“Be quiet, please,” I say, forcing my voice to calm as I kneel down and search the body.
Wallet. USB drive. No phone.
“Are you okay?” I ask without looking at her. “Did the bastard hurt you?”
“No,” she whispers. “B-but y-ou killed him.”
“And I’d do it again,” I say flatly. “Make no mistake, Molly.”
Inside his coat I find a gag, a small bottle of some chemical, a capped syringe. Handcuffs. Rope. A full fucking kidnapper starter kit.
There’s also a thin scrapbook tucked into an inner pocket.
Shite.
I grab her arm and haul her close after scooping up the worst of the evidence. “I’ve got you, Molly girl,” I mutter.
I shrug off my jacket and wrap it around her shredded dress, covering her bare, shaking back. My arm stays around her as I pocket the syringe, the bottle, my gun, and the book.
At the park entrance, Mikey waits for us, the car door already open. I shove the evidence into his hands and then I haul Molly close to kiss her.
It was just supposed to be for comfort. A simple, steady thing. Just my mouth on hers, a soft brush to anchor her, to anchor us.
But it’s not soft. At all.
Electricity hits me straight in the gut, and yeah, my cock answers like the fucking degenerate I am. She melts into me after a second, mouth opening, tongue sliding againstmine. I fist her hair, push her back into the open door, let the kiss deepen, darken?—
Then I wrench myself away, my head snapping back to the reality where she was almost just assaulted and accosted by that son of a bitch.
“Get in,” I grunt against her lips.
“You just?—”
One harsh look from me is enough. She swallows, nods, and climbs in. I follow.
There’s a buzzing inside me, crawling under my skin. It’s not the kill, though. I’ve killed when I had to. Those faces haunt me sometimes, deep in the night, but tonight?
I don’t give a fuck.
Ishouldbe soothing her, making her feel safe. Instead, all I can think about is how she’s catnip for something twisted. For a man who likes control, for someone who isn’t supposed to be into pain…but might be willing to walk a fine line if it’s with her.
Not a sadist. Not a masochist. Just…hooked.
She’s addictive. Like cocaine in a red dress.
I gave up the white powder years ago.
Maybe she’s my new drug.
I press my fingertips to the sides of my head. Jesus. I’m a mess, and I’m not even the one who got dragged into the dark by a stalker.
“You piss me off, Molly girl,” I say finally. “I won’t lie.”
“Me? I’m not the one who killed?—”
“Careful now.” My gaze cuts to hers. “Because I did that for you.”
“So now I owe you?”
