AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You—” My pulse echoes in my ears, head spinning so hard, I can barely form the words. “You knew he would die?”
“Of course. How else could I ensure I’d have you entirely to myself?”
Bile rises in my throat. Austin’s deathwasn’tan accident.
Saint knew the drugs he gave Austin would kill him.Saintkilled him.
“Why?” I gasp, the pan dropping to my side as my arms grow weak. “Why would you do that? I didn’t even like him. He was innocent.” My voice breaks on the last word.
I’m living a true crime nightmare. This man played coy when I accused him of stalking me, gaslit me into thinking I was overreacting, and now he’s in my kitchen confessing to murdering my date.
And I’m going to be next.
Saint closes the space between us too quickly for me to react, swiping a thumb across my cheek and taking the tear with him. My breath catches at his touch, his nearness. The mouthwatering smell of his cologne floods my nose. “Don’t cry for him. That bastard wasn’t innocent. He lied to you from the beginning. He hid dark secrets from you. His girlfriends—of which there are many—function as his drug mules unless he can make more money selling their bodies to the highest bidders. I’m sure he also failed to disclose his highly contagious venereal diseases to you. A far worse morning-after discovery than his death, I assure you, muse.”
I can’t process everything he’s telling me. He could be lying about Austin. But I barely spoke to Austin for more than a couple of hours. Maybe he really was the clean-cut lawyer set to take over his father’s firm like he wanted me to believe. Or maybe he was the dangerous sex trafficker Saint claims.
It’s Saint’s word against a ghost’s, and I have no reason to believe either of them.
Every word I whisper comes out shaky. “What did you just call me?”
Saint grins. “You’re my muse.”
A hand swipes a strand of hair behind my ear, and I jerk back, swinging the pan in his direction.
He catches it with ease and rips it out of my hand, sending it flying behind him with a crash.
I cringe against the sound, but he doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t let that terrifying grin falter. “I couldn’t write again until I met you.Youare my inspiration, Briar. You are the ink in my pen, the words on my page, the voice in my head, the name tattooed on my heart.” He steps close again, and this time, I don’t have a weapon to aim at his head. “That’s why I can’t let anyone else have you. You belong to me now.”
“I don’t belong to anybody, you sick fuck,” I spit, backing up out of his reach. “Get out of my house. I’m calling the cops.”
If only I’d walked in the house seconds earlier, I could’ve run back out the door and flagged them down. Gotten him arrested on the spot so I wouldn’t be living this nightmare.
His smile still doesn’t waver. “You’re not going to do that because you don’t have any proof.” Somehow, he’s completely sure of himself. “Not to mention I did you a favor. He would’ve ruined you if he’d gotten the chance. I stopped him—I protected you. I’m your saint.” He grabs my hip, pinning me in place as I fruitlessly attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. “And you’re my sinner.”
I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. A six-foot-five boulder to my five-foot pebble. “I’m not your anything.”
“On the contrary...” He pulls out his phone, showing me the lock screen. My stomach drops. A photo of me. A selfie smiling at the camera, at a cafe back in my dissertation days when caffeine was my sleep replacement. He must’ve dug through months of posts to find that one. “You’re my everything.”
He reaches in his back pocket and flips open his wallet. Another photo of me, this one showing off everything from head to toe in a little black dress during a rare night out with the girls while I was getting my master’s. He cropped my friends out, leaving me the sole object of his obsession.
I crush my hand to my mouth, attempting to hold back the feral sound that aches to escape. Something between a horrified cry and a bloodthirsty scream.
Finally, I manage to grind out, “You keep . . . photos of me?”
I barely even know him and he’s already acting like I’m his girlfriend. No, like I’m hispossession.
His next words flow like warm, liquid chocolate. “If I could imprint you on my brain, I would.”
Stupidly, the words make my heart squeeze. The same declaration of love S.T. Nicholson wrote inThis Book Will Haunt You. He knew that was my favorite book, and he memorized one of its best lines. One I have highlighted and underlined.
I shake myself. He’s a stalker. He just broke into my house. Worse, he’s a murderer. He may not have killed Austin with his bare hands, but he did intentionally give Austin a lethal dose of drugs. He knowingly ended a life. In some sick, twisted way, he thinks he killed forme.
“You were the one in my yard that night. Wearing a mask.”
“I was.”
My mind spins at how readily he confesses to his crimes. Trespassing, stalking, murder. Like he’s proud. Like his crimes somehow prove his devotion to me rather than his madness.
