Page 20 of Lovely Violent Things

A dense charge pulses in the air before the lightning strike.

I remove my hands and let them hang at my sides, detecting the energy rolling through the openness as the following rumble of thunder builds into a chorus.

The moment she appears in my line of sight, lightning flickers in the dark clouds. My blood electrifies, a current webbing my veins beneath my flesh to mimic the pulsing clouds.

In that flash, I see what I’ve been searching for my whole life.

Conrad wrote:We live in the flicker. A running blaze on a plain, a flash of lightning in the clouds.

That blink of a moment.

Our existence is that fleeting.

I hold my breath, counting the seconds between, waiting for the thunder to bring her closer. My muse of heartbreak, the sweetest epiphany. If I had an infinite number of lifetimes, it still wouldn’t be enough. She’s all that I want, all that I crave, and I’m desperate to make us last longer than an ephemeral flicker in time.

Halen reaches me before another streak of light cracks the sky. She glances up, her beautiful face highlighted by the flare, then meets my gaze with a kernel of hesitation in those silvery eyes, the hue tinting to match the storm.

“You look striking.” I wink.

I reach out to sweep the shock of white from her eyes, and Halen pulls away. She gathers her long layers of dark brown hair in a low ponytail and wraps it with an elastic band.

“So cruel,” I tease.

“Are we ready?” She directs the question to the agent.

Since locating the missing victims is the highest priority, Halen has taken it upon herself—and me—to scour Leroy Landry’s home for any clues on the main suspect responsible for ritualizing body parts in the marshland.

Hernandez pockets his phone and nods to the black SUV.

As we walk toward the vehicle, I wait for him to climb in, then say, “You won’t find the victims by searching Landry’s house.”

“You’re so sure of that.” She turns her head and looks up to assess me closely. “We could skip all this bullshit right now if you want to tell me where they are, Kallum.”

I release a slow breath, leashing the destructive urge to drag her into the marsh and remind her how much she loves my touch. “Not that I don’t enjoy your scathing retorts—” I palm her waist and bring her close “—but I’m absolutely done with thebullshit. I’m no longer holding back with you, little Halen.”

She digs an elbow into my ribs, but I hold on tighter, dropping my mouth near her ear. “If Alister touches you again, I’ll flay his skin from his tendons and carve my initials in his bones.”

Halen stills at my side, whatever snappy comeback she may have stalled on her tongue as I open the SUV door for her. She hesitates, her wary gaze hung on mine, before she hoists herself up into the seat. I shut the door and seat myself in the backseat behind her.

Here’s the truth of it: I’ll take her hatred and anger, because this is difficult for her, coming to terms with reality after all that she’s suffered. Losing her memory is just more salt rubbed into the open wound of her grief.

If she wants to use me as a punching bag, I’ll take the abuse. Hell, I’ll savor every delicious second of her sweet pain.

However much time she needs to logically sort through her confusion, for her, I can even be patient. I’ve proven as much.

But I’m not her obedient little lapdog.

I won’t let anyone come between us ever again.

Not even her.

The drone of the windshield wipers fills the interior as Hernandez takes the quickest route according to the navigation. Even though it’s been proven that Landry was not the Overman, but rather a pawn likely used by the actual perpetrator, the feds are still looking at him in connection to the victims.

We drive down a gravel road and come up on a massive mansion. The monstrosity is just as the locals described: ancient and creepy. Nearly every facet of the gothic revival home is original architecture. I appreciate the ornate windows with embellished tracery. Yet I doubt the elements have been left untouched on purpose. This home has suffered neglect.

A thick ribbon of crime-scene tape wraps the yard perimeter and extends around a huge porch. Dead potted plants line the entrance as we near the front door.

Halen drapes her bag strap over her neck, then proceeds to glove her hands. She holds out a pair of disposable latex gloves to me, and I take deviant delight in tracing my finger over the chafed rope burn on her wrist.

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