Chapter 8: The Risk: Chapter 8

To know the secrets of life, we must first become aware of their existence.

—Albert Einstein I stare at my last text and the empty space below it, because he never messages back. Seriously, I suck at flirting.

Groaning, I get up, flicking a gaze over at the monitor on the wall. Tyler walks around in front of the camera in just his boxers, smirking as he texts someone. My secondary phone dings right on cue, and I look down and read the messages he’s sending to a girl named Denise.

TYLER: What’re you wearing? I’m thinking of you.

I roll my eyes, hoping Denise tells him to fuck himself. But she doesn’t.

It’s hard to watch them live their lives for a month. I have to watch them loving the freedom they stole from me. The freedom they stole from us.

Tyler is the first one who is married, and apparently having an affair. I’ve been saving him for closer to last, but right now, I can’t afford to go home and sprint through so many. And sprint is an accurate depiction of how that time will go, considering it’ll be too easy to get caught if I try to space it out as I do now.

Jake assured me the feds are investigating our hometown. It was only a matter of time before they linked the kills and made the connection. I’d hoped to have more time before they got on my trail, hence the reason I started the kills outside of town.

It’s not like they’ll link any of it to me, of course. Lana Myers doesn’t exist in that town. Never has.

Victoria Evans died ten years ago. I look nothing like her anymore. They made sure of that. My eyes flick to the small mirror on the wall beside me. Without any makeup, you can see a few faint scars.

I spent a lot of money to help make sure there were as few scars as possible. Victoria Evans was a poor girl from Delaney Grove, but Kennedy Carlyle was an heiress who died in a car accident the same night my death certificate was signed. She was so mangled and unrecognizable that Jake had no problem shifting the info around in the computers.

Kennedy might have died that night, but the stranger I never met saved my life.

I went in as Victoria, left as Kennedy, took on her rich, orphan life, and ‘legally’ changed her name to Lana Myers to avoid anyone from her past finding me out.

It was the easiest way to build a fund to support us and to change my identity. Jake didn’t get good at more inventive forms of identity changes until the past couple of years.

It took a while to see my scars on my face as marks of survival instead of brutal reminders of that night. The scars on other parts of my body didn’t heal as cleanly. But the scars on my soul took the longest to deal with.

They say everyone has their own healing process.

The first year of mine was spent mourning for my family and suffering from all the trauma. I cried until there was nothing but sand left to fall from my eyes. I curled into a ball and showered three times a day, never feeling clean.

The second year was spent being angry and seeking outlets. I took on kickboxing first. By the third year, I’d moved on to various other forms of mixed martial arts. Several black belts are mine now.

I never want to be anyone else’s victim.

The fourth year was spent getting stronger, dealing with all my fears, and learning to stand on my own without all the sleepless nights.

The fifth year was the first time I could withstand any physical contact. I learned to grow. I learned not to flinch away when someone barely touched me. I learned to be as normal as I could be.

The sixth year was when I could finally handle intimacy without wanting to kill the person touching me. It was the year I decided I was no longer their victim. It was the year I took back control over my life and embraced my future before it was destroyed completely.

The seventh year was when I decided to get revenge. The planning began.

The eighth year was when I started locating them all. I learned all there was to know about them.

The ninth year was spent hacking the case files from my father’s trial, learning all the police had, searching for the truth instead of the lies.

The tenth year… The tenth year is when I decided to start killing one a month.

Jake convinced me to be cautious. I’d hate to be caught before I can finish.

My life will happen in between kills. I can have both. Because I doubt I’ll make it out of this alive.

Denise decides to text Tyler back, breaking me out of my reverie, and it’s a picture of her in a lace nightie. Unreal. If this is how you’re supposed to date, then I really am out of my depth. I’m not spending thirty minutes slipping into something like that just for a picture.

My phone buzzes as Tyler and Denise send dirty texts to each other. Those dirty texts will find their way to his wife if needed. She sure as hell can’t be home when I collect his debt.

My actual phone rings, and I reach over and grab it absently, still reading the latest sick text from Tyler. How does Denise find this sexy?

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Jake says, clicking away in the background. He’s always at the computer, lining everything up for me. Best partner ever.

“What’re you doing?” I ask, curious.

“Just finished writing Olivia her check, and now I’m working on our website.”

“Are you reading this?” I ask him, wrinkling my nose when Denise describes a blowjob in detail for him.

“Unfortunately. What are you doing tonight? I was thinking we’d grab a bite and watch surveillance together. I’ve already gotten his entry code. You’re getting better angles with the cameras with each install.”

Idly, I lift my gaze to the monitor, watching as Tyler starts lowering his boxers. Yeah, no. I don’t need to see that.

Cutting my eyes away, I answer, “I learn more with each one. His wife is gone a lot on business. There’s a conference two days before the planned kill day. She’ll be gone all weekend. I can strike then. He’s a two and done deal.”

“Don’t get cocky and strike too soon. When you lose your caution, mistakes happen, and you’ll get arrested.”

“True. There’s a conference the weekend after. I can always prolong the date as well.”

“That’s better than moving it up, but it’s best to stick to a consistent schedule if possible. That way you don’t lose focus.”

Snorting derisively, I roll my eyes. “No worries on that. My focus can’t be derailed.”

Their taunts no longer haunt me at night. Now I dream peacefully to the sounds of their screams.

Which I realize is probably psychotic, but I wasn’t born this way. They turned me into this. Karma wasn’t finding them. Neither was justice. Destiny seemed content with leaving them on their perfect little paths of love, peace, and blissfulness.

Only one person wanted them to suffer. Well, two. Jake wanted them to hurt as much as they hurt me. As much as they hurt—

“You say that, but you seem to lose more of your anger with each kill. You almost seem…a little too peppy these days. For the past few weeks, you’ve giggled and acted high every time I’ve talked to you. You getting tired of this? It’s not too late to back out.”

That has nothing to do with the kills. It has everything to do with Agent Bennett. Not that I’ll tell Jake that. He’d flip his lid if he knew I was… Well, I’m not really sure what I’m doing with Logan to be honest, besides smiling like a loon every time my phone goes off with a new message from him.

If I told Jake I’m interested in an FBI agent who happens to investigate serial killers, and is possibly investigating my case, he’d probably flip the hell out.

Because it’s stupid.

And I should end it.

But I can’t.

When you go so long feeling cold and detached, then a complete stranger ignites the dormant feelings you thought were forever gone…you can’t help but be addicted to it. You can’t help but revel in the smiles you forgot how to use, or the laughter that sounds unnatural coming from the lips that haven’t laughed in years.

Whoa. I need to slow down. I’m one fantasy away from tattooing his name on my ass.

I can’t help but wonder how things might have been if my past hadn’t been derailed and cluster-fucked to hell and back. I think he would have really liked the old me. I was clever, funny, quick-witted, and slightly dramatic. I also cried if I accidentally killed a bug.

Now… Now I’m a 5’4 package of vengeance that no one sees coming.

“I’m peppy because it feels good. Maybe it’s a high from the adrenaline or something,” I lie.

“Really?” he asks, sounding confused.

I know Jake supports what I’m doing. He was there. He helped me pick up all the pieces and glue them back together the best he could, even though I could barely stand to be around anyone.

But he doesn’t want the grim details, and I doubt he feels comfortable with me telling him it makes me feel like a goofy grinner—even though it isn’t the kills making me a goofy grinner. But I can’t give him the true facts. Because…World War III and all that. I don’t want him to talk me out of Logan, when I’ve almost done it to myself too many times.

“Really,” I lie again.

I really hope I flirted right with Logan. I thought I was following his lead. He often gets called away during the middle of our texting sessions, which means it could be hours before he texts back, so I try not to overthink it.

My eyes flick back to where Tyler is already cleaning up. He’s just as quick as I remember.

One more week until kill day.

“I still think you have should nixed the castration. If they dig too deep into the town’s history, they could eventually unravel it all too soon,” Jake says, reminding me he’s still on the phone.

“You remember what they did, right? I want them to feel the worst pain imaginable. I want to remove that last ounce of power… That last shred of dignity.”

Blowing out a long breath, I listen to him grow silent on the other end.

When he continues to hold his tongue, I try to put his mind at ease.

“Even if they did figure out a ghost rose from the dead, I take plenty of forensic counter measures. The feds suspect some big, strong guy. I strangle them to render them unconscious, instead of using anything to aide in incapacitating them, the way a woman would normally do. And I do it while they’re on the ground so as not to betray my height. I’ve trained for this for years. Stop worrying.”

He sighs harshly. “I hate you leaving the bodies there for them to find. I’d prefer it if you took them to an isolated, controlled location, then dumped the bodies somewhere they’d never be found.”

“I wanted them found. I wanted them linked together. I just didn’t want it to happen this soon. I want them scared when I start dropping lower on the list. By the time I reach Kyle, I want him to be crying in fear. That’s why I’m saving him for last.”

“And what happens if he goes to the cops when he figures out the pattern? Eventually this will hit the media, you know?”

I’m surprised it hasn’t already.

“I knew the risks going in, and Kyle speaking to the feds about a ghost girl killing people who brutalized her ten years ago isn’t one of them. He’d have to explain why someone was picking these guys off. You know none of them will ever do that.”

A secret like they’ve kept would eat anyone alive…if they had a conscience. Only they feel they were justified in hurting innocent people.

They strived, succeeded, and went on with life like it never happened. Like they didn’t leave us there to die.

One person did die because of that night.

They think it was two.

Jake continues to yak in my ear about all the ‘what ifs’ in the universe. I continue to shift my thoughts away from it all, because Logan keeps creeping to the forefront of my mind.

I’ll finally get to see him tomorrow.

Tyler lies down for the night, and I flip the monitor over to regular television. Bedtime seems to be ten consistently so far. In fact, everything he does seems to be scheduled, including his shit breaks.

“I’m getting off here, Jake.”

“Fine. Fine. Call me back later.”

Hanging up, I start taking inventory. My knives are in a row, lined up inside my homemade multi-sheath. They’re clean and wiped free of fingerprints, as always.

I move to the fridge and pour myself a glass of straight vodka. Smiling, I turn on the music, an old vinyl my father used to love. He and my mother danced to this song a lot at night, back before life was derailed in a metaphorical train crash.

As I sway with the music, dancing like they used to, I almost miss the sound of heavy pounding against my door.

My body jolts when I register the sound, and my heart slams into my throat. No one comes here. Ever. It’s a creepy driveway with gargoyles at the end just to make it a little creepier. Then there are several signs warning against trespassing.

Not even my mailman dares to venture the half mile driveway to my house. My packages get left at the end of the driveway.

My eyes dart out the window, but I don’t see a vehicle in plain view. After flicking off the record player, I push the knives into the drawer closest to me as the knocking persists. I pick up my gun, carrying it as I silently cross the floor to the door.

When I peek through the peephole, my eyes widen and my breath rushes out in disbelief.

“Shit!” I hiss, scrambling to toss the gun into the drawer attached the table beside the door.

“Come on, pretty girl. Don’t tell me you’re not home after I broke rules and privacy laws to find you,” Logan drawls from the other side of the door.

My stomach flutters as that goofy grin starts to spread, and I swing open the door to a smiling FBI agent. His grin broadens as his eyes rake over me, and he looks back up as an eyebrow arches.

“Best. Greeting. Ever.”

I’m confused for a second, so I glance down my body to see that, yep; I’m not wearing pants. I rarely do when I’m at home.

I look back up and shrug, ignoring the way a twinge of heat spreads up my neck. I’m embarrassed? Really? I didn’t know I could be embarrassed until this moment.

“Can I come in before anyone sees you? I’d hate to have to show my jealous side so early on,” he deadpans, but he winks as I slowly step back, trying not to say or do anything stupid.

Should I run and put on pants? Or will I look like an idiot who forgot to put on pants? Confident girls walk around in a T-shirt and panties all the time, right?

Fucking eh.

“My driveway is sort of creepy, and with all the vegetation growth, no one can see me here,” I ramble, then zip my lips.

As soon as he gets the door shut, he turns and his gaze shifts. Something subtle changes, and the amused glint there melts away for something far more enticing.

I start to speak, to explain why I stupidly answered the door without pants, when he’s suddenly on me. His hands go to my hair, tilting my head back roughly, and his mouth crashes against mine.

I go from surprised to melting within seconds, opening my lips so his tongue can sweep in and steal what small fraction of sanity I have left.

I moan into his mouth as one of his hands slides down my body, gripping my waist just enough to pull me to him. Both my hands come up and grab onto his shoulders so that I don’t sag to the ground.

It feels good. Not awkward or wrong or uncomfortable. It feels so good.

The kiss is hungry, almost as though we’ve both been starved for too long. I realize we’re moving too quickly, but I don’t give a damn. I give less of a damn when he lifts me and places me on top of the table beside the door, pushing himself between my legs as he devours me.

His hands move up and down my sides, back into my hair, then back down again. It’s like he can’t touch me everywhere at once, even though he wants to. But he’s also sticking to safe zones instead of groping me, despite my state of undress.

It makes me want him even more.

I tug at the front of his shirt and wind his tie around my other hand, pulling him as close as possible. He makes some strained sound before grinding into the vee of my thighs, driving me that much crazier.

“We should slow down,” he says against my lips.

“We really should,” I agree, still kissing him and pulling him impossibly closer.

“Where’s your room?” he asks, trying and failing to break the kiss.

“Down the hall and to the right.”

He lifts me and starts walking, bypassing the stairs to the part of the house he definitely can’t see. My legs stay wrapped around him as I try not to think of how dangerous this could be.

I never expected him to just show up without warning, and there’s an entire murder room upstairs just waiting to be discovered.

Mentally, I do a quick worry list over the things he might find in the bedroom, and realize most everything has already been put away. As long as he doesn’t accidentally turn on the monitoring system in my living room, we should be good.

My back crashes against the wall when he stumbles, and my thoughts flee as the kiss grows more aggressive. Too many times I’ve tried to feel this passion and never felt an ounce of the fire as what’s burning between us.

My fingers skate down the front of his shirt until I rip it open, fully opening it and pushing it out of the way as a few buttons skitter across the floor, running with their newfound freedom. Firm skin finds my fingertips, and I moan against his lips when he shudders against me like he feels all the flames I do.

We’ll burn good together.

His tongue demands more attention from mine, and I kiss with abandon like I never have before. My hands slide up and tangle in his hair, angling his head so I can devour him properly.

He grunts and pushes away from the wall, walking quickly again.

“Your other right,” I say when he starts walking into my guest room on the left where Jake stays when he comes to visit.

He changes course and continues to move quickly. I hear the fan humming in my room as we walk in, and anticipation buds in my core, ready to be released.

He drops me to the bed in a flurry of motion that surprises me, and I prop up on my elbows, taking in the sight of him as he finishes stripping his ruined shirt off. All tan, lean muscle and smooth skin.

A twinge of dread unfurls within me. The scars on my body aren’t all hidden. My face was easier to fix than the rest of me.

“Too fast?” he asks, apparently misreading the reason for my hesitation to join him in the getting-naked routine.

“No,” I say, forcing my thoughts to blank.

The past can’t continue to rule me, and I’m supposed to be beyond the worry of what people will think when they see the scars.

He looks hesitant now.

“Lana, I shouldn’t have barged in and came at you like a savage. But…” His eyes dip to where my thighs are spread wide, nothing but the thin panties hiding the goods from him. He swallows audibly before meeting my gaze again. “We can slow down. I promise this isn’t why I showed up.”

A slow smile curves my lips. He’s pretty amazing when he’s trying to be a good guy.

Climbing up to my knees, I crawl toward him, and his pupils dilate. He’s turned on, which doesn’t take profiling skills to figure out.

Slowly, I move toward him, and he remains completely still. When I reach him, I lean forward and flick my tongue against the firm flesh on his abs. A quiet sound escapes him, and that seems to snap that small thread of control.

His hand goes to my hair, and with a hard tug, he forces my head back as he lowers his face and finds my lips again. It’s rough and hungry, and completely different from anything I thought I’d ever want.

I’ve been controlling sex since I found it in me to be intimate again. This is the first time I’ve ever felt comfortable letting a guy lead.

“Where the hell have you been?” he says against my lips, causing me to grin against him as he pushes me down, coming down on top of me.

I’m not sure what that means, but I love the awe in his tone.

My smile dies as I wait for the inevitable panic attack of being pinned down, but it doesn’t come. More emotions bud inside of me, and I put all the confusing questions into the back of my mind, deciding to analyze this all later.

For now, I just want to feel.

And I do.

I feel his movements against me as he pushes his pants away.

I feel him shift as he slides his hand up my leg, eliciting small shivers from me because of how overloaded my sensory nerves are.

I feel when he touches parts of me that shouldn’t be so erotic—the bend of my knee, the back of my calf, the top of my foot.

I feel everything, and it all feels perfect.

He starts pushing my shirt up, and I force myself to allow it. He sucks in a breath when he realizes I’m also not wearing a bra. It’s escaped his attention since he’s avoided any groping.

“Damn,” he says under his breath, though it sounds like praise.

He leans back as though he’s going to take it all in. Which gives me a second to fully appreciate him, since he’s down to his black boxers that are straining to keep certain parts of his body restrained.

I’m confident, until his gaze shifts and zeroes in on what I was worried about.

“What happened?” he asks, not sounding overly concerned or nosy, just curious.

He runs his fingers over two of the scars, and I catch his wrist, stopping him. I can’t stand them being touched.

He meets my eyes again, and the concern that was lacking begins to form. He’s too perceptive, so it’d be stupid to give too much away with my expressions.

“Car accident,” I tell him weakly.

It’s a lie, but I’m damn good at lying.

“The same as your parents?” he asks.

If he ever looked into it and found the name I stole, then he’d know that girl was not in the same accident as her parents.

“No. Can we not talk about this right now though?” I ask, my voice teasing now as I slide his hand up to cover my breast.

The heat in his eyes is instantly back, the concern washing away when he sees I’m okay. With slow prowess, he slides down on top of me, and his lips claim mine again.

Nothing else matters in this moment.

We kiss until we’re both grinding against each other, desperate for more. I need zero help getting ready, because I’ve never been so turned on in all my life.

He groans against me before finally lifting away from me again.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he says softly, brushing his lips against mine again.

Just that bit of comfort means more than he knows, because I believe it coming from his lips.

When you read people like I do, you learn who’s honest and who isn’t. You learn to smell intentions.

“I don’t want to stop,” I say quietly, refusing to break the spell.

He leans over, grabbing his discarded jeans, and I grin when I hear the familiar rattling sound of a wrapper.

“Just so you know, I’ve had this thing in my wallet for a while. I really didn’t come with expectations—with hopes, yes, but not expectations,” he says, grinning when he sees my smile.

I arch an eyebrow playfully, and he kisses me again, getting readjusted on top of me. His hands move between us as he lifts his hips, and I resist the urge to look down and watch.

It’s sad to say that seeing him roll on a condom would probably send me spiraling into a premature orgasm. It’s surreal. I love this feeling. I want to bottle it and save it for rainy days.

When he leans up, I’m forced to watch, and I squirm as that ache grows more pronounced, more insistent. Fairly sure that ache is named desire.

He’s definitely not a small guy, but he’s also not freakishly endowed. Perfect.

I’m licking my lips before I can stop myself as he starts tugging my panties down. His eyes fall on the bare skin when he removes them completely and he leans down.

The second I feel his breath hit me, my hips jerk up, and I tug his hair, forcing him up my body.

“If you do that, I’ll be ruined. I need more,” I say just as my lips find his again.

I could seriously kiss him all day, as long as we’re also doing more.

Without any further begging, he pushes inside me in one swift thrust that has me breaking my lips away to gasp for air. He rocks his hips, and I realize there’s more there than I initially thought, because he goes deeper, filling me fuller.

He stares down at me, lust and longing oozing from his eyes as he keeps eye contact. No words are exchanged as he rocks his hips again, finding a spot inside me that I thought had died.

Sensory overload is a legit thing.

Everything on me is strung tight, just waiting to break. The more he moves over me, the tighter the strings get. My nails dig into his shoulders as he continues to watch the myriad of expressions I must be giving him as he unravels me thrust by thrust.

Then it hits. It hits hard.

Those strings break, and euphoria crackles across my body like a bomb that detonates in my core and explodes outward. It rolls across me, curling my toes, flashing behind my eyelids that shut at some point, and licks across my skin like hot, incredible flames.

When I cry out and thrash beneath him wildly, his rhythm changes, becoming more urgent. I hold on as he drags out my orgasm in a way I didn’t know was possible, and then he grunts, his hips jerking against me as he finds his own little version of heaven. At least I hope he feels this good.

Boneless and spent, my arms fall away from him as he drops to my body and kisses a trail down my neck. Definitely moving too fast, but I don’t care. We’re doomed anyway.

The monster never gets the prince. It’s always the sweet and innocent princess who wins.

My hands come up, and my fingers twist in his hair, enjoying this feeling while it lasts.

“I plan on a round two, but I’m not Superman. Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll make sure you want to do this a lot more,” he says against my neck, still nipping and kissing the flesh.

A smile curves my lips, and I sigh happily under him.

“I want to do this all the time.”

He chuckles against me, and I find myself hugging him, even though I don’t know when it started. He holds me to him, hugging me back.

“Good,” he says against me. “Because that was fucking perfect.”

It is perfect. Which is why I need to kill the monitoring channel in the living room so that it doesn’t work, lock my murder room, and make sure all my weapons stay in there from now on.