Page 16 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

‘Where are his lips?’ I say to Antoinette, who’s now scrolling through her phone like she hasn’t just risked our fucking freedom.

She barely looks up at me when she says, ‘In the Smeg.’

‘You’ve killed one of the most famous men in the world and put his lips in the fridge,’ I say, bewildered. ‘Why?’

‘So he can’t shit talk in the next life, of course.’ She laughs. ‘It’s my signature. All serial killers need a signature. Like how the WeHo Ripper dumps the bodies in famous places. I’m going to cut off the part that pissed me off.’

‘This isn’t funny, Antoinette.’ I’m beyond furious. ‘And there will be no signatures.’

‘But—’

‘No!’ I’m pacing the room now. ‘Signatures, souvenirs, that’s what gets killers caught!’

What am I going to do?

What am I going to do?

The panic that has been pooling in my stomach feels like it’s travelling up my throat. I slam my hands over my mouth and just about make it to the bathroom before I throw up violently into the toilet. Retching and spitting until my mouth is completely dry. ‘What are you looking at?’ I ask Ron Wilde’s lipless face, which I swear is staring at me. ‘This is your fault.’

Fuck.

We need to leave.

We have to get out of LA, out of America as fast as we can.

It’s not like Antoinette has killed and carved up some random guy.

It’s Ron Wilde.

One of the most photographed men in the world. People are going to notice he’s missing.

Immediately.

If not sooner.

And I haven’t even found Aidan Ward yet, let alone killed him.

I’m going to have to break my promise to Tor.

Nausea bubbles in my stomach again at the thought of letting her down.

She’s going to be devastated. But what else can I do? There’s a dead movie star in my bathroom and I have no idea what I’m going to do with him.

God, if he’s staying here then the paparazzi will come at some point too.

It’s not like I can slip his dismembered corpse out unnoticed.

My brain is already imagining the TMZ report.

Chaos erupted at the Chateau Marmont when two British women were caught trying to sneak the lipless remains of Oscar-winning actor Ron Wilde out of the service entrance last night. Onlookers described the scene as The Crown meets Dexter. But with better outfits.

Fuck.

This cannot be how I’m caught.

There’s a gentle knock on the bathroom door. I look up as Antoinette pokes her head in, her eyes wide with concern.

‘Are you okay?’ she says. ‘I heard retching.’ She holds out a glass of water.