Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 153544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Hers, however, is the right amount of sweet and melodic. The right amount of softness and paralyzing terror.
I glance at her. “Stop what?”
“Whatever you’re doing.”
“Even when you’ll like what I’m doing?”
“I doubt I’ll like anything you do.”
“Sure about that?” We come to a halt near a small lake and Glyndon goes still.
Her attempts to struggle are long forgotten as she stares at the scene in front of us.
Hundreds of tiny yellow dots light up the trees and shine on the water’s surface with the efficiency of small lamps.
As she watches the fireflies, I watch her.
I’m captured in a chokehold by the way her shoulders relax and her lips fall open. And the way her eyes reflect the yellow lights like a mirror.
They’re shining, brighter, faster, and I don’t think about it as I pull out my phone and take a picture.
Commemorating the moment feels like a need instead of a mere action. It’s not impulse either; it’s much fucking worse.
She doesn’t even focus on the flash, still engrossed in the fireflies. “They’re so beautiful. I can’t believe I didn’t know about this place.”
“It’s our college’s property.”
“Did you bring a lot of your victims here?”
“So that’s what you are now, my victim? I like that. And no, this is where I come to when I want to be alone, so you’re the first.”
“I’m a lot of firsts.”
“I’m surprised by that, too. Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
“Told you that you would. I figured an artist would appreciate the dark beauty of nature.”
She finally focuses on me. “How do you even know I’m an artist?”
“I know a lot of things about you, Glyndon.”
“Why? Just what do you want?”
“I want a lot of things. What context are we talking about now?”
“This, bringing me here. You must have some purpose.”
“Told you, so you can trust me. I thought this place would appeal to you.”
Her eyes turn into slits. “That’s it? You’re not going to do anything funny?”
“Define funny.”
“The fact that you’re even asking means you will.”
“I’m just considering my options.” I sit on the edge of the dock, letting my feet dangle, then retrieve a cigarette and light it.
Glyndon approaches me but stops and waves away the smoke. “Why am I not surprised you’re addicted to poison?”
“I’m not addicted to anything.”
“The cigarette hanging from your lips testifies otherwise.”
I pull it from my lips and hold it in the light of fireflies. “It’s a habit I use to keep my hands busy.”
“Does that mean you’ll quit if you want to?”
“I’ll quit if you take their place and keep my lips and hands busy.”
“No, thanks.”
I lift a shoulder and tap the spot beside me. “They look better from this angle.”
“What look better?” she asks in a spooked tone, and why the fuck am I getting harder?
“Fireflies or bodies, whatever floats first.”
“Your dark sense of humor is really on another level.” She slowly approaches, then before settling down, she hesitates.
That habit of questioning everything I offer will be gone soon.
“Don’t worry. I won’t fuck you tonight.”
“Wow. Thanks.” She flops down beside me, her fruity perfume getting stronger. Or my sense of smell is picking her up faster.
“You’re welcome.”
“That wasn’t an actual thank-you.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Sarcasm. Ever heard of it?”
“I know. I’m just messing with you.” I tuck that blonde strand behind her ear and it turns red, along with her neck.
“Do you like messing with people a lot?”
“Not all people, no. Just a select few.”
“So I’m a VIP now?”
“If you want.”
“Seriously, talking to you is like speaking to an evil robot.”
“Evil robot, huh?”
“Yeah, you know, the ones who get destroyed at the end of sci-fi films.”
“You mean the ones whose red eyes flash in the last second of the movie, signaling their return?”
“You shouldn’t be proud of being evil.”
“That’s the thing, baby. I don’t see myself as evil.”
“Please don’t tell me you see yourself as a hero.” She sounds even more spooked than earlier.
“No, I don’t. I just see myself as neutral. Instead of black, white, or gray. I’m colorless.”
“You’re an entity. You can’t be colorless.” She huffs. “You’re just black.”
“Black?”
“Yeah, I give people colors and you’re definitely black, like your soul, heart, and that disturbing head of yours.”
I stare at her for a beat and then smile. Jesus.
This girl is getting herself into big fucking trouble.
Because I want to keep talking to her.
And I don’t even like talking to people.
I want to own her, even though I have no fucking clue what owning people is all about.
It can’t be different from having pets then wanting to see inside them, right?
11
KILLIAN
“What the fuck is this? Shitting on my parade day?”
I don’t pause at Nikolai’s voice on my way inside the mansion. Instead, I reach the fridge and grab a bottle of water.
He throws the nearest object he can find at me, a Zippo, and I tilt my head to the side, letting it collide with the bottle of vodka. It shatters against the counter in a ceremony of glass and liquor.