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“Yes.” I close my bedroom door, shutting him out.
I don’t want to continue this conversation and end up flirting with him about body parts. But that doesn’t stop him from yelling something else. I can’t make out anything except his laughter.
Once I’m in my bathroom, I check my phone for an update from Riley, though I know he won’t send anything until he’s outside my building. This isn’t the first victim he’s disposed of for me, and I’ve never cared to ask where he takes them.
We’ve had more than a decade to build up this level of trust.
He’s the only one who knows all of my secrets.
The water runs pink as I step beneath the spray of my shower and clean myself on autopilot. It’s not as bad as I thought. My clothes made the carnage look like so much more, but that’s what I get for not wearing black today. Most of David’s blood was left on the floor, where it belongs.
After seeing the body and me covered in blood, I’m curious why Ezra hasn’t left. He heard Riot and me talking about the hows and whys of today’s events, not in depth, but we didn’t skip much.
Why isn’t he freaked out?
Running?
Screaming?
Fighting?
I mean, not doing those things now doesn’t mean he won’t do them. I’d rather not have to kill him, but it’s not not an option. Ezra is twice my size, though that still wouldn’t stop me. I wasn’t lying when I said it’s easier to clean my apartment. I could kill him and cover all our tracks, leaving no trace behind.
I won’t, but he’s acting as if he doesn’t know his murder is an option for me.
In the bathroom’s steam-covered mirror, I look like a normal enough woman. You wouldn’t see me on the street and immediately know I’m a serial killer or cartel royalty. But after you’ve seen my latest victim lying in a pool of his own fluids, I think those aspects of my life would be difficult to overlook.
I keep waiting to hear him sneak out, or make a call about being in the murderer’s home. That’s not what he’s doing, though. I only hear his footsteps as he wanders around my apartment.
Which means Riley hasn’t told him anything about me. Not that I thought he had... But maybe he should have warned his cousin before bringing him to a crime scene.
What has Ezra Copeland been through that makes him careless of the dangers surrounding him?
Can’t he sense the violence in the air?
Is that why Riley is suddenly pushing us together?
I’d be a liar if I said Ezra wasn’t attractive, that I wasn’t attracted to him. The important question here is this: Do I want him?
And the answer is no. A resounding no.
A night or two filled with tension and sex wouldn’t end the world, but no.
I have this incredible knack for putting people in danger, and the last thing I need is those swirling hazel eyes haunting my nightmares.
I’m already trying to keep Kane and Riot out of the cartel’s war.
I don’t need to be responsible for anyone else’s life.
When I step out of my room, clothed in tights and a sweatshirt, I realize I’ve been on autopilot for much longer than I expected. Ezra’s presence nearly startles me before I recall leaving him in my living room.
He stands at the sliding doors of my balcony, turning only his head to grin at me.
I almost bristle under his heavy stare. “What?”
“No party clothes tonight?” he jokes, moving toward me.
“Sorry,” I simper mockingly. “I only wear lacy bodysuits on Tuesdays.”
