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“And what then?” she asks, worried. “How does this all end?”
I cock a brow and deadpan, “With Mel dead and buried, ideally at the bottom of a very deep well.”
She shows no reaction to my blood-thirsty response, continuing to stare at me with those worried eyes. “It’s all of us against her. She’s not getting out of this alive. I promise you that. The three of us can look after ourselves, and we’ll all protect you.”
Her gaze lowers, and just as I’m about to demand that she look at me, she raises her eyes and asks, “Does it make me a bad person that I don’t feel anything at the thought of her dying?”
Taken by surprise, all I can do is gape at her. “Fuck, no,” I bite out. “After everything she’s done to you, you should hate her guts.”
Her lips thin. “But she used to be one of my best friends.”
Understanding, my expression softens as I stroke my thumb over her cheek. “The Mel, who was your friend, isn’t the Mel that you know now. She never really existed, but it’s okay for you to miss that girl you knew. You can grieve for that version of her while also hating the real her.” Pinching her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I make sure she’s paying attention to my next words before I say, “None of us will judge you for whatever you feel. Whether you’ll miss her, grieve her, be happy she’s dead, feel nothing at all, or all of the above. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.”
She rewards me with a small, thankful smile, and not wanting to hang around, we exit the car, and I let us into the house.
“Go grab some of your things,” I tell her, firing off a quick text to Kai, keeping him in the loop as I promised.
She moves toward the stairs, turning to look over her shoulder when I don’t follow her. Pointing my thumb toward the kitchen, I explain, “Kai wanted me to grab his laptop.”
Nodding, she scurries up the stairs, and I wander into the kitchen, flicking on the lights as I pass. Searching the room for Kai’s laptop, I spot it on the kitchen table and walk over to grab it.
As I do, a flash of movement from the pantry catches my eye right before something cold stabs into my shoulder. I grunt in pain as the object is yanked out, giving way to a numbness creeping across my skin, along with a sticky warmth that trails its way down my back.
Bringing the bloody tip of a knife to my throat, Mel hisses, “Scream, and I’ll happily slit open your jugular.”
I snarl at her but keep my lips sealed. “Atta boy,” she taunts, smirking at me cockily.
With the knife still pressed against my throat, I can feel the blade scratching my skin as I swallow. Digging it in deeper, she forces my ass into the kitchen chair. Pulling out several zip ties from her back pocket, she tosses them to me before exchanging the knife for a gun.
Oh great, that’s much better.
“Tie yourself to the chair.”
I promise her a painful death with my glare, moving to do as she orders. “You’re a dead girl walking,” I hiss.
Her laugh is caustic enough to crack glass as she tosses her head back, genuinely amused by my death threat—an odd sense of humor, but whatever. Mirth gleaming in the black depths of her eyes, she tilts her head. “You still have no idea who I am.”
It’s not a question, and her self-assurance has me genuinely curious. “Why don’t you tell me.” I just assumed she was some run-of-the-mill wackadoodle with a talent for hacking, although now her certainty has me second-guessing.
She arches an elegant brow. “And fall for that whole cliche of the villain-spills-all spiel? Yeah, I’m not stupid.”
Acting as if I don’t care, I shrug my shoulder. “Fine. Doesn’t matter how good your computer skills are; we’ll eventually figure it out. Nevertheless, you’ll be dead by then, and Emilia will have forgotten all about you, so whoever you are won’t matter.”
Her venomous glare is totally worth it. However, the digging of her fingers into the wound in my shoulder has me biting back any more sarcastic comments.
“Big words for a man strapped to a chair,” she snarks. Moving back toward the pantry, she ducks out of sight for a second before returning with a knapsack. Grabbing several lengths of rope, she tosses them to me. “Thighs and torso too.”
I do as she commands, her gun remaining trained on my face. When I’m done, she moves closer to tug at the restraints. Moving out of sight as she steps behind me, I feel the press of a muzzle against the back of my head as she loops another zip tie around each of my wrists, restraining them to the chair as she pulls tight enough to constrict my blood flow. I swallow down the pinch of pain, praying that Emilia stays upstairs and hoping Kai gets pissy at my radio silence sooner rather than later.
“Even if you did manage to kill me”—she chuckles, like the idea alone is preposterous—“you’d have to answer for your crimes.”
My brows scrunch together in confusion.Bitch is crazy, is about the only logical conclusion I can come to. I don’t know if she’s talking about her ghost haunting my ass, my day of reckoning when I come face-to-face with God, or what, but I’ll deal with whatever consequences there are if it means Emilia is safe and stalker-free.
“Oh, well, now you have me reconsidering,” I drawl sarcastically. Snatching the knife with her free hand, she slices it across the front of my chest, cutting open my top and leaving a sharp, red line along my skin..
My lip curls as I glare at her. “You’re a charming little Stabby Sally, aren’t you?”
Her returning smile is all teeth and utterly insane as she hops onto the kitchen table, legs swinging. “I like watching people bleed.” She looks down at her outstretched hand, wiggling her fingers coated in my blood. “It’s so shiny.” Snapping her gaze to mine, her head tilts in that creepy-as-fuck way that reminds me I’m dealing with a mentally unstable person. “But I have other instruments if you’d prefer I use something else.” She begins ticking off a never-ending list of torture devices with her fingers, and my confidence grows weaker with each one she mentions.
