Instead, he scattered her body parts across a junkyard almost an hour away from our house. An employee found her two weeks after her disappearance, her head mounted on a car hood like it was a fuckingornament on a Mercedes-Benz.
My silence allowed him to kill her, and I didn’t even have the decency to kiss her back before sending her off to her grave.
Slowly, I turn back to face Reverie where she sits beside the pool, her glazed-over eyes locked onto the water. She’s disassociating, but I have plenty of ways to bring her back to me.
“When?” She doesn’t need clarification.
"Yesterday,” she whispers, dropping her stare in shame.
I grind my teeth, tempted to wrap my hands around her pretty little neck and shake her.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” My voice is cold. Unrecognizable.
It takes an extra few seconds before she drags her stare to mine.
“No,” she answers bluntly. “I knew you’d find out eventually, and I hoped when you did, I’d have already gotten on a plane to a different country.”
I’m not sure which part of that sentence pisses me off most, so I settle on all of it. Every goddamn letter.
“You were going to leave,” I state plainly.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I still might.”
Over my dead fucking body.
“Why haven’t you?”
“Because he found a reason to make me stay.” When I arch a brow in question, she continues, “His girlfriend, Roxi, introduced herself to me while you were in Texas. She’s a student here, and they’ve been dating for a year now. She’s so excited to be a happy family.”
She delivers the information robotically.
I stare. Except I don’t see her anymore—I just see red.
The effect is like two tectonic plates in my chest shifting beneath the surface. An earthquake forms, quickly building in strength until I’m quaking with violence.
He’s already found his next fucking victim.
I ball my hands until my knuckles threaten to split skin. I’m trembling from the murderous rage coursing through me, vibrating with the bloodlust to pound my fist into his face until there’s nothing left but bloody pulp and bone fragments.
When I am finished, I’d be hard as a fucking rock, and it would beReverie’s mouth wrapped around my cock to relieve me.
The mere thought of it has my dick swelling in my jeans.
My vision returns, and Reverie’s back to staring at the water, this time appearing defeated.
I brought her here to explore this recent discovery of her phobia of water. I wanted her to strip herself bare, both physically and mentally, and tell me all about it, watch the water lap at her pretty tits while she trembled and cried over her biggest fear.
Then, I would’ve reminded herI’mher biggest fucking fear.
Now, I’m not entirely sure what I want to do with her—other than snap her goddamn neck.
“You thought he kidnapped you,” I state, my monotone voice drawing her attention back to me.
Slowly, she nods her head, and I know there’s more. Deep down, I already know what she’s going to say, but my mind refuses to entertain it for even a second.
