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I rush back to the room, a little relief hitting me when I see the knife I touched earlier still in there.
I’m not familiar with this neighborhood, but the fucking sun is up. Maybe it’s still early enough that he could carry a dead body from the house and it would go unnoticed by everyone around. Maybe they’re all still asleep. Maybe he kills a lot of people here and the neighbors are too afraid of him to call the police. Maybe the neighbors are just as willing to take a life as he is.
As a swarm of maybes continue in my head, I go to the kitchen and grab the cleaning supplies Donavan used earlier before heading back to the room.
The amount of blood on the floor calls for an initial wipe down before the real cleaning can take place, so I start at one edge of the floor and begin to work my way through it.
Chapter 28
Donavan
I lose count of how many times I dart my eyes to the rearview mirror on my way back to the house.
Dumping a body isn’t a new thing for me, but doing it on American soil is different. In Mexico and South America, there’s always a chance to persuade the cops or even witnesses to keep their mouths shut and turn a blind eye. Here, in America, everyone has this sense of right and wrong that’s so fucked and skewed that the chances of a witness not reporting a body are slim. If anything, they’d do it just so they could later point out how much of a hero they are on social media because God knows it didn’t happen if you don’t speak about it.
No one is following me, but I still circle town twice, taking different routes to make sure.
I should probably go home. Nash and Ayla know where Alani is, and she has her phone if she needs to call someone, but I just can’t fucking stay away.
The front door is still locked with the deadbolt, so I know she’s either inside or left through the back door which is unlikely. I don’t find her in the main bedroom or en suite, but the scent of bleach carries me down the hall to the other room.
I’m not prepared for what I see—Alani on her fucking knees, scrubbing at the floor. It’s a kind gesture, but my own OCD tendencies won’t keep me from doing it a second time.
That’s not what has my attention.
She’s wearing one of my t-shirts, her ass up in the air, the slightest hint of puffy fucking pink lips between her legs. My cock thickens. My mouth waters.
“You could help,” she says, but I find it impossible to move or pull my eyes from her naked ass.
I move my gaze further up, the shirt hanging low and making her tits visible. Jesus, she’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve seen.
She’s looking over her shoulder at me, and despite her not having a look of need in her eyes, I’m still turned on.
I growl when I see her hair hanging dangerously close to the floor, the threat of contamination to it extremely likely.
Her legs widen a little further.
Her chuckle makes me snap my eyes back to her face.
I can tell by the gleam in her eyes that she thinks she’s controlling me in some sort of way. Maybe she is, but that doesn’t mean that I have to like or accept it.
I’m cognizant enough of my choices to know she has some form of power over me. I’ve gone to her how many times?
I’ve been the one to seek her out. She has no means of contacting me. She could possibly try to go through Angel or his wife Lauren, but I haven’t had messages delivered. I’ve been the active one in making contact, not her.
I spend a moment longer just staring at my obsession, knowing that taking it any further than I have already will only lead to her demise. Still, I can’t seem to walk away from her. I’ve tried. Over and over I’ve walked away, and I can’t recall a single extended moment where she wasn’t on my mind, where I wasn’t thinking of fucking her or worried she’d put herself in danger. What I thought would fade and disappear has only gotten stronger as the months have passed.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I snap, knowing the question encompasses so many things.
Alani drops the pink-stained sponge into the bucket of water before turning to face me and sitting back on her calves.
Her position is dangerous, subservient, and the sight of it hits me in the gut.
It doesn’t seem intentional. I don’t get the feeling that she’s doing it to turn me on, but that doesn’t stop it from happening.
A puff of air leaves her lips, and I realize she looks fucking tired. She was quick to fall asleep on the floor while I showered, but it doesn’t look like she tried to lie back down after she finished her own.
