CHAPTER ONE
SHILOH
Why thefuckdid I pick somewhere socoldto move?
Oh, yeah… because I nearly got caught dumping a body in the ocean in sunny California.
I guess my punishment for being a messy killer is not being able to feel the tips of my fingers.
That’s really only a problem because I have an art assignment due in a few days and I haven’t even started. I need my fingers. I need my hands to work if I don’t want to fail out of my new college a week into being here.
What Ireallyneed is some inspiration. My skin itches for a heat that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the feel of blood spilling like little waterfalls of crimson.
At least here it would dot the snow in sparks of red.
Red on white.
Blood on bone.
I close my eyes and imagine the look of it on canvas, eliciting a shudder that rolls down my slender shoulders and ends at my black boots.
That’swhat I need.
It’s probably not a good idea—I’m not an impulsive person. I don’t know the area; I don’t know the easiest way to dispose of a body. The fact that I nearly got caught back in California is the reason I’m here now.
I don’t want to move again, but now that the itch is there, I know I’m not going to be able to ignore it.
I need that sense of calm, that beauty found beneath broken skin.
I need…
My eyes catch on a large body as it slips down an alleyway to my left. We’re in a pretty populated area, but the alley looks empty. And yeah, the person was big—probably too big for me to even consider, since I’m only five and a half feet when I’m wearing my tall boots—but it’s almost like theywantedsomeone to follow them into the shadows.
A person could get hurt there and no one would question it.
I wouldn’t evenhaveto move the body if I was fast. Just a quick cut—a splash of blood on my hands that I could run across the snow. A moment of that heat on my fingers to warm me from the inside out.
Impulsive.
Ridiculous.
Not even useful, because I don’t have containers to carry the blood back to my apartment with me, so most of it would go to waste.
“Where are you going to move to next, Shiloh? Another country?”
I don’t even have a passport.
The knowledge doesn’t stop me from pulling up my hood to hide the mess of black and green curls on my head so I can follow the figure down the alleyway.
I’ll worry about passports and fleeing the country later, I guess. You know, after I’m done making bad decisions.
The guy’s moving quickly, though I’m not sure if it’s because he’s running or because his legs are just so damn long. I can’t tell what he looks like, much more than the oversized hoodie he has on, pulled up over his head to protect him from the godawful cold that my thin leather jacket really isn’t helping with.
Maybe I’ll take his hoodie before I go. I’m not usually much of a trophy person, other than inspiration and blood… but…
I shiver and frown. I could make an exception for this.
He makes his way around the back of the building, pulling up a board that I didn’t realize was loose like he’s done it a thousand times before. It seems as if he knows this place better than me, and it’s going to work to my benefit.
