My lips quirk.Literally.
I don’t need his approval—it doesn’t do anything for me—my brain is wired differently than a normal person’s. But I appreciate that he tries.
Iampleased with myself. I worried, considering I lack a full range of emotions, that my life wouldn’t be a happy one. That I’d be solitary, and that loneliness might be what took me to the edge. It might let the monster inside me escape and wreak havoc. But somehow—maybe thanks to my grandmother—I have the career I always wanted. A family that might not be perfect, but that is perfect for me. They keep me balanced—keep my monster in check. I love them more than anything, and while I don’t often feel fear, the idea of losing them terrifies me. Which is good—it’sgoodto care about something. The fact that I have to hide who I really am from my husband, my family? A small trade-off, especially as my gaze comes to rest on my girls through the monitor, sleeping safe in their beds.
“You want something else local?” His voice breaks through my thoughts. There aren’t usually this many jobs—I do about one a month—and I suspect it’s the effect of summer coming. A combination of heat rising alongside a person’s temper. Not to mention vacations, which give people time to consider whose death would make their life a little better.
For that reason, summer is my favorite season.
“Yes.”
“You sure? It’s okay if you want to take some time off.”
I smile, thinking of that incredibly corny line about how if you love your job, you’ll never work a day in your life. “I’ll take it.”
Chapter Three
A noise jolts me awakeat five a.m. on the dot.
My hand flies to the gun in the small biometric safe strapped beneath the bed frame, but when I hear it again, I stop and look over to see my husband fast asleep—snoring.
My alarm will go off in another ten minutes, but of course I’m now wide awake.
I groan, remind myself how I relish this short amount of time I have in the mornings, and force myself to sit up before I fall back asleep. These moments before my family is out of bed, casually demanding my attention, are sometimes the only break in the day I get. Usually, I hop on the treadmill or hit the weight room we built in the basement. It’s important I stay in good shape, capable of climbing trees on hot Texas nights or sprinting down ten flights of stairs after taking a shot from high up in a building. But Brian is home, so I hurry to dress, tuck my Glock 43, a minuscule gun, into a holster designed just for running, and slip outside with Bear on a leash. I only run outside a couple days a week—when he’s around in the morning to watch the girls—and it’s my favorite exercise.
It’s May, which means the air is already hot and thick with humidity, even at this early hour. But it’s also beautiful. The moon shines bright overhead, and I leave my headlamp off, loping down our residential street to a trail system. I want to breathe easy, to enjoy it; this is supposed to be mymetime. But there’s a full day ahead—
Pharmacy
PTA breakfast to prep for
Plan the perfect way to kill my next mark
—and maybe a sick child to cart around through all of it.
I haven’t always killed. I didn’t start until I was seventeen, actually. I could jokingly blame Piper. Or rather, her college boyfriend. I never liked him, but when I showed up to visit during her junior year and found her cornered, naked, in the communal shower of her dormitory, him screaming at her for not answering his texts, demanding to know if she was cheating on him—it obviously put me on high alert. When she had a fractured jaw and came home from college lying about it a week later, I knew what had to be done. Some might say it was an overreaction. He’d yelled at her, hit her a time or two. Did he deserve to die for that?
Fifty-five percent of female homicides in the United States are committed by intimate partners. So yes. He did. He did deserve to get too drunk and freeze to death on a rare twenty-degree night in Texas. In fact, I’d say I let him off easy.
It wasn’t hard. Who would suspect Piper’s little sister, skinny and awkward with braces? Convincing him to come with me had been the easy part—Piper had a surprise for him, I said, a suggestive gleam in my eye as I led him on a path through the woods.
It was also easy to offer him booze spiked with propranolol, a heart medicine that lowers the heart rate and blood pressure. Thedrug kept him from regulating his body temperature, and I’d known it was unlikely to be tested for. Sneaking the medicine from Gran’s medicine cabinet had been too easy. The alcohol, overproof rum that got him drunk faster than he expected, exacerbated the effects. His death appeared to be an accident—a college student who’d had too much to drink, passed out on a chilly night in January beneath some bushes, and wasn’t found until it was too late. Sad, but hardly remarkable.
The biggest problem was Piper—her shock. Maybe her suspicion.
Or perhaps I imagined it, and the way she stared at me, wide-eyed and accusatory, was merely a symptom of grief.
I sprint down a hill and cross into a green field surrounded by spiraling oak trees; a small, picturesque wooden bridge; and an elevated worship space where yogis like to practice. Technically, I’m on the property of a church, but their grounds are beautiful, with a majestic view of the sunrise over downtown. They welcome everyone, and though I’m not the slightest bit religious—how do you account for people like me in the eyes of their god?—I appreciate the meditative space they provide for anyone who wants it. Dirt trails and rock staircases, fountains and rosebushes. This property must be half a dozen acres, and they maintain it for anyone who needs peace.
But I don’t need peace. I don’t feel bad about what I do.
John said the package would be delivered this morning, the one that tells me how to find my next mark. He assured me it was a VBP, orvery badperson. While my moral code might be a bit loose, I won’t kill just anyone because some rando wants them dead. I have to feel like the world is a better place without them. It’s how I stay in control, how I keep myself from killing any person who catches my attention. They are prey; I am a predator. It’s simplemath without any rules, and so I have embraced the guidelines my grandmother gave me. They’ve gotten me this far.
Up on the overlook, I find a stone bench settled between two thick-trunked trees and prop my leg up to stretch my hamstrings. Somewhere, an owl hoots. A mosquito buzzes near my ear. But still, the world feels quiet. Until it doesn’t.
I sense him before he speaks, that energy that only living beings carry, an essence that goes out like a flame extinguished when you end their life. He doesn’t make a sound, no twigs snapping beneath his shoes or heavy breathing. Just the realization I’m no longer alone.
I don’t reach for my gun.
