Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“How did you know it was me who killed the guy with the mohawk?” I ask, still trying to figure it out. Was I betrayed?
Anya clicks her tongue. “Well, having Ivy cover for you and tamper with the videos was an impressive feat; however, she still has much to learn if she’s to surpass her father. Will was able to recall the videos. You’re lucky it was at Lucy’s where Eli could get rid of the body.”
Ah. I hadn’t expected Ivy to see it. I’d kept it a secret for so long, and she was the first to stumble across my dirty secret. She was shocked but quick to offer a contingency plan, and her involvement definitely helped the aftermath to try and hide it from my family when I begged her not to tell anyone, so she one upped and decided to tamper with the remaining evidence. I didn’t think she’d accept this part of me so easily, and I was grateful because I couldn’t handle that kind of disgust from one of my best friends.
I don’t really know what I was thinking. Sometimes I go into a daze. My targets have always been men who have hurt women, but lately, my reasoning seems miscued. It’s felt like an avalanche, and my brain hurts from all the impulses to take more victims I’ve had to fight off.
“You’re the one who’s been leaving the bodies around the city for the past nine months, aren’t you?” Dad asks.
My mouth opens and then closes. At first, I was messy. I didn’t know how to hide a body. But then I realized I didn’t want to. I wanted them to be found. I wanted to be seen, as risky as that was. I wanted my art to be discovered. I nod, except for the two men. I don’t know who took them out, but I’m certainly not strong enough to physically overpower them, and it insults me that the media have placed them into my serial killer count.
My father sighs, looking at the ceiling. “I don’t know how I didn’t notice.”
“It isn’t your fault that I’m like this.”
“This?” My aunt quickly grabs both of my shoulders. “No, no. We don’t look at this like it is something ugly. You embrace this part of yourself, Hope Ivanov. Do you hear me? This thing inside you?” She places her hand on my heart, and my breath shudders, as if her every word is something I’ve been waiting to hear my entire life. “This thing inside you is powerful. Deadly. Beautiful. We do not forsake the parts of us that come naturally. Have you ever judged us for killing?”
“No,” I whisper. Because the truth is, I haven’t. “But Mom…”
I wanted to be perfect for her. She tried so hard to keep me away from all of this. She’d be disappointed in me, maybe even hate me, for becoming this sick, twisted little thing.
“Don’t worry about your mother,” Dad reassures me as he pulls me in for a hug. I’m surprised at the action but wrap my arms around him, not knowing how badly I needed this… acceptance. “Your mother learned to love me even with my misdeeds. She’ll just have to adapt.”
“Gah.” Anya throws her hands in the air. “There are no misdeeds in this. We take what we want when we want. That is what it is to have Ivanov blood. We just need to sharpen your fangs, little one. And no more leaving around trophies for others to see. If you’re proud of your kill, send a photo to me or something if it’s praise you need.”
I chuckle, but tears well in my eyes. I pull away from my father to adjust my glasses. This is so stupid. So strange that being caught as a killer by my family has relieved me in a way I thought wasn’t possible.
“I’m just sad you felt like you couldn’t tell us. If I’d known you wanted to kill people, I would’ve taken you out myself. We could’ve created a hunting ground or something. Ooh, perhaps we should create auctions like that for the rich. My niece, you’re brilliant!” she says, inspiration lighting her eyes as she places the knife in her purse.
“How does it make you feel when you take a life?” Dad asks carefully.
My eyebrows furrow, and I lick my lips. A buzz of energy rushes over me as I recall every kill.
It’s beautiful.
Magical.
Life and death.
In the moment I take a life, I feel something besides the adrenaline, besides the acute, heightened senses. I feel like I’m connected to everything and every color. The world becomes my canvas.
“I like it… a lot.”
“More than this?” He waves a hand around the room, and I can only nod. Because I feel like without one, I would no longer have the muse to do the other.