I saw what unit they were staying in, and I saw them leave this evening, presumably to go drinking. They took a bigpickup truck covered in sand and salt. That was when I got my own car from my house and drove over to Neptune’s Adventure to set everything up.
Now, it’s just a matter of waiting.
I don’t have to wait too long. A little after midnight, the SUV pulls into the lot. I slouch down in my seat, watching over the rim of my steering wheel, as my two victims stumble around, arms wrapped around each other, clearly drunk. Idiots, to be out driving like that.
Their voices clatter out into the night. I stay put, waiting for them to disappear into their condo unit. This is always the hardest part, getting all the pieces into place. But I have plenty of experience.
Once the victims are inside, quiet falls over the parking lot again. Clouds cover up any moonlight, accentuating my work with the broken security lights.
Which is perfect, because it’s dark enough that I can move unseen. Good thing I’ve always had great night vision.
I put on my killing face.
Then I slide out of the car and make my way up the stairs, moving quickly and quietly. This kill is going to be extremely complicated, and I know I could have made it easier on myself by choosing someone else. Someone who worked at the golf course, for example. But these two deserve to die, and so they will.
I’m prepared to pick the lock, but I try the knob first, and the door swings open. Lucky me.
I peer into a small, empty living room. I don’t see either one of my victims, although I can smell them, and I can hear them. Not just their voices, although one of them is singing loudly from the back of the condo. But their heartbeats. Their breaths.
I ease the door shut behind me and step into the hallway, listening. One of them, the one that’s singing, is in the bathroom. The other is in one of the bedrooms, and I go to him first, movingin the soft, careful way that Uncle Nash taught me when I was a child. I trained to do this on men who would know to expect someone like me, and these two tourists are—not that. So that’s something in my favor.
I peer into the bedroom and find the guy who catcalled Abi. He’s facing away from me, fumbling drunkenly around in the closet, and I hear his sharp whistle in the back of my head.
His friend is still in the bathroom. I intended to kill both of them, but fuck it. I can streamline this if I work fast. And this asshole’s the one Ireallywant, anyway.
