Page 57 of Heart of a Killer

Gravel popsunder the tires as I pull up to my old house. All the memories that lie within those walls, and all I can think about are those with Skylar. Those were essentially the only good things this house gave to me. When Skylar dug her nails into the wound on my back, all those memories of her smiling face and giggles came back to me.

Along with me running back to her with a secret I meant to hurt her with.

Before waking Skylar up, I take in how peaceful she looks while sleeping. It’s her delicate features and the way her lips are parted. I want to trace my fingers over her eyebrows, her cheeks, and those fucking pouty lips of hers. I can’t stop thinking of the words she said to me earlier.

I’m holding all of your broken pieces together.

It makes me think that maybe, just maybe, she’s finally accepted us. I know it took me years to eventually come to terms with the fact that I loved her despite her being my half-sister. I knew she was the piece I was missing and the one who could understand the pain I went through because she went through some of the same—and from the exact same man.

I’m lost in thought as a groan sounds from the backseat, letting me know Sleeping Beauty has finally arisen from the dead. I look back to see Brie stretching her limbs out. Her breasts are outlined in the oversized shirt. Her eyes catch mine, and a smirk plays on her lips.

“Like what you see there, bro?”

“I’m not a bro.”

“Oh, yeah. Like what you see there, Daddy?” she teases, then looks around. “Where are we?”

“My house.”

“When did you get your memories back?” She sits up, leaning between the seats to look out the front window toward the house. She slugs me in the arm. “You’ve been holding out on me, Lee—Oops, sorry, Alex.”

I’m the first out of the car, but Brie is bouncing out right behind me with excitement in her eyes.

“Will you go get Skylar?”

“Yeah, sure.” She hops over to Skylar’s side of the car to wake her up.

Taking the opportunity for a reprieve, I walk up to the front door. My hand runs along the top seal where the spare is hidden. A sharp prick of cold metal on my fingertips lets me know I’ve found it. Grabbing the key, I unlock the door and stand there, not wanting to face the demons that lie in wait for me.

“What are you waiting for?” Brie’s voice is chipper.

I look at her. A smile lights her face, and a sleepy Skylar rubs at her eyes.

“Just waiting on the both of you.”

22

Skylar

This place is where I began to question my sexuality—all because of Alex. He terrifies and enthralls me. I’ve never thought about the root cause of why I avoided every man who made a pass at me. That same line repeats in my head:You never tried dick, so you don’t know.My dad was wrong about that. It isn’t that I love men more than women. It’s that I love the person no matter how they identify. My love isn’t tied down to one.

Maybe the urge to rebel against his every desire of how I should live my life is why I avoided men. Alex didn’t give me that chance—but at the same time, I’m almost thankful for it. He forced me to see past gender and to see the person inside. He helped me learn who I am. Who I am meant to be. We don’t get to choose who we love. Alex and Brie complete me.

The image of his mom lying there in that bed still haunts me. I killed her. I’m a killer. But I couldn’t just leave her to suffer. I knew he was a murderer, but to torture another soul is a whole other story. Alex better get ready for me to ask a lot of questions, and Brie has a lot of catching up to do.

“Are you coming, Sky?”

Blinking, my eyes refocus on Brie. “Yeah.”

As I walk through the foyer, my limbs are weightless. I follow Brie and Alex to the living room. The place is dustier than I remember, but I guess that makes sense since we’ve been in a psych ward for almost two months. My fingers trail over the stairs banister, making lines in their wake, and I dust my hand off on my pants.

Brie and I sit on the couch while Alex walks into the kitchen. Inspecting the living room, I see a picture hung up of Alex and his mom, but none of our dad. I never thought about it when we’d walk through here before. Our dad must have left him when he was really young.

It’s a few minutes of looking around and Brie’s foot tapping on the hardwood floors before Alex comes back with a bottle of whiskey and three glasses from the kitchen. The glasses clink as he sets them down on the coffee table in front of us.

My teeth grind together as I force myself to ask, “This isn’t the whiskey I—”

“No,” Alex admits solemnly. “I just threw it out and cleaned up the old vomit.”

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