Page 98 of Bound to a Killer
“What are you doing?” Jayce cries, yanking at his hair, fingers fisting into the strands. “What the fuck, you fucking psycho?—”
Ledger shoots him a menacing glare, sharp enough to make Jayce’s mouth snap shut and stumble back a step. Jayce’s eyes flick to mine instead, accusatory, like he’s on the verge of saying something but thinks better of it, before turning to retreat toward the building.
Oh, God. He broke his phone. Smashed it to pieces.
Relief courses through my chest as it sinks in. The photo’s gone. Deleted. Destroyed.
The feeling barely takes root before dread tears it loose, knotting itself deep in my gut.
What if Jayce brings someone back out here? Or worse, what if they try to call the cops to report an assault? This is bad. Really bad.
My heart pounds, eyes darting through the dark, but I don’t spot anything suspicious lurking around. It’s empty. Quiet. My gaze returns to Ledger, and I freeze, nerves fluttering sharp and jagged through every inch of me.
His eyes are fixed on me, the look in them intense, sharpening the flurry of nerves swirling in my stomach. He doesn’t seem as worried about what just happened. His focus hangs on me instead, pulling me into his secluded attention; the rest of the world’s fallen away.
Snapping out of it, he moves closer, wrapping a sturdy arm around my waist before guiding me off the sidewalk and into the road. His voice is gruff when he speaks again. “Follow me.”
My feet move on their own, just like they had the very first time. I don't fight it. Not even internally this time. I’d take anywhere over this place.
Up ahead, nerves spike my pulse when his old car comesinto view, shiny and black, parked beneath the last stretch of streetlights at the far end of the road. I never thought I’d see it again. The headlights flash as we draw closer, not a single person in sight. Wordlessly, I climb inside.
I’ve never been one to believe in fate. But as my dress settles beneath me and the leather warms against my skin, I can’t help but feel we were bound to find our way back to this point again.
28
LEDGER
The night hums with something sharp and invisible, thrumming beneath her silence, beneath the thick, suffocating weight that’s settled between us. She sits beside me in the passenger seat, frozen, fingers digging into her knees as if anchoring herself in place. Her head stays low, tilted just enough to avoid me, like she’s afraid of what might surface in my eyes if she dares to look.
Watching her shrink away guts me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I want to reach for her. Apologize. Wipe the smudged streaks of mascara from her cheeks. But I hold back, not ready to see her flinch after laying myself bare to her again.
The violent truth of who I am sits between us now, undeniable. No rewriting it. No pretending. No shrinking it down into a lie that makes me easier to forgive.
Had it not been for her voice cutting through the fog of rage I was entangled in, I would’ve bashed that guy’s head into the pavement right along with his phone, unwilling to stop until blood was spilled as payment for every tear that she shed.
That’s the kind of savage monster that I am.
Aria shouldn’t be around someone like me. She’s too good.Too pure. Always setting herself aside to see the good in others, even when it costs her. That kind of blind hope is easy to recognize. The same way predators recognize prey.
It’s why I’m drawn to her.
Showing up there was selfish, but I’ve gotten good at justifying anything when it comes to her. I convinced myself it didn’t matter as long as it went unnoticed. That over time, she’d pick up the pieces I shattered and build something normal again. That the memory of me would fade. Or maybe I was always lying to myself. Maybe her noticing isexactlywhat I wanted.
Because I’m selfish.
The wheel digs into my palms as I squeeze, tension braced behind my teeth. I grind it down before the words slip out, before it shows and startles her more than she already is.
Her clutch buzzes in her lap, and she startles, spine snapping back against the seat, reflex overriding the poise she’s force into place, a fragile performance of control. It might’ve fooled someone else, but not me.
She doesn’t move. Her rigidity settles back in, breath held tight, like she’s bracing for whatever I’ll say. The buzzing continues.
“Answer it,” I say, low and even, catching the slight turn of her head in my periphery. “Whoever it is, tell them you’re fine.”
She nods, carefully reaching for the bag with trembling fingers and dragging it lower on her thigh before clicking it open. My eyes stay fixed on the road, but I hear her swallow as she taps into her phone, then sets it aside.
Her fingers twitch again, returning to the edge of her pink satin dress where it hugs her lap, a faint tremor running through them. Subtle, but there. She doesn’t lift her head.
The silence festers between us, weighted and loud with everything neither of us is saying.
