Page 185 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

“Why, what?” I finally sigh. “I explained it already, Mike. He was going to kill Esme⁠—”

“But you could’ve called someone,” he argues. “You could’ve called the police. You didn’t have to hide the body or do any of this. Why go to all this trouble when none of it was necessary?”

The question catches me off guard, and I finally turn to give him my full attention. “The same reason I’m going to do this,” I admit, pulling the box cutter out of my pocket. “Because I really, absolutely, fucking want to.”

The fear in his eyes is everything I’ve hoped for, and it cements the fact that Larkin is right.

I’m a monster.

“I wish I could say sorry.” I test the box cutter’s blade against my thumb. “Sort of. Actually, I almost did this before. But you, uh, got saved by circumstances.” I watch him look between my face and the box cutter, before glancing back toward the trail.

“Look…” He raises his hands and edges backward, but I’m already expecting it. I circle him, similar to how Larkin circled me, and end up so my back is to the trail and the only easy path he has to go is right off the cliff. “I don’t know if this is about my investigation, or if you’re just trying to protect your roommate. But I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss Tova.” The polite edge to his words like he used on his first visit to our apartment is back, rather than the menace from earlier tonight.

“Did we? Because you came to our apartment tonight to threaten Es. I was sort of there.” I take a step forward, thrilled when he takes a reflexive step back. Then suddenly his muscles bunch and he runs at me, shoving into my shoulder and knocking me to the side on his way to the trail.

Shit.

Whirling around, I know I’ll be too slow, but at that moment, Larkin makes himself known. He lunges smoothly forward, seemingly unsurprised by Flanagan’s escape attempt as he grabs his flailing arms and drags him back to the clearing above the cliffs.

“W-who are you?” Flanagan gasps, writhing in his grip. “Let go of me! She’s fucking crazy! She’s⁠—”

“She’s a very silly girl with not very well thought out plans,” Larkin chuckles. He kicks Flanagan’s legs out from under him, forcing him to his knees in front of me. “I did some research on you,” he remarks casually, still holding his arms behind his back and not letting Flanagan get up. “Your ex-wife isn’t very fond of you, is she? I bet after tonight, her life will be a lot easier. Now she can use that money she’s been saving up to get herself and the kids away from you for” —he shrugs—“well, anything else.”

Something in me unclenches. Some tension I didn’t realize I was holding in my shoulders eases at the knowledge of Flanagan not exactly being a blessing to the world. I don’t think it would’ve mattered to me in the long run. But it makes it a lot easier to drag his head back until he’s looking up at me, his chest heaving.

“All you had to do was leave this the fuck alone,” I tell him sweetly. I can feel the coldness sinking into me. The familiar malice that always hits before I’m going to do something awful. The worst part is that the feeling is a welcome one. I enjoy feeling this way, and I’m starting to crave it. “But you just had to keep pushing.”

“No, I didn’t—I’ll stop,” Flanagan pants. “I won’t tell anyone about this. I’ll—” His words end in a gasp when I simply plunge the box cutter into the side of his throat. His eyes widen, his mouth falls open, and he releases a soft, almost whimper of pain as his eyes bulge in their sockets.

“No, you wouldn’t,” I sigh. “You’d push and push. You’d go to the cops and Esme would end up in jail for something she didn’t do.” Casually, I rip the blade from his neck then shove it back in, earning another whine from him. Blood sprays from his neck, spattering the ground, and distantly I’m glad it’s supposed to rain in the morning.

There won’t be any evidence of this once the storm is done.

Flanagan’s mouth moves, though all that passes his lips are a few bloody bubbles as he chokes on his own life leaving him. He gurgles and his eyes glaze over. Then when Larkin lets go of him, his body sags to the ground on its side.

He thrashes weakly once, then again, while the two of us watch, and my fingers curl more tightly around the weapon in my hand.

“You know,” I muse, still looking at him. “I feel like as far as a weapon of choice goes…?” I finally look up at Larkin who lifts his brows, waiting for the rest.

“Mine really sucks.”

22

Larkin laughs suddenly, covering his mouth as he snickers at my words. “Fuck,” he snorts. “I didn’t expect you to say that.” He shakes his head and steps around Flanagan’s body on the grassy cliff top, grabs my shoulders, and yanks me to him to kiss me soundly. My bloody hands come up to grip the front of his hoodie, and I wrench him downward to give myself better access to his mouth.

“Feral little thing,” Larkin praises. “With the worst sense of humor I’ve ever seen. Seriously? That’s what you say when you’re standing over a man’s body.” Shaking his head again, he snickers softly. “Pathetic, Sierra.”

“Tova.”

“Sierra.” He eyes me reproachfully as he says my name, a note of finality in his voice. He kisses me again, causing me to stumble, and when the body at our feet twitches, both of us look down to see Flanagan choking on a last wheeze of life.

“That’s awkward,” I murmur, but Larkin scoffs.

“He can watch.” Smiling down sweetly at the mostly dead man, Larkin shoves his hand off my ankle where the private investigator grabs for me weakly. I don’t know how he’s still breathing, but then another rattle leaves his lips, causing more blood to bubble there, and his eyes go dark.

“Is he dead now?”

“If he’s not, then he will be soon enough.” Larkin’s hands go to my hips and when I look up at him and his wolfish grin, my heart dips in anxiety.