Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
The jammer stops her from doing that too, that’s why they’re illegal.
Her brow furrows with confusion when her call doesn’t go through.
A little smile tugs at my lips and I keep on driving.
I appreciate that she didn’t go straight for 9-1-1, though. There’s no way she could have guessed that wouldn’t work. Makes me thinks she might not be entirely full of shit; maybe she really wouldn’t have said anything if I let her go.
Not gonna happen, though. I haven’t spent much time with her yet, but I have good instincts and I attached pretty quickly to the idea of taking her home with me.
I’ve never been an indecisive man. Since I was just a kid, I’ve always had a natural ability to make decisions efficiently and definitely. Once I choose a path, that’s the one I’m taking, wherever it may lead. I’m not unreasonable or unwilling to accept new information, I just pay close attention all the time and collect relevant information as it’s presented to me. By the time I need to decide something, there’s generally no reason to dally. I know what I want, and I’m not afraid to reach out and grab it.
I can count on one hand how many times I’ve decided on a set course and failed to see it through.
If Autumn thinks she’ll be one of those exceptions, she’s got another thing coming.
I spend plenty of time with only my own company, so I’m content to ride along in silence, periodically taking a peek at my new girlfriend to see what she’s up to. I keep most of my glances covert though, because I noticed she tenses up when I turn my head and she feels me looking at her.
Finally, she gets up the nerve and enough composure to speak to me again without bursting into tears.
Her voice is low and a little resentful, so I imagine she’s been stewing in all kinds of bitter thoughts about me over there. “So, what, are you some kind of criminal or something?”
“Yep.”
Her eyebrows jump, her eyes widening in surprise at my forthrightness. “Oh.” She pauses to regroup, then goes on with a little less hostility. This time there’s more wariness in her tone. “Are you… a serial killer?”
I don’t much like serial killers, so I answer with a quick, “No.” But then I pause, cocking my head and reconsidering. “Well… I guess, in a sense. But no, I’m not like Ted Bundy, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Understandably confused, she frowns. “What does that mean? How is that something you’re not sure about? This is a yes or no question.”
It is, but it isn’t.
I’m not a serial killer… but I guess in the strictest sense, I am.
I have killed time and time again, but it’s not because I need to or any sick shit like that. My mom never woke up to me wielding a knife and a creepy smile at her bedside when I was a kid. I never killed small animals or ripped the wings off insects out of cold, unfeeling curiosity. I don’t savor taking lives, and I’m not some sadist who needs the violence to get hard—I’m not that kind of killer. It doesn’t drive me. If I never killed again, I’d be just fine.
It’s a job—nothing more, nothing less. A job not everyone has the stomach for, but a job just the same.
Me, I could never be a bank teller. Sounds so fucking monotonous, I’d rather shoot myself. But hey, it works for her and that’s all right. I don’t need to understand her work and she doesn’t need to understand mine.
I’m not ready to tell her about my work, though, so I don’t clarify any of that.
“It’s just not that simple,” I tell her.
I can feel her gaze locked on me. She must be shocked, but her voice is calm and steady. “So you have killed people?”
“Yes.”
She swallows. Her confidence is shaken. She must not trust herself to speak, because she shifts her gaze out the front windshield and doesn’t say another word.
She doesn’t speak again for a long time. When she finally does, her tone is grudging, like she’d prefer not to.
“I have to pee.”
I look over at her and her cheeks flush almost immediately in response.
Hm, not sure what to do about that. I don’t trust her enough to stop off at an exit and let her use a public restroom. If anyone else happens to be in that restroom, she’s going to appeal to them for help. While I could technically take care of any unwitting witnesses she dragged into our business, I don’t work on the fly like that. It would be a lot of extra—not to mention risky—work.
We’re out of familiar territory, too. We’ve been on the road for a while, but I wasn’t planning to stop anytime soon. The roads are emptier at night, so it’s a much better time to drive with an unwilling travel companion.