“Mom found me decapitating my toys when I was five,” Holden continued. “She didn’t shout or anything, but I knew I was in danger.”
“Like she would hurt you?” Kit asked.
Holden shook his head. “Not that kind of danger. Like, existential danger. The part of me that wanted to hurt people… I knew instinctively that if Mom and Dad saw that part of me, they would try to fix me.”
“So you hid.”
“They did everything right.” Holden moved, and Kit flinched—but Holden was just jumping to the floor. He paced as he talked. “They signed me up for sessions with a nice, competent therapist, and she taught me how to hide. She didn’t realize that was what she was doing, but I could adapt and answer according to her reactions. I learned how to behave so she would tell my parents I was normal.”
“Normal,” Kit repeated.
Holden tapped his head. “I kept it all in here, waiting, until I was ready.”
“Then Bishop killed Ed before you,” Kit said—then tensed. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned either of those names.
But Holden just stopped pacing and looked contemplative. “Did you know Ed?”
“Barely.”
“Are you sad he’s dead?”
Oh. Here was the part where Kit wasn’t normal either. “No.”
“I don’t want you to be sad,” Holden said, with such earnestness Kit would believe him without the chains around his wrists.
God, Kit was fucked up. Maybe he believed Holden anyway.
Holden resumed pacing. Each turn took him closer to the gun on the shelf. “Maybe it’s fate that Ed took my parking spot. That was his purpose. He led me to you.”
“The library.” Kit’s head spun again. “We didn’t meet by accident.”
“I was just following you to get to Bishop at first. But then you talked to me.” Holden stopped right next to the gun, but his eyes were on Kit the entire time. “You looked at me. I don’t know why, but you’re the most fascinating person I’ve ever met.”
Kit exhaled. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want Holden to kill him either. Those facts were linked but separate.
Those facts weren’t absolute. Dying had never been Kit’s greatest fear.
“Do you really want to kill me?” Kit asked, then gave a hollow laugh. “I know you have to. I know too much. Even if you kill me, you’re fucked when my guys get here.” Kit shuddered. Fuck. He couldn’t think about them right now. “But do youwantto kill me?”
Holden abandoned the shelf and the gun to stalk across the grimy basement. A few long strides put him back on the bed. Kit slid sideways as the mattress moved—and Holden caught him by the arm. Held him against the wall.
Holden’s breath grazed Kit’s lips. His fingertips brushed Kit’s throat. “Yes, sweetheart, I want to kill you. You’re so perfect already. I can’t even imagine how beautiful you’ll be, bleeding out and finally mine.”
Kit swallowed beneath Holden’s touch. The silk ribbons of Holden’s devotion wrapped tighter than any chain. “Tell me.”
Holden’s fingers trembled against Kit’s pulse. The room darkened. “I want to own you. Possess you. I want to have you in a way nobody else can ever have you. I want to touch pieces of you nobody else has ever touched.”
Kit’s pulse quickened. Not entirely from fear—but a twisted hope. “Just me?”
Holden tilted his head, inches from Kit’s lips. “What do you mean?”
“If I wasn’t here tonight,” Kit said. “If I’d bailed on the party. Would you have taken someone else?”
“No,” Holden said, but Kit wasn’t done.
Each word came out so sharp, Kit’s throat hurt. “Not just anyone. You would have picked some other boy with dark hair. Maybe even a girl if she was skinny enough, or she had the right eyes.”
Kit’s greatest, guiltiest fear was of being replaced.
