Glass bit into my skin as the lenses shattered. Blood welled, thick and warm.
She is ours.
The man drove off. Charlotte waved.
KILL HIM.
The voice screamed inside my head. The engine hummed alive, I followed, already calculating the steel trunk, rural roads and the vial of insulin to make it painless.
For her sake, not his.
???
The fluorescent lights of Morrisons hummed like a nursery nightlight, casting Charlotte into my starlet. I lobbed random items into my trolley: a cantaloupe, her favourite, according to her Instagram, organic carrots, and a jar of olives. They all got tossed in while tracking every glance thrown her way.
Men.
Women.
Even the fucking cashier.
They all looked too long.
Charlotte, oblivious, swayed to whatever played through her headphones, one hand absently rubbing her belly, when a teenager rammed his trolley into hers. No curse. No flinch. Just that infuriatingly serene smile as she stepped aside.
My son's mother.
Her fingers absently traced the curve of her belly, a self-soothing gesture I'd catalogued weeks ago. My son kicked beneath her touch. My future pulsed under her clothes. Two weeks of surveillance had taught me everything. The snivelling spineless father and his vile serpent of a wife. The toad-faced stepsister and her husband, who drank too much.
And Charlotte?
She deserved better
She deserved me.
My tongue dragged across my lips as she turned, the black dress clinging to hips made for breeding. Her ridiculous running shoes were practical, unlike Julia’s choices, which should've been a turn-off. Instead, I imagined them hooked over my shoulders as I—
Taste her.
The voice slithered up my spine, sticky sweet as formula.
Test the quality for Elias.
Her breasts strained against the dress. They were fuller now, ripe. I could already see the veins beneath the skin, smell the salt-sweetness of—
All over.Taste her.
The voice pushed me over the edge, and my trolley collided with hers.
“Dr. Vale?”
Her voice, warm honey laced with surprise, sent blood rushing south.
I let my gaze drag over her groceries: organic spinach, Greek yoghurt, oranges, the prenatal vitamins I'd prescribed.
“Charlotte,” I purred her name, smiling as I palmed an avocado.
“Oh, do you live close by?” she asked, raising her hand to her neck, but the beautiful blush gave her away. “This is my local. I've never seen you before.”
