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I sighed. “No, he was using some kind of voice changer thingy.”
“Ah, yes. I have a lot of those thingies—”
I grabbed my pillow and chucked it at him. He was far enough away from me that he was able to catch it with a smirk.
“You know, you’re pretty antagonistic to the serial killer who’s helping you track down your stalker. If I were you, I’d be a lot nicer to me,” Brett mused, holding my pillow against his body in the crook of his arm.
I couldn’t believe him. Here I was, trying to have a serious conversation with him, and he was just constantly making light of the whole thing.
“I think I liked you better when you were half-dead and tied to the bed,” I huffed, getting to my feet and crossing my arms. I could only puff myself up so much, and even so, I still felt like a dwarf beside him.
Brett stepped forward, towering over me while still clutching my pillow. His tall frame easily loomed over mine, and it took every bit of willpower in me to remain rooted where I was and not let him intimidate me—even if he could, you know, kill me with his pinky. I was lucky my neck hadn’t bruised after his strangulation attempt.
“Kinky,” he deadpanned. “Not what I would expect from you, but I guess looks can be deceiving.”
I couldn’t hold his stare after that, so I dropped my eyes to his chest, feeling my cheeks burn—for God knew whatever reason. “That’s not—” I tripped up over my words, flustered. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Right.” Brett thankfully stepped around me to put my pillow down, which allowed me to walk away from him. I went towards the window, trying to get my body under control.
That was… weird. My face got all hot and my tongue got all thick and useless.
“You know what I think?” Brett asked.
I stared at my reflection in the window, barely able to say, “What?” My heart, for whatever reason, had started to beat a little faster, too. I wanted to get it all under control before turning and facing Brett again.
He was a handsome guy, yes, but he was a terrible human being, one of the literal worst. Getting all hot and bothered for him was the stupidest thing I could do.
But… even Zak hadn’t affected me quite like that.
“I think we need to set a little trap this weekend,” Brett said, and I sighed out a relief-filled lungful of air, thankful he hadn’t noticed how worked up he’d gotten me, just from being all… tall and stuff. “We should try to get him to come out in the open, and I think the best way to do that is to have you do something you don’t normally do.”
“And what’s that?”
“I’m guessing you’re not big on the party scene. But you’re in college. I never went, but I hear there are parties every weekend if you know where to look.”
My stomach hardened. The last time I went to a party, my life fell apart. “I don’t want to go to a party by myself.”
Brett’s reflection appeared above mine, and I caught my breath, hating that he’d come so close to me again. The dude seriously didn’t know a thing about personal space. I guess serial killers weren’t well-known for things like that.
“You won’t. I’ll go with you.”
Even though it was probably a bad idea, I turned around to face him. He stood less than a foot away, gazing down at me with an eager glint in his eyes, probably ready to be done with this and move on.
“Assuming no one recognizes you, you’re a little old for a college party,” I told him. He’d told me he was thirty-one years old. That makes him twelve years older than me, and way too old to frequent a college frat party. Maybe a bar, or a nightclub, but a party… not so much.
“You wound me, Charlie,” he whispered, his smirk still there, still hanging on his face like he thought this was the most hilarious thing, so confident in himself and his abilities that we’d easily be able to find my stalker at this hypothetical party and be done with it. “Ignoring the fact that I’m not that old—”
I lifted my eyebrows at him, but he continued to plow on, “I won’t be with you. I’ll skulk around the party, watching for anyone who looks like they’re trouble. No one will see me with you. No one will see me at all. I’m good at not being seen when I don’t want to be.” When I continued to give him a skeptical look, he asked, “You do know how hunters operate, right? Any good hunter worth his arrows isn’t seen by his prey until it’s too late.”
I almost told him hunting deer wasn’t exactly the same as hunting a person, but this was Brett Banks I was talking to. A wanted man. A wanted man who’d admitted to killing multiple people, so if anyone knew whether hunting deer was similar at all to hunting people, he’d know.
“How good of a hunter can you be if you got stabbed and then hit by a car?” I asked, unable to help myself. If there was one thing about not really caring whether I lived or died, it’s that I didn’t have a filter most of the time. I said what was on my mind, whenever I wanted to.
Although, probably not too smart when I was caught between the window and Brett’s body. It was like every time I looked away, I forgot just how massive he was.
If he wasn’t a serial killer… if things were different and I wasn’t me… then maybe—
No. God, no. I wouldn’t let myself go there.
