Page 48 of Heart of a Killer

“Alex,” I squeal as his hands wrap around my sore throat, and I think about the first time I thought he was Nicole.

The way he brought electricity to my skin and roped me into this cocoon, made me care. I never expected to be with any man untilhim.

My focus snaps back to the fury in his eyes and his clenched jaw muscles.

This isn’t sweet, caring Alex, and this isn’t friendly, sexually seductive Leland.

This is someone else entirely.

This is the man who pulled the world out from underneath me and told me it was a lesson to be learned.

My pulse pounds in my ears, my vision tunnels, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins tells me to fight back, get back to him, reach deep inside and pull him out. The thought of drawing him back to me weighs heavily on my chest. My emotions are all over the place, making my head spin, leaving me to rely on instinct.

His grip on my neck cinches tight, constricting my airway.

“Alex—” I call out again as I claw at his hands.

“Alex has left the building. Josh is the only one available right now,” he taunts. “I’m going to take care of our little problem once and for all.”

My mind is racing to connect the dots, to devise a plan for my predicament. I’m not sure who or what Josh is to Alex, but there has to be a way to get my man back.

“Please ... I don’t understand.”

My vision blurs from tears and my hands begin to lash out at anything and everything they can reach. My nails dig and claw at his shoulders. I pull myself closer to him in hopes of disrupting his hold on me. Blood coats my fingers and my grip keeps slipping. When I feel a ridge of scar tissue on his back, I dig in deeper as if it’s a handhold.

Time freezes, and Alex’s grip on my neck loosens. The look in his eyes is blank, his jaw slack. The muscles there are no longer clenched.

“Give me Alex back!” I cry out, hooking my nails deeper into the old wound Nicole gave him.

His grip on me releases completely, and there’s loudthudas he crashes to the concrete floor.

My hands go to my throat as I suck in air like it’s my last day on this earth. I savor the coolness against the burn in my throat. A hiccup in my breathing has me coughing as my lungs try to expand again. The white-tiled ceiling is the only thing I can focus on in my attempts to draw in more oxygen. My head fog slowly clears, along with my vision.

Did Alex leave me here with no explanation?

The room is quiet besides my ragged breathing.

Looking over to the floor, I see Alex is on his knees, his head in his hands. His long, thick hair covers his face. He looks lost and scared. I sympathize with him—I can’t imagine the demons that course through his mind. Crawling toward him cautiously, I reach a hand out to touch him. I don’t know if this is a bad idea, but I was willing to die at one point. Might as well take my chances and do it for love, right?

“Alex?” His name is a hoarse whisper on my lips, but he doesn’t move.

The copper scent of blood and sweat coats the air. His shirt is gone now for some reason, and I can see the damage I did to his back. There are long gashes over his scar where the skin looks like it’s peeling away. It’s horrendous. Looking down at my nails, I find chunks of his flesh still remain caught underneath.

His hands cover his face, and his shoulders shake with each sob that breaks through.

I continue to inch closer to him, and my knees sting from running them over the frigid concrete floor. I’d stand up, but I don’t know what state his mind is in right now, and that might send him into another fit of rage. Unsure of how to proceed, I go with my gut.

Placing my hand on his shoulder, I whisper again, “Alex?”

And he leaps on me. My heart seizes in my chest at what he will do next when I realize his arms are wrapped around my middle, holding on to me, his face in the crook of my neck. Wetness coats the strap of my sports bra—he’s crying.

Cupping the back of his neck, we sit in the silence of the dark room. I hold him. I don’t realize I’ve started rocking him, swaying back and forth, until he whispers, “Are you rocking me?”

“I guess I am.”

He leans back, looking at me with bloodshot eyes, his face and chest red and blotchy from crying. “Why are you so good to me, Skylar? After everything I’ve ever done to you. Why are you still so good to me?”

“Because I see all the broken pieces of you.”

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