Page 24 of The Party is Over


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Surprise flickers in his eyes. “What phobia?”

“Right after I moved to LA, I was called to a crime scene. The body was hanging from the ceiling, but the hands and feet were in the wrong places—hands where the feet belonged and vice versa.” When he would speak, I hold up a hand. “The body didn’t bother me. It was the blood. It was all over the floor, like a lake. I had to leave the room and throw up.”

“That sounds human, bella.”

“I don’t get affected by crime scenes, Kane. You know this. No other scene did that to me. I thought it was a fluke. I thought it was about me being fucked in the head over you, me, and everything in between and on the left and right of us.”

His eyes narrow. “But tonight was the same?”

“Yes. The killer used a chainsaw. The body was all over the place, and I know that holds similarities, but my point here is that the water had been left on. The blood and water created a river. It suffocated me. I was not okay. But it wasn’t about the body. I could look right at the pieces of that body and be fine. I could not look down. What if that night I killed my attacker wasn’t my first kill, Kane? What if I’ve done it before and that’s what I’m remembering? What if there was a lot of blood and I’ve suppressed that memory?”

He closes the space between me and him and folds me close, his hand cupping my face. “You are no serial killer, Lilah. Killing to survive is not hunting.”

“I’m willing to hunt. I’d hunt Murphy and Miguel if they hurt those I love.”

“Not the same thing, bella. You know that. You fight for those you love. You fight for those who’ve been hurt by another, and you don’t stop until you find justice. All of this is the guilt you’ve suppressed. All of this is you proving you are human.”

“Do you feel guilt, Kane?”

“We’ve had this conversation, Lilah. No. It’s why I wanted you to let me kill that bastard for you. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Does that scare you?”

“You know you have never scared me but maybe you should.”

“No,” he says, his mouth lowering to mine. “But anyone who dares threaten you should not only fear me but should have nightmares about me.”

He means Miguel, who is no better than a walking dead man. What worries me is that he should know this. He should fear Kane, but he does not. This means there’s more going on than we know, but I don’t ever get the chance to express that concern. Suddenly, everything is about that moment Kane realized Miguel had cornered me. That moment he’d feared for my life.

His mouth closes down on mine and the robe is gone in an instant, and the taste of him is danger, anger, and fear for me. And fear is something I’ve never tasted on Kane’s lips. I end up on the edge of the sink with him buried inside me, and me holding onto him for dear life. As if holding onto him, is holding onto me.

And sometimes that’s exactly what it feels like. As if he is the only reason I’m human.

And if I’m not human, I don’t know what I am.

I’m certain I don’t want to find out.

Kane doesn’t believe I’m a monster. And sometimes, usually, when I’m with him, I don’t, either. That’s better than never.

Chapter Twenty-One

Anyone who has ever been around me with less than four hours of sleep has lived to regret it. I’m talking three hours and forty-five minutes, and I’m the bitch of all bitches. I will fuck you up for even offering me coffee. Or for not offering me coffee.

Which is without question why Kane carries me to bed and sets me down. “Bedtime,” he orders and straightens. He’s still in his pants. I’m back in the robe that was on the bathroom floor.

I sit up in objection. “I need coffee and Purgatory. I need to solve this case before this bastard kills again.”

He shows me his ridiculously expensive watch, expensive as in it’s almost gaudy—Kane is a flashy guy—and I read the time. It’s almost two am.

“I know from experience,” he adds, sitting down next to me, “that your phone will start ringing at six. For some reason, people who walk around with a badge believe that to be an acceptable hour to wake us up. If you haven’t slept when that happens, there will be another murder tomorrow, and you will be the one who commits it.”

I press my face to my hands and then look at him. “I need to work the case. What if he kills again tomorrow night?”

“Why would he even feel the need to act that quickly? He’ll want to revel in the fear and discomfort he’s created. And he’ll want to know what you’re going to do next.”

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m just not sure I’ve ever gone to bed after a case like this without writing down notes.”

“Not every case is like this one, bella. We’ve established that. I know you and you’ll be back on your game in the morning. Sleep this off like you would a strong drink.”

“Or too much chocolate,” I murmur, wishing this situation was as easy as either scenario we’ve just presented.

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