“Normal?” Laughter tears from my throat, wild and unhinged. “We left normal behind the moment you found those files. The moment you didn’t run screaming to the police.”
I punch the wall beside her canvas, plaster dust raining down. The pain centers me for a split-second before chaos floods back in.
“I own you,” I whisper, voice dropping dangerously low. “Every inch. Every thought. Even your fear belongs to me now.”
I move closer to Amelia, my anger shifting to something else entirely. My fingers brush her cheek, tracing the delicate line of her jaw.
“You know we’re the same,” I whisper, lips hovering near hers. “You understand the darkness.”
She turns her face away. “Don’t.”
I ignore her protest, pressing my mouth to her neck, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my lips. My hands slide down her paint-spattered arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Remember how it felt?” I murmur against her skin. “When I had you begging on my desk? When you surrendered everything to me?”
For a moment, she softens, her body responding despite herself. Then she stiffens, shoving me back with surprising strength.
“This isn’t about sex, Gabe. This is about you killing people.”
Her rejection ignites something primal in me. I’ve tried reasoning. I’ve tried seduction. Now there’s only one option left.
“You need perspective,” I say, reaching into my pocket. “Time to truly see what we are together.”
The cloth covers her mouth before she can scream. Her eyes widen in shock, then fury, then fear as the chloroform takes effect. I catch her as she slumps forward, cradling her against my chest.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper to her unconscious form. “I’ll make you understand.”
I carry her to the freight elevator, thankful for the late hour and empty building. The service entrance offers perfect cover as I emerge into the alley where my Audi waits. I ease Amelia’s limp form into the passenger seat, buckling her in with careful precision. Her head lolls against the window, copper hair cascading across her face. I brush it back, tracing the curve of her cheek.
“You’ll understand soon,” I murmur, closing the door softly.
The highway stretches before us, empty at this hour. Amelia’s breathing remains steady beside me as city lights fade into darkness. My cabin sits ninety minutes north, nestled deep in woods where cell signals die, and visitors never come. The perfect place for revelation.
I glance at her sleeping form. “We’re almost home.”
Pine trees crowd the narrow dirt road as I pull up to the cabin. The headlights illuminate rough-hewn logs and darkened windows. This place knows my secrets—has absorbed the screams of those who deserved punishment. But never Amelia. Never her.
I lift her from the car, cradling her against my chest. Her weight feels right in my arms, like she belongs there. The cabin door creaks open to reveal spartan furnishings—a bed, a table, a woodstove. Necessities only.
I place her on the bed, remove her paint-spatteredshoes, and arrange her limbs comfortably. She’ll wake soon. The chloroform was measured—enough to transport her, not enough to harm.
From my bag, I remove my tools and place them on the table in perfect alignment. The leather mask first—my second face, the one that freed me to explore her darkest desires. Next, ropes, coiled in precise circles of increasing diameter. The blade I pressed against her throat while she came apart beneath me. A collar that has never touched another’s neck.
Not tools of death. Tools of revelation.
I arrange candles throughout the room, their warm light catching the metal implements. The scene requires proper illumination. She needs to see clearly what we are together—artist and canvas, dominant and submissive, darkness recognizing darkness.
When she wakes, she’ll resist at first. But I’ve seen inside her, seen the patterns that match my own. Her art betrays her—violent splashes of color hiding darkness underneath. Just like my kills. Just like me.
“We’re mirrors, Amelia,” I whisper to her unconscious form. “You’ll see it soon. You’ll understand we’re the same.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, breaking the spell of watching Amelia’s chest rise and fall in sleep. Adrian’s name flashes on the screen. Perfect timing as always.
“What?” I answer, keeping my voice low.
“Well, hello to you, too, sunshine.” Adrian’s smooth tone grates against my raw nerves. “More news on Reynolds. Apparently, the man ismissing meetings. Imagine that.”
“Tragic.” I move to the window, watching shadows lengthen across the forest floor. “I’m sure his mistress in Tampa will file a missing person’s reportany day now.”
