Page 102 of Inflict

This man was a monster.

Connor was only now realizing how different of a monster he was, when compared to his father. As much of a relief as he found in that understanding, he was also worried. Deeply, anxiously worried.

He flipped open the files that he had pushed aside to find the contents in those were not like the contents of the other two. These were older bits of information—older Polaroid photographs of terrible quality. There were several newspaper clippings that talked of another prostitute being found killed by strangulation, the perpetrator earning the nickname Strangler after having killed a half of a dozen street women.

Connor took note of the dates, noticing how after his father had begun purchasing and trading skin, the crimes of Strangler had lessened, though the police had not entirely stopped releasing information. Sean had continued to clip each piece written about his crimes, carefully documenting everything, including the victims he had killed after he stopped hunting the streets.

Serial killer …

Monsters like Sean didn’t hunt, just to forego their chosen victim if it seemed too difficult. They waited until time was right.

Connor continued flipping through the clippings and bits of information as he pulled out his cell phone. He needed to make a call because his heart was beginning to hurt from beating so fast and hard in his chest. He needed to hear her voice and know she was just fine, hidden and locked away in his brownstone. Far away from … this.

Evelyn knew how to tell if it was a call coming in from his cell phone by the caller ID, and when she picked up on the fourth ring, Connor took his first real breath.

“Are you almost back home?” she asked, not even saying hello.

“Almost, love,” he promised.

“Pizza might be nice tonight.”

Connor chuckled. “You like pizza too much.”

He would still get it for her.

He would get her anything.

Because he loved her. He wasn’t sure when that had happened, or why. All he knew was that no one had ever made him feel quite the way Evelyn did when she was doing nothing more than sitting beside him. Like his whole body, every nerve ending, was connected to her without even needing to touch her. He wanted her to be happy. He figured, if that wasn’t love, then what was?

Perhaps he had loved her since he was young lad, as so much of that one year he had spent befriending her had stuck with him for his entire life. It was no wonder, that after finding her again as a woman and him being a man, he found it easy to fall in love with her again.

She was different.

She was still the same.

Connor just hadn’t imagined how to tell her. He thought the words—and Evelyn—deserved a bit more than to have the statement blurted out like it was just another thing. He’d never loved someone before, so he wasn’t sure how to go about explaining the war it created inside his heart and mind. A constant battle of needing her close, wanting to see her smile, and hating anyone else who had the pleasure of having it graced on them.

He loved her.

“Do me a favor, lass?”

“Anything,” Evelyn said quietly.

“Stay upstairs until I get home. Away from the windows. Everything is locked up tight, but … just stay out of sight, be quiet.”

He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to request those things, but he let the words slip out just in case his instincts were acting up again. He shouldn’t have left her at home, not alone. He should have sent her out for the day again, like he had before.

Connor just felt … odd.

Something was off about this whole thing.

Where was Sean?

“I’ll go work in the studio,” Evelyn said, bringing him back to the conversation at hand.

“Grand. I’ll be home in an hour or so.”

Less, likely.