“It’s the headache,” I lied. “Please, Wil. Fuck me.”
He spat into his hand, rubbing his cock with the saliva, then rubbed the tip against me, wetting my folds. He slipped into me then, my slit pulling at his skin, trying to stop him, but then he pulled away and rammed back into me, moaning as he penetrated all the way down to his hilt. His cock slammed into my cervix. And I felt nothing.
There was no pain. No pleasure. Only the urge.
This was what I had been trained to do, what I had wanted all along.
His eyelids lowered, sweat gathering on his skin, and I grit my teeth, staring into his soul, unable to blink. This wasn’t right. It didn’t make sense. Wil wasn’t her killer.
But it was a lie. A story he had made me believe. Because he knew what he had done, and I had to stop him.
He pulled my hips closer, and the knife slid underneath me. I carefully grabbed it with one hand, making sure he didn’t notice.
This was the only way I could move on.
Now, Ellie.
Wil leaned into me, his breathing growing heavy. He was almost there. Almost completely disarmed by his orgasm.
I had always known that I would do this: wait until the right moment, then strike.
So why didn’t it feel right? Why did I want to stop?
A tear gathered at the corner of my eye. His pupils focused on it for a second, watching as the drop of liquid ran down the side of my face.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
But I had to do this. I had no choice.
“What?” he asked.
Now, Ellie!
I shot my free hand toward him, whipping it around in a circle until I grabbed the knife out of his grip. I lunged forward and stabbed the knife into his dominant hand, aiming the other knife at his throat. But I hesitated at the last second and cut his cheek instead.
I looked down. The knives in my hands. The blades were covered in blood.
Wil’s blood.
He stared at me, his chest panting, his hand a wreck. He touched his cheek, the blood staining his fingers, redder than the juice from the breakfast strawberry.
“Ellie?” he asked.
And I knew, then, that he wasn’t the killer. Wil was a criminal, but he hadn’t murdered my sister. Because she—no,we—we never meant anything to him. We were nothing to a crime family.
So why couldn’t I let it go?
I didn’t know anymore. I never had.
CHAPTER 13
one year earlier
Ellie
The green trim on the blue building would have fit a beach town, but this was Pebble Garden. A college town stuck in the middle of nowhere. The police department, like many of the other businesses throughout the area, had been subjected to the flash deals on cans of paint. And that’s what I held onto as I walked through the entrance, using the annoyingness of it all to distract myself from what was actually bothering me. I strode to the front desk. The woman behind the counter recognized me, nodding her acknowledgment. I leaned on the counter.
“Is Officer Shines here today?” I asked.