Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
My feelings for Blake are real, and I want this murder to be my love letter. He can keep it in his heart even after I’m gone.
Carl tries punching me, but he’s got neither the strength nor skill to rival mine. When he reaches for a little elegant box resting next to an open notebook and some pens, a grin widens my mouth, and I pluck the fancy letter opener from its bed of velvet.
Raw fear reflects in Carl’s eyes when he tries to scream for help, but I don’t give him any more time to secure backup and sink the thin blade under his jaw. A choked grunt echoes in my ears, but there’s also a dull, steady noise I didn’t hear before, and when I glance to the box that previously housed my weapon, blood drains to my legs. Its base is now lifted, revealing a button which pulses with a red sheen once every second.
“Shit,” I utter and jab Carl’s throat a couple more times.
Blood sprays my face as it drains out of him, soaking into the bastard’s suit and spilling onto the carpet. When I meet his eyes, it’s obvious he’s no longer all there, and as I pull back, he slumps to the floor. If he’s not dead yet, it’s a matter of a minute or two.
My head spins as I take several deep breaths, trying to calm down and come up with an escape plan, because I cannot leave the way I walked in. Not with this much blood staining my fancy suit. But as I glance toward the window, wondering if there’s some kind of fire escape I can use, footsteps make me freeze.
I hesitate whether I should hide or confront whoever’s coming, but when the familiar head of brown curls appears from behind the door, I’m overcome by a wonderful sense of calm.
“It’s you…”
Chapter 24
Nico
The air is fragrant with blood, and when Blake steps inside, I feel as though I could move mountains. I have fulfilled my promise, and while he’s rejected me, the need to ensure he gets home safely is impossible to ignore. Maybe I’m just torturing myself, but what would be the harm in spending the next three days in the car, collecting our last memories together?
But as he limps inside, the pant leg flopping around his bloodstained skin, I see him staring at the pile of minced meat resting on the floor with a letter opener in the eye socket, and I clench my teeth, offering him a nod. “It’s done. He won’t ever harm you.”
Blake lifts his hands, covering his face, and his entire form shakes, as if this was the start of an earthquake. “Oh God, it’s really him… he’s dead,” he utters in a broken voice.
I dash toward him, restless and needy. But when he fills my arms, when his face is buried in my chest, and his lovely, elegant hands slide to my back, I’m at peace in a way I’ve never experienced.
This must be what having one’s heart full feels like, and I kiss the top of his head, shushing my gentle pet. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
He shakes his head, and I pull away, hurt that even now he insists on seeing me as a threat. He’s staring at the glowing red button Carl had managed to push before his death.
“The security will be here in just a few moments.”
My face falls, because this is it—the moment I’m forced to flee and leave Blake to the fresh start he wanted. If he still has the slightest sense of loyalty to me, I’ll never hear from him again, unless I tune in to his podcast. Perhaps the next time he discusses the Christmas Killer, I’ll hear fondness in his smooth voice and entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, something about our brief relationship was real.
But now he can wash his hands of me and pretend my bloodstained chest didn’t make him feel at home.
“I’ll go,” I tell him, but before he can answer, a door slams in the distance.
“No,” Blake says, squeezing my hands. “You don’t have the time. Here,” he tells me, dashing toward the bookcase featuring many leather-clad tomes. He twists his hand, so as not to leave any fingerprints, slots it behind the statue I remember him mentioning, and pulls.
The fancy wooden panels below the shelf pop open and he steps away, gesturing at it as numerous footsteps resonate farther down the hallway.
“Mister Augustus?” Someone calls out, and Blake sucks in a lungful of air before screaming.
“Help!”
I sneak into the narrow space in the wall behind the bookshelf. It feels like a coffin when he locks it in front of my face, drowning me in darkness. I wonder if he’s enticed me in here to safely pass me on to security or the cops. After all, while I stood close or held him in my arms, I could have snapped his neck at the first hint of betrayal.