The walls are white, and there’s a bed in the corner.
And a bucket.
And… chains coming from the floor.
It’s the perfect place to keep someone if you were going to kidnap them.
But I don’t see Donovan.
“Who the fuck are you?” A voice behind me asks, and I turn and swing my knife without thinking. Maybe I’m a little overeager, because it catches him across the throat and I let out a low curse the second arterial spray washes over my chest.
“Fuck.” I step forward, catching him as he falls to the ground. “Fuck, where’s Donovan?”
His eyes widen in confusion, in shock.
Why is he confused?
“W… wh…” His voice is all the proof I need that I’m too good at killing.
“Where. Is. Donovan?” I ask again, lifting the knife and slamming it into his side.
He’s dying anyway, so it’s not like I have much time to be subtle. I’d half wondered if I could find Donovan and call the police, if I could still be thegoodShiloh he sees when he looks at me.
But he has a fucking creepy ass shrine to Oakley, and honestly… Someone who hurt Donovan was never going to make it out of here alive.
“Not… I…”
He shakes his head back and forth and then lets out a gurgly scream when I twist the knife.
I’d expect someone like him to start confessing… but he starts shaking his head again.
Faster.
And then he says one word.
“Oakley.”
“Fuck.” I snap, lifting the knife from his side and slamming it into the center of his chest. His eyes go wide, his breathing speeds…
Speeds…
Slows.
And stops.
This wasn’t what I wanted at all.
I drop the dead body and stand up. There’s no point in me trying to brush myself off, so I strip out of the black jacket I’m wearing and make sure I don’t track any blood through the house as I grab a bag to toss it into from his kitchen.
Once I’m sure I’m not leaving evidence behind, I do a sweep of the house… but I already know what I’m going to find.
Nothing.
Nothing but a weird fucking shrine to Oakley that has a used condom, some of what I can only assume is his hair, and a huge collection of food wrappers, trash, autographs, and newspaper articles.
Fucking weirdo.
I pull Donovan’s phone from my pocket, and this time, Oakley answers before the first ring finishes.
