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I grab my phone and text Logan back, finding it oddly calming to have a normal conversation while plotting.
Maybe I really am psychotic.
ME: Not today. I’m on a trade review. I won’t be back in until tomorrow.
That’s not entirely a lie. I did do a trade review… It just happened to be in the same town.
Tyler’s wife is out of town on a conference for work, which gives me plenty of time to check out his home.
The flooring is new, just like the rest of the home. No creaks is a damn good thing. My phone buzzes in my pocket as I make my way through the hallways, checking for anything and everything that might pose a problem.
LOGAN: Tomorrow I’ll be a few towns over. Juggling a few cases right now. People just can’t seem to stop killing other people.
Gotta love irony.
We’re so terribly mismatched that it’s not even funny.
If he’d seen the evil I’ve seen, he’d understand why some people deserve to die.
ME: Have you ever had to kill someone?
Pretty sure that’s not the best question to ask a guy you’ve only had one coffee house date with—if you can call that a date.
LOGAN: Many times. Not all cases end with the perp in jail, unfortunately.
Well, he’s killed numerous people the same way with the same methodology and reasoning…so technically he’s a serial killer too. It’s logically truthful. Other than wearing a badge to find it legally justifiable, we’re the same. Well, I torture my victims first, but that’s just nitpicking at facts.
LOGAN: Does that bother you?
I’m laughing before I can stop myself, and I groan while shaking my head, happy that there’s no one here to hear me. Morbid humor is probably not going to get me far in this relationship.
ME: Not at all. I’m sure you had to do it, or you wouldn’t have done it at all.
Sometimes people don’t find justice. Sometimes they have to take it.
“Want to play, Victoria? You know you do.” Ben’s breath feels like acid against my forehead, and I manage to slam a knee up, connecting with his side.
He curses and turns his head.
“Hold her down!” he yells at Tyler. “Or I’ll make sure she nails you a few times too.”
A scream pierces the night, but it’s not mine. I refuse to let them hear me scream.
“You scream pretty,” I hear Kyle saying, laughing from somewhere behind us, but I can’t see him or what he’s doing.
And I don’t want to see.
I don’t even want to see what they’re doing to me.
The memories used to leave me curled in a ball and crying for hours. Now they fuel me. Feed my mission. Drive me forward.
Make me a little murderous.
Shaking my head, I move through the house quicker, hiding the last camera in the stuffed bear on Tyler’s bed. Apparently his wife likes stuffed animals. Or at least I hope it’s his wife who likes stuffed animals. I’d hate to know I’ve trembled in fear over a guy who carries around a stuffed bear.
As I enter the last bedroom, I notice it’s soundproofed with large amounts of studio padding meant for musicians. This will be the perfect room, since he doesn’t have a basement. No windows are in here.
No cameras will be added in this room.
