I stand there, breathing in ragged gasps and wondering if he’s still alive but afraid to get close enough to him to check.
And then, suddenly, I feel it—the moment his life leaves him. It's a gentle sort of shudder that passes through me and into the necklace. His years add to the tally, and the weight of the stone pendant settles around my neck like a noose.
I drop the pool stick then pick it back up again a second later, realizing I can’t leave a murder weapon at the scene. When I lift it from the ground, I notice I’m shaking. Not just my hands, but my whole body is trembling with the shock of what I've just done.
But it's done. He's dead.
And I wish I could say I felt worse about it.
I walk to the back of the alley and circle the block to get to my car, doing my best to focus on being as invisible as possible. Walking down a main road with a bloody pool cue is sure to gain me unwanted attention.
My heels click against the pavement, and the sound bounces off the surrounding buildings in the quiet night. Finally, I reach the spot where I parked the Camaro.
Ambrose’s car sits a few spaces down from mine, and I realize he’s probably still waiting for me to come back inside.
Let him wait. He can stay there all night for all I care.
Opening the door, I slide into the driver's seat, my hands specked with blood as they grip the steering wheel. I take a deep breath to steady myself, and then I start the engine and pull away from the curb, leaving behind the alley and the body and the girl I used to be.
I just killed a man, and that’s something I can never take back.
I wait for the guilt to overwhelm me, to consume me the way it did after that last trip to the hospital.
But it doesn’t.
In fact, my chest feels lighter, like I’ve lifted a weight off it that I hadn’t even realized was there. Maybe that’s the curse of my mind—numb to violence, so used to dissociating from brutality in order to survive.
That should scare me, the fact that I don’t feel any remorse for murdering a man, but it doesn’t. The only feeling coursing through me is the sick, sweet satisfaction of vengeance.
CHAPTER 15
The woods are darker than I remember, thick with a tension that makes it seem like the entire forest is holding its breath.
What am I doing out here?
A familiar force tugs me forward, desire and unease twisting together in a strange sort of magnetism, and I know he’s here. Ambrose is watching, waiting somewhere in the shadows.
This time, I don’t have to search for him before he speaks to me.
“Lost?”
His voice is a jolt of electricity straight to my heart, forcing it to pick up speed as I whirl around to face him.
Every one of his features—razor-sharp cheekbones, rigid jawline, a subtle smirk on his full lips—is streaked with slashes of silver moonlight.
“No,” I lie. “I’m just headed back to the house.”
He moves, circling me slowly, like a predator assessing its prey. It’s unsettling in the worst kind of way. I stand frozen, though my eyes stay locked on him when he’s inmy line of sight. I try not to think about the fractions of a second when he’s fully behind me and I’m completely vulnerable. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.
“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” His voice wraps around me like the vines snaking through the forest.
“I’m not trying to have anyfunout here,” I bite back.
“Mmm, but what ifIam?”
I wave a dismissive hand and hope he can’t hear my heart pounding against my ribcage. “Have whatever fun you want in this creepy ass forest, but I’m leaving.”
“That’s where we have a problem,” he murmurs, closing the two feet of distance between us to stand before me. I refuse to look at his face, not wanting to be forced to confront the smugness on his face from knowing he has me trapped.
