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He didn’t love her.
Because if he had, he would’ve never hurt her. He would’ve done everything he could’ve to take care of her.
Like me.
“I love you,” I whispered, the words nearly inaudible, but I knew she’d heard them clearly.
She tipped her head back, her massive eyes finding mine, droplets of blood spattered across her cheeks and nose. Time seemed to stand still, and the room melted away around us. Nothing and no one else mattered. In that moment, it was just the two of us. Us, and those three words.
“You love me?” She said it like she couldn’t believe it, her dead brother forgotten on the floor at our feet.
“I love you,” I told her again, the words stronger, more real. A mixture of emotions swirled in her blue eyes—surprise, confusion, pain…love. But was it love for me or him?
“I don’t know what to say,” she muttered, her voice shaky.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”
I didn’t know what else to say, how to make things better. I didn’t know if I should take advantage of this moment of shock and usher her outside, locking up after us and leaving this day in the rearview mirror for us to start a new life.
“What do we do now?” she asked, and I looked back down at the body. I knew it was wrong to feel happy about this, but I couldn’t help it.
Everything I’d done for the last few months pushed us to this moment, pushed us together, and forced her to be mine. I wouldn’t feel bad about that. It was cause for celebration, if you asked me.
But I couldn’t show that. Not yet.
I had to play the part of the mournful boyfriend. I had to make sure she was alright before I let her see my true happiness.
How long could I hide it, though? How long could I pretend to be anything other than the monster everyone knew me to be?
For her, I could wear this mask a bit longer. I could be what she needed until she was so ingrained in my life, she could never escape, and she’d never see it coming.
That was the paradox of being a predator. We blended in seamlessly, working regular jobs and having loving families. We were trustworthy and kind, not creeps who prowled alleys or parking garages after dark. People would even say things like, "No, not him. He couldn't possibly do something like that." But that was exactly what made us so dangerous—we didn't fit the stereotype.
And by the time you realized you were caught in our perfectly crafted trap, it was already too late.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Winnie
Two days ago, I killed my brother.
Two days ago, I lost the last person in my family. I lost the last person who loved me—well, not the last.
I looked at Emmett, taking in the golden light surrounding him like a halo as he drove. The fine lines around his moss-green eyes deepened as he looked at me, a soft smile curling his lips. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, something I noticed he did a lot, and slid his free hand onto my thigh.
My hand rested on top of his as I looked ahead, my stomach twisting with every minute closer to my house.
“Are you sure we did the right thing?” I asked, and he squeezed my thigh gently.
“I’m positive.”
He sounded so sure of himself, like there was nothing else we could’ve done. We didn’t have a choice but to hide Connor’s body. It still didn’t sit right with me, but I didn't know what else to do. If we called the police, they would’ve arrested me. I would’ve had to leave Emmett, and I couldn’t do that.
So we hid Connor’s body and cleaned the trailer. We made it seem like he left town in a rush—everyone knew how much he hated it here.
“I just have a few things I need to get,” I said, and Emmett nodded. We’d already talked about it. I had a box of things that I couldn’t leave without, but after we grabbed it, we were leaving Texas, maybe even the country.
I didn’t care about any of that, though. Because we would be together.
