“Of course you wouldn’t.” I curl my hand over the side of his neck. “You were waiting for me.”
“Yes, I was.” His body locks tight, his stare burning hotter than a touch. “After the neighbors were gone and their houses torn down, we were out of leather. So we went hunting at the gas stations before we put up the museum. Waited there at night, catching whoever passed through.”
Strangers who never made it home.
All the missing persons signs. The faces in the aging photos were the ones who stepped into this museum. The ones who just stopped for gas.
My God.
“Problem was, it wasn’t enough. Even though our leather doesn’t sell cheap, and even after we claimed the dead townsfolk’s property and savings, we needed more. And it wasn’t just about the money either. My family can’t go on for too long without torturing someone. We had to make sure people kept driving out here.” His fingers press into my skin, a warning not to run, no matter what he says next. “About ten years ago, Jett, who was seventeen at the time, asked our contact in the next town what that internet he’d been blabbering about was. From there…”
Knox continues, explaining more about how they attract tourists. About the bait, the years of practice.
I listen, jarred at first. But then adoration warms me from the inside out when he gets to the part where he tells me how he taught himself everything from computers to social media.
A whole world he’d never experienced before the internet. I imagine him bent over a glowing screen at three a.m., hungry for something more.
He’s resourceful. Unstoppable.
Mine.
“Knox, that’s amazing.” My voice comes out as dreamy as I feel.
“Wasn’t that difficult.”
“Still amazing.”
The blush creeping over his face is…adorable? No. Nothing about Knox is adorable. But it’s hot. So hot.
“I’m glad I did it.” He clears his throat. “That’s how I knew to wait for you. Why I was out there. Why I claimed you as mine instead of waiting at home for your skin to drop on my doorstep. But there were things about you I couldn’t find online. Like Bronwyn planning to kill you. Or why you want to be a doctor. Was it really you? Or did your parents push you into it, the same way mine did?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer, already scowling.
I get it. Then again…
“They encouraged me to choose this path, sure, but I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t wanted it too. About Bronwyn, um, it’s complicated.” My lips twist. “My sister didn’t have it easy.”
“Murderer.” His hand snaps on my chin. Fingers punishing. Hurting. “Say it.”
These hazel eyes, the determination in his glare—I can’t refuse him.
“Murderer,” I sigh, letting the truth spill out. “She wasn’t born that way.”
“That’s what she is.”
A strange fire builds in my chest, sweet and terrifying. His protectiveness burns away the girl I used to be and lets the new one rise from the ashes.
Then, just as quickly, a twitch of discomfort cuts through me. I still don’t know if I should tell him about the urge I have to kill Bronwyn.
On the off chance he hates killers in general—people like Jett—I’ll stay quiet. She won’t last anyway. All I have to do is keep that part of me to myself.
“Okay, okay.” Talking about my family is much safer, so that’s what I do. “Can I continue?”
He offers me a clipped, “Yes.”
“Thank you,” I say without a shred of sarcasm. “My parents, I idolize them and what they do for a living.” I almost purr when he slides his hand into my hair, massaging the side of my head. Comforting me. “Bronwyn never cared about becoming a doctor. That’s why our parents never fully accepted her. And she took out her frustration and anger on me. The easier target. She bullied me. She hurt me. And, I guess”—even with Knox’s love enveloping me, tears rise, but I blink them back—“after twenty-three years of tolerating me, she’s had enough.”
“You won’t be her punching bag ever again. Not hers, not anyone’s. You have me to protect you.” His eyes gleam, pride shining in them. “You have all of me. Always will.”
