Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
I can’t do this. I can’t be responsible for tearing into his skin and cracking his chest. I can’t hold his brain in my hands . . . his heart.
No. There are some lines that can’t be crossed, some things we can never come back from, and this right here is it. When I think about him, I don’t want to remember how his organs felt in my hand or the smell of his decaying body. I want to remember his smile, his heart, the way he made me come alive.
Not this.
Moving across the table, I pack up my notes and deliver them to my desk before gripping the bottom of the body bag. My gaze lingers on Laith’s face, and as I slowly begin zipping up the bag, my heart breaks all over again, knowing this is the last time I will see him.
I won’t return to view his body, it’s too hard. Once I finish zipping this bag, it will be my goodbye.
The tears continue streaming down my face, and as his body is enclosed in the bag, every inch of me aches. I don’t stop until I reach the very top, and as I carefully deliver his body to the refrigeration unit, I vow that my stalker will never get away with this.
No amount of revenge will ever make this okay, but I will never stop fighting until he has paid for what he’s done to Laith, not even if it kills me.
I deliver Laith to the refrigeration unit, and as I close the door of locker number thirty-six, I know that number will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Finally reaching my desk, I crumble into my seat, and the moment my ass hits the chair, I let the grief drown me. I cry and cry, every last piece of my soul absolutely shattered. I sit here for over an hour, my face buried in my arms against the desk, and just when I’m about to pull myself together to try and get just a little bit of work done, my phone chimes from within my bag.
My brows furrow. Laith is the only person who ever contacted me this late, and it was always for a booty call. Not even Knight bothers to hit me up while I’m working. He’s the type to wait for me to come to him, and more often than not, I only end up at his door when my world is falling apart.
Finding my phone in my bag, I pull it out and immediately become uneasy when I find a brand-new text from Laith, and it occurs to me, if he’s been texting me as normal all week, but he’s assumedly been kidnapped and bound by rope, then who the hell have these messages been from?
I have one guess.
My hands shake as my thumb swipes across the screen, and not a moment later, the text appears.
My heart races. Laith wouldn’t text me that, not after we talked and he respectfully bowed out of the Dick-Me-Down Loyalty Program. He has too much respect for our friendship to risk it, too much respect for me. But my stalker wouldn’t know that.
Laith and I haven’t spoken about our new hands-off arrangement over text. If somebody did have his phone, which clearly they do, they would assume we were still screwing around by reading our texts.
There’s no denying it. My masked murderer has Laith’s phone and is using it as a connection to me, but not only that, it now gives me a direct link straight back to him.
My gaze shifts to the surveillance camera. Perhaps he doesn’t know that I’ve seen Laith’s body. Maybe he’s only just tuned in to the shitshow that is my night.
Uneasiness grips me in a chokehold, and as I stare down at the message, I realize that I have two choices. I can either let this asshole know exactly what I think of him, or I can play him at his own game and keep this little piece of knowledge stored safely away just in case I might need it.
With that in mind, I get busy responding to the text, hoping like fuck that I’m not screwing myself over in the process.
His words have a shiver sailing down my spine, and as I put my phone down and glance back toward locker number thirty-six, I realize just how in over my head I am. This stalker has got me exactly where he wants me, and I’ve played right into his trap every single time.
I’m losing a game I never asked to play, and because of that, Laith is now dead, and Knight is right in the crosshairs.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be his little toy or play his deadly game.
The tears return, and I hate myself for them, feeling so damn guilty that I have the audacity to cry out of fear and exhaustion when I should be crying for Laith. I should be calling his family and offering to help them with funeral arrangements, offering to help sort out his things or simply just giving them a shoulder to cry on, but instead, I’m crying for me. I’m crying for the fear that has plagued me, the terror of walking into work and finding a friend on my table just like I did tonight, the absolute horror of knowing that Knight might be next.