Page 98 of To All the Guys I Killed Before

“Yes.” Even flat on her back and immobilized by a much larger opponent, she’s cold and unapologetic.

When I press play again, Rue holds my gaze. The tired rasp of her recorded voice fills the car.

“I’m… sad. Not that he’s dead or that I’m the one who killed him. Sad that I had to. I hate that I had to, just like I hate how many other awful guys like him are out there.”

Recorder Rue yawns and shifts on the same creaky bed, her voice slowing with what’s clearly emotional and physical exhaustion.

“Not Hugo, though. I’m pretty sure he’s…” She yawns again, her voice growing heavier. “He’s surprisingly…”

For a long moment, it’s just the soft, slow sound of her breathing. Just before the track ends, her drowsy voice says, “I wish he’d give me roses sometime.”

The recorder clicks off for the last time, and a muffled sob escapes the woman in my arms. The fight leaves my body, and I roll to the side, letting her scramble away. But to my surprise, she doesn’t fly out of the car. Instead, she pulls herself into a sitting position.

I do the same, and we turn toward one another, my stomach clenching at the traces of tears on her cheeks.

“I would’ve brought you roses every day,” I tell her. “If I’d known.”

Her eyes drop to her hands before she drags them back to me.

“It’s too late for that, Hugo.”

She’s right. It’s November first. Not even my roses can survive the winter.

“What did your ex do?” I ask after a short silence.

“You don’t get to ask me that,” she says, her eyes flicking dismissively down my body. “Especially not when you’re hiding behind your virgin-next-door costume.”

Having delivered her snide little insult, she snatches the recorder from my hand and climbs out of the car, striding toward the house.

I stalk after her.

“And? Do you still think that?” I ask when I’ve caught up with her in the living room.

She doesn’t respond, so I grab her loose blond hair and wrap the strands around my fist, turning her so her back is pressed against the wall. I’m prepared to let her go if she gives any signs of not welcoming my touch, but her cheeks are flushed, and she sweeps her tongue across her lower lip, her gaze fixed on my mouth.

Good. We spent every day we had together lying to each other, but this heat between us is real.

“Answer me.” I tighten my grip on her hair. “Do you still think your neighbor doesn’t know how to fuck you the way you need to be fucked?”

I’ve been keeping my body far enough away from hers that she could easily slip out of my grasp. But she slides her fingers into my belt loops and tugs me forward, turning my hard cock and her hard nipples into another battlefield.

“What do you think?” she murmurs.

Using muscles she never noticed on Dr. Mohr, I slide my thigh between her legs and push her up the wall until her toes barely brush the ground.

“I think you want the man in the shadows wearing a mask,” I tell her, my fingers digging into her soft flesh. “You want the killer who smashed in the skull of the guy who held a gun to your head.”

When her head falls back on a breathy moan, I grip her jaw and force her mouth open with my thumb. “You want someone who fucks you next to that same guy’s corpse to remind you that you’re alive and you’re powerful.”

She drags her teeth over my knuckle before obediently sucking.

“Good girl,” I growl, lifting her knee with my free hand to spread her wide so I can grind against her while I fuck my thumb in and out of her mouth. She rocks her hot pussy against my dick, her eyes hazy with lust, and I stroke her tongue with my thumb one last time before slipping it free.

“Hugo, your body is so—” She sucks in a breath when I thrust against her, her fingers sliding down my chest to grip my hips and tug at my pants, pulling me even closer. “So fucking hot. Yes, I want all that, just like you want the girl next door and the bitch in black.”

“God, yes.”

But no. Something’s not right.