Tonight, I was caught. Someone saw me murder a bad man. I’ve been so damn careful, but I guess I’ve gotten cocky. I don’t even have a serial killer name (though I wouldn’t mind one) because my targets are random enough, and not a single body has ever been found.
But something as simple as curtains would have saved me from being discovered tonight. I was so focused on the kill that it didn’t even occur to me that someone could see into the back room.
You’re getting lazy, Vale,I think to myself as I start the engine. I put it into reverse, backing out of the alleyway and onto the street. I check up and down the block, but I see no evidence of not-Kade or what might be his vehicle.
My knuckles are white on the steering wheel as I roll down the road. My brain won’t shut up.Can I trust him? Should I run?I picture my go bag waiting at home. Cash. Burner phone. Fake ID. I could be out of Nevada before sunrise if I wanted to. But the thought curdles in my chest. I don’t want to run. This is my city. My streets. My justice. My family is here. And yes, Vegas might be gross and too bright and too loud and too hot, but I still love it.
And damn it, I don’t want him to be the thing that scares me out of it.
But will I have to leave it all behind?
My thoughts are racing as I drive through the night. I do take back roads as I make my way out of the city. I turn off the main road, headlights cutting through desert black. It’s a long drive, but I’ve never minded. Finally, the cliffs rise ahead, jagged teeth gnawing at the night.
I’ve done this fourteen times. It should feel routine. But today is different in every sense of the word.
The cliff edge greets me like an old friend. Below, Lake Mead sprawls black and bottomless, the water swallowing secrets better than any graveyard.
I grunt as I drag the body out of the truck, muscles burning. My thighs and shoulders ache, but there’s satisfaction in the strain. CrossFit wishes it had corpse day.
The tarp crinkles against the gravel. The cinder blocks clank like chains. I lash the knots tight, looping rope with practiced hands. I could probably do this blindfolded by now.
I heave, shove. For a second, Travis Bell’s corpse teeters at the edge, as if giving its last goodbye to a world he made worse. Then gravity does its thing.
The cliff I stand at the top of is sharp enough that he doesn’t hit anything at all before he reaches the water. The splash is muffled, anticlimactic. A burp of bubbles. Ripples that smooth out too fast.
I count. I always count. One, two, three, eighteen, fifty, a hundred… until I’m sure he’s sinking for good.
The water closes, calm, dark, endless. My church. My confession booth. My burial ground.
Fourteen men. Fourteen predators. Fourteen ghosts swallowed by the Colorado.
But tonight feels different. Because for the first time, someone else saw. Someonehelped. Someone dangerous enough to tip my whole world sideways.
I stare into the dark water and whisper, “What the hell does tomorrow even look like?”
The ripples don’t answer.
chapter four
NOT-KADE
It’s been a week,and my life has shrunk down to two things:
Keeping a terrified eye on TikTok.
Wondering if the black-haired tarot kitten is sharpening her knives again.
I tell myself I’m only checking because I have to. Damage control. Self-preservation. Mutual blackmail insurance. But that’s bullshit, and I know it. I’ve been refreshing her profile like a junkie calling his dealer over and over. But I’m waiting for my life to implode instead of a hit of bliss.
But she hasn’t.
