Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Jay shoots me a grin as he climbs out of the car. “That’s gotta fill your murder cop BINGO card, right?”
I snort out a laugh. Gallows humor is a job requirement in homicide. Without it, the darkness would swallow us whole.
“DeMarco?” Jay’s voice snaps me back to the present.
“Yeah?”
“If you were a dick, where would you hide?”
CHAPTER THREE
Damien
I slip out of bed, the cool hardwood floor beneath my feet sending a delicious shiver up my spine. The cold sensation invigorates me, a stark contrast to the heat of anticipation burning in my veins. I down a quick cup of coffee before pulling on my running gear.
I stayed at my penthouse in downtown L.A. for this very run, hoping to catch a glimpse of her—my Francesca.
I step out into the crisp morning air, taking a deep breath. The scent of last night’s rain lingers, mixing with the usual city smells. A hint of exhaust, a whiff of ocean. A smile tugs at my lips as I start my run. Today is going to be a day to remember.
I take off at a brisk pace, my feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm. My heart rate climbs, blood pumping hard through my veins. I embrace the rush, letting it feed my excitement. It’s moments like these when I feel truly alive, in control of my fate.
I can almost pretend to be one of them. Just another face in the crowd, out for a morning jog. They don’t know who or what I truly am. They don’t see the monster lurking beneath the handsome facade. But if they look closely enough and peer behind the mask, they’ll see a face that will make their blood run cold.
A face that should fucking terrify them.
The city blurs past me in a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. I weave through the alleys and side streets as the sun glints off the steel and glass towers that loom above me.
I check my smartwatch. An hour has passed since I left my apartment. Almost showtime.
I round the corner onto Maple Street, and slow to a jog as I approach St. Jude Park, keeping my breathing even despite the excitement in my gut. Can’t look too eager or give the game away too soon.
I time it perfectly, reaching the park as a familiar dark sedan glides up to the curb. Francesca DeMarco steps out, all long legs and determined grace. Frankie to her friends on the force, Detective DeMarco to the fools who think they matter. But to me? She’s so much more. My adversary, my muse, my obsession. My revenge.
I can’t take my eyes off her as she stands before the fountain, her keen gaze sweeping the area, no doubt searching for more traces of Ryder Beaumont. The memory of his butchered corpse, pale and destroyed, sends a thrill down my spine. That body and the others I’ve left in my wake link us together, Francesca and me.
An unbreakable bond forged in blood and darkness. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she belongs to me. And I to her, in a way.
But I force myself to be patient, to savor the slow burn of our deadly dance. The game is far from over, and I still have a symphony of horrors yet to orchestrate for my beloved Frankie.
She believes she’s the hunter, but little does she know I’m the one holding the puppet strings. I’m the maestro, and she’s the unwitting star of my demented play.
Francesca and her partner linger by the fountain, no doubt searching for Beaumont’s severed cock. I sliced it off with surgical precision, a mocking tribute left behind. But they won’t find it. Not unless I want them to.
And watching them search, seeing the determined set of Francesca’s jaw, the fire in her eyes, puts a smile on my face. Her determination is admirable but futile. A fool’s errand. She wants to catch me so badly she can taste it.
I’ve seen it in the tick of her jaw when the press confronts her, the frustration simmering in her captivating brown eyes when she has no answers to give.
Keep trying, my pet. Keep chasing me. You'll catch up to me eventually, but only when I’m ready.
Until then, I’ll be watching. Waiting. Savoring every moment of our twisted existence. Just thinking about my plan has my cock swelling in my joggers.
I can’t wait to make Francesca mine. Make her submit to me. I crave her. Aside from my other plans, she’s all I can think about lately. Seducing her. Fucking her. Making her mine so that I can destroy her.
Frankie and her colleague disappear as I sprint along the park’s perimeter, but I still sense her presence. She’s completely fixated on me, the murderer, trying to decode my mind and why I killed that guy.
A grin spreads across my face as I recall the pathetic whimpers and pleas that went with my blade slicing through his shrinking cock. The wide, disbelieving eyes that saw me taking away what he cherished most—it was a rush. Now, watching Francesca trying to piece it together, I get to relive it all over again.