Page 33

He doesn’t see me when I slip from the truck. Quiet as a predator, I trail him, keeping my distance but closing the gap with every uneven step he takes. His boots scuff against the cracked pavement, the sound grating against the still night. He reeks of alcohol even from here, the stench drifting on the wind. It’s always the same with men like him. They drink to drown what can’t be silenced. Memories. Guilt. Weakness.

They’re all cowards at heart.

Kerr stops suddenly, swaying as if he’s forgotten where he was going. My breath catches as I shrink into the shadows, my fingers curling into fists. His frame, though diminished by time and liquor, still carries that air of arrogance I remember too well, the same one I’ve seen in every man I’ve hunted. A reminder of their shared sickness, their pathetic crutches.

When he moves again, it’s slower, each step more laborious as he heads toward his truck. He fumbles with his keys, cursing under his breath as he drops them. I don’t move, don’t breathe. My pulse thumps in my ears as I wait for the perfect moment to close the distance.

I let him pull his door open before I make my move.

“Kerr,” I call softly.

He freezes mid-step, his shoulders going rigid, and then slowly turns to face me. His eyes narrow as if scanning the shadows for clarity, suspicion flaring momentarily. “Who’s there?”

I step into a weak glow of a streetlamp a few yards off, my breath a pale cloud in the crisp night air.

At first, his face is blank, but then recognition ripples across his features, followed by something far darker, a smug, leering grin that spreads across his face like rot. “Well, if it isn’t little Lydia Anderson. I was wondering when you planned on paying me another visit.”

The words hit me like the blunt edge of a blade. He knows who I am. My pulse stumbles but quickly recovers.

“What brings you out here, darlin’?” he asks, his tone dripping with false warmth. “Lookin’ for salvation? Or maybe somethin’ else?” His eyes darken as they rake down my body and then he grabs the crotch of his pants for effect, I’m sure.

I pull my shoulders back because I won’t let this man see any weaknesses. He took far too much power back then. Not anymore. “Something like that.” My fingers tighten on the knife hidden in my coat pocket.

He chuckles, low and grating, the sound scraping against my nerves. Taking a step closer, he reeks of sweat and cheap whiskey, the stench thick in the air between us.

“You’ve grown up some,” he says, his eyes trailing over me like an unwelcome touch. “I knew who you were the moment I opened my door. A face like yours? That’s hard to forget. Cute little thing. Not sure what you’re looking to accomplish. You shouldn’t be looking for the big, bad wolf, darlin’. You’re likely to get bit.”

My breath hitches despite myself. The casual malice in his voice churns up old ghosts, but I refuse to let him see it, not now, not ever.

“I can handle myself,” I say, my voice steady but low, daring him to push me further.

He lets out a slow laugh, his grin widening. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’ve got that fire in you, always did. A shame your daddy never beat it out of you like I suggested. Never did handle you the way I told him to. A cunt as sweet as yours needed discipline. Far rougher than what you got. I’d say you were lucky. Hell, if I had my way…” He bites his bottom lip and pulls it through his teeth.

My blood roars in my ears, but I force my body to stay still. Not yet.

“You trying to scare me, Kerr?” I ask, my voice dropping. I step closer now, letting the shadows stretch and warp between us. “I’m not the same scared little girl I once was. You aren’t the big, bad wolf anymore, Kerr. You’re nothing but a pathetic waste of space. I can’t even call you a man.”

His smirk falters for a heartbeat, confusion creasing his brow. But then it snaps back into place, his teeth glinting under the weak light.

“I can show you what type of man I am. I bet you’ll remember real quick once my dick touches that pussy of yours. Hmm, mmm I bet that cunt is even better now…”

I move before he can finish, the knife flashing out of my pocket like a secret finally exposed. The blade presses against his ribs, firm and unyielding. He jerks backward, spine snapping straight. “What the hell…”

“I think it’s my turn to surprise you,” I whisper, leaning in just enough for him to see the steel in my eyes. “Were taking a walk. My truck’s right there.” I nod toward it, parked a few spots down. “Move.”

“I’m not—” I press the blade into his skin, and he hisses. “Fuck!”

“Now!”

His eyes dart around, searching for help, but the parking lot is empty. His breath comes in short, shallow bursts as he stumbles ahead of me, away from his own truck toward mine, his keys left forgotten on the pavement behind him.

“Alright, alright.”

He has no idea who I’ve become. No idea that the woman standing in front of him isn’t the girl he once silenced, the one who flinched, who obeyed, who endured. That version of me died quietly and without ceremony. What’s left is something colder. Sharper. Made from every broken promise and buried scream.

And he’s walking straight into her hands.

Once he’s inside, I slip the knife between my teeth and pull the zip ties from my back pocket. His breathing quickens as he watches me, but he’s still too stunned to move. I bind his hands with practiced ease, the plastic biting into his wrists with a satisfying snap. Next are his feet. I link two ties together and loop them tight around his ankles.