Okay, Hazel, you can do this.There are people waiting on the other end of three digits for exactly this situation.
Well, maybe not exactly. Can’t say I’ve ever taken a call from a woman in her night shirt wielding a vibrator wand at a serial killer who could quite literally be the cover model for Vogue.
Inside Look: This season’s Serial Killer Chic – How to style your hair so all the girls swoon when you break into their house.
I draw in a breath and try to shut off the tirade of thoughts spiraling through my mind.
Thecriminal,I remind myself, is still leaning against my bedroom wall, his hands chilling inside his pockets as he watches me with a tilt to his head.
My gaze drops to where my phone rests in the middle of my bed. One fast lunge and I’d have it.
I look back up and serial killer dude’s eyes taper as he notes the phone. He doesn’t move but I see the muscles under his shirt tense, the tendons in his neck coiling. His hands are still in his pockets.
Fuck it.I throw myself onto the bed, my arm outstretched as I reach for my phone. My fingertips graze the charm covered case before it’s swiped from my grasp. I bounce once on the mattress and then I’m flying, my hands clasping the strong forearm clamped around my stomach as he plucks me off the bed and spins us around.
I blink, catching my breath and trying to process what just happened while serial killer dude turns my phone over in his free hand. It’s protected in its lilac croc case, cupcake and ice cream charms decorating the back.
“Cute.” The phone disappears and I feel him tuck it away somewhere. His lips dust the shell of my ear. “Probably best for me to hang onto this for now, don’t you think?”
A shiver cascades over me. I’m only just five foot and the tips of my toes barely brush the fluffy white rug beneath us. Rock solid muscles press against my back as he holds me, and I’d tell myself I’m shivering because I’m scared but I’m bad at lying.
I read once that anxiety kills arousal, so make it make sense that fearheightensit. Or maybe that’s just me.
Welcome to blind date,your options are A: a stand-up guy who always holds the door open for you. B: a single dad with a great credit score. Or C: a serial killer who breaks into your house in the middle of the night.
No. I refuse to be attracted to this motherfucker. I wriggle in his grasp. “Let me go.”
“If I do that, what are the chances that you’ll stay put and not make a run for it?”
I close my eyes, a headache gathering at the base of my skull. I should tell him I’ll do whatever he wants so long as he doesn’t hurt me but like I said, I’m a bad liar. “Pretty slim,” I whisper.
His soft laugh tumbles against the back of my neck and I curse myself for clipping my hair up.
He spins us around again and I grip his arm, digging my nails into the dusting of brown hair there. He lets me go but before I can run anywhere, he captures my hips and backs me up against the wall.
“Sit.” Sharp eyes bore into me, a darkness hidden there belied by his goofy smile and boyish charm.
I gulp, my throat barren. Slowly, I let my knees buckle, lowering myself to the floor.
“Stay,” he orders, gazing down at me with a look I can’t quite read.
When I don’t try to move, he steps away and takes a seat across the room from me, his back against my bedroom door.
My room isn’t big. There’s only the width of the bed plus a couple of extra feet between us.
He sits crisscross apple sauce and that boyish side to him springs back to life. Except he’s not a boy and now he’s farther into the room, the glow from the ceiling light hits his face and I realize I know who he is.
Notknowknow but knowof. In the way that everyone in Seattle knows of him because the man sitting across from me is the infamous Vigilante Choker.
His mugshot was plastered all over the news for weeks late last year because he walked into the local police station and confessed to seven murders.
They had no idea any of the crimes were even connected. He would have never been caught if he hadn’t turned himself in.
I vaguely remember hearing he went for the insanity plea and ended up being sent to Drayford, but to be honest I stopped paying much attention. I hear enough about this sort of stuff at work and I didn’t think it was super relevant to me. Funnily enough, it didn’t occur to past me thattheVigilante Choker would break out and take refuge in my bedroom. Past me and I will have words though, because right now, I’m wishing I knew more about him.
He watches me from across the room, his head tilted at that slight angle again.
I decide the least I can do is return the favor.