Page 238 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

Elliot looked away. His stomach dropped.

“No.”

“Ronan.”

“No.”

He moved toward him. Elliot stepped backward.

“How many?”

“I don’t—”

“How many?”

“Stop.”

“How many fucking people?”

Elliot’s face had gone pale. Ronan stared. Then something horrible clicked. The older murders. The people Elliot had called bad. The pattern he had supposedly discovered. The victims who hurt people when nobody important was watching. Ronan whispered:

“Mason wasn’t the first.”

Elliot closed his eyes. Ronan felt sick.

“How many?”

Nothing.

“Tell me.”

Elliot opened his eyes. Ronan barely recognized the person looking back at him. Not because Elliot had changed. Because Ronan finally knew what he was looking at.

“Which ones do you know about?”

The sentence landed so softly Ronan almost didn’t understand it. Then he did. His face went numb.

“What?”

Elliot swallowed. Ronan stared. “Which ones?” There. The chapter title. Not how many. Not did you kill anyone else. Which ones? Ronan backed away. “Oh my God.” Elliot moved toward him. Ronan pointed. “Stay there.” He stopped. “How many, Elliot?” “I don’t know what answer helps you.” “The fucking number.” Silence. Then Elliot gave it. “Five.” Ronan stared. Five. His brain refused. “Five including Mason and Lucas?” “Yes.” Three others. Three people whose names Ronan might have seen in newspapers. Three families. Three funerals. Three lives Elliot had ended and then come home from. “Who?” Elliot shook his head. “No.” “Who?” “It doesn’t matter.” Ronan laughed. The sound broke somewhere in the middle. “It doesn’t matter.” “That’s not what I mean.” “You killed five fucking people and their names don’t matter?” “They matter.” “Then say them.” Elliot’s eyes filled. Not tears. Not yet. “Ronan.” “Say their names.” A long silence. Then: “Tyler Ames.” Ronan didn’t know him. “Twenty-three. He worked at a bar downtown.” Another. “Grace Holloway.” Ronan’s stomach twisted. A woman. “Twenty-four. Graduate student.” Another. “Benjamin Cole.”

Elliot swallowed.

“Twenty-two.”

Ronan stared.

“Mason.”

“Yes.”

“Lucas.”

“Yes.”

Five. Men and women. No physical type. No obvious connection. Except Elliot.

“What did the first three do?”