Page 13 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 3

“Something tells me you’d have tattled on me a long time ago, if that was your M.O.”

“You’ve already corrupted me. Doesn’t matter what you offer now.” I pass the bottle back to him and peel away the greasy paper clinging to the bun. It’s the sloppiest burger I’ve ever seen in my life, overflowing with pickles and onions and olives and ketchup and mustard. I’ve never had a burger with olives on it before, but my palate is pleasantly surprised when I bite down and it’s best damn burger I’ve ever tasted. “And this is straight up crack.”

“She’s not afraid to eat.” He takes another swill of his beer. “That’s good. I can’t stand women who eat like birds.”

“Oh my God,” I say around a mouthful. “Totally get why you eat there as often as you do.”

It’s only when his beer is halfway to his mouth that I realize what I’ve said and choke on my food. Grabbing the bag, I ungraciously hack up the lodged burger into the greasy paper, nervous for the onslaught of questions that are surely about to follow.

“What did you say?” The crease in his brow deepens as he sets the bottle back on the table.

“Nothing.”

“Quit with the fucking nothings. Eat where as often as I do?”

“The diner.”

“How’d you know I ate there?”

I roll up the paper bag and lick my lips. “Because I watched you. From my bedroom window.”

He quirks a brow as understanding suddenly dawns on him. “That’s how you knew where I lived. You knew I’d be there and you followed me.”

I did a lot more than follow him. I damn near worshipped him while trapped inside that hell. “Yes.”

“How long you been watching me?”

“Months.” I nibble on the inside of my lip, suddenly feeling like the psychopath in this relationship.

“Well, aren’t you just full of fucking surprises tonight, Bandit.”

“I didn’t mean to watch you. I wasn’t doing it to steal from you.” An itch at the back of my neck prompts me to scratch there, and I can’t bring myself to look at him. “You were … I … just looked forward to seeing you there is all.”

“Why is that?” The tone of his voice is less pissy than before.

“Because. Because you looked sad. Alone. Just like I was.”

His narrowed eyes remain fixed on me, shrinking me with every confession that falls from my mouth. “Where’d you watch from?”

“It’s an old run-down place. Used to be a factory that they converted to section-eight housing.” I break a small piece of the bun from my hamburger and shove it into my mouth. “Why’d you go there so much?”

He frowns, swishing the beer around in his mouth, eyeing me as his neck bobs with a swallow. “Why do you care?”

I shrug at his question and lift the burger for another mouth-watering bite. “What do you have to lose by telling me? Afraid I might find you sentimental?”

His face cracks a smile again, but this time I don’t call him out on it, in hopes it stays. “That diner’s been there a long time. When I was a kid, my mom took me there every Friday night when she got paid.”

A thought slaps me upside the head, and I give him the sly eye of suspicion. “You told me your mother died giving birth to you.”

“I lied. Confessing that I’m a momma’s boy would’ve destroyed my killer game, don’t you think?”

“Probably.” I smile at that, polishing off the last of my burger. “So this thing you do. You’re paid to kill people. Like a hit man. Not really a serial killer like Dahmer or Bundy. You do it for money, right? And your victims are chosen for you.”

“Yes.”

“So … the file in your briefcase. The girl. Did you kill her?”

“No.”