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“We’re going into the basement.”
“You do realize that this is how many scary movies start, right?” I’ve been catching up on all of them since I’ve been out.
“Promise I’m not here to kill you,” he laughs.
“That’s probably what every murderer wants you to think.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” He inclines his head as he leads me toward the staircase. “You first.” His arm outstretches toward it.
I’m not even nervous as I head down the brightly lit space. Whatever he has to show me is bound to be good. I just know it.
He follows closely, footsteps thundering behind me.
“Why is the gift down here?” I ask, glancing behind me for a moment.
“They were too big to carry.”
My brows furrow as I make it past the final step. But as soon asmy eyes take in the four bodies lying over a plastic tarp, my pulse increases.
The realization finally sinks in.
“Two of the men are the ones who took you that day.” His face drops to my ear. “And now they’re yours to do with whatever you see fit.”
He throws an arm over my shoulders and tugs me to him.
“Think of them as a blank canvas, and you’re the painter, the sculptor, theirfuckinggod,” he snaps through gritted teeth. I can practically hear them rattling.
I spin around and clasp the side of his throat; my emotions bubbling out of me. Tears fill my eyes, my heart beating so quickly I’m afraid I’ll grow dizzy.
“You did all of this? For me?”
He nods. “They hurt you. That was enough.”
I throw my arms around his large body, fisting his shirt, my cheek lying against his chest while I cry.
I feel him as he holds me in his embrace, so gently it doesn’t quite fit, except it also does. Because this is him too: this man who hunts with me, yet holds me when I cry.
“How did you do it?” I wonder.
He’d have had to break them out of prison. That’s not an easy thing to do.
He clasps my nape in his powerful grasp. “Someone owed me. His brother is in prison, same one they’re in, and he’s in good with the guards. He slipped them each a drug, a paralytic that stopped their hearts for a brief time. It makes a person appear dead.” He snickers. “That’s all I needed for them to be sent to the morgue. They may look dead, but they’re conscious. They know what’s happening to them, yet they can’t scream or move or do anything.”
I stare, bewildered.
“My friend at the morgue kept them for me until I was able to pick them up and bring them here earlier today.”
“That’s a lot of effort,” I whisper. “I can’t believe…” The words choke up in my throat. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”
“I’d kill them all for you if I could, baby bird. But you should be the one to do it. So I’m giving you the chance you never had. Their lives are in your hands. Take them.”
My heart hammers, adrenaline coursing as I face the bodies while we drift toward them hand in hand. All kinds of weapons lie across the plastic.
“Pick your poison. Anything your heart desires.”
I let him go and kneel, running my fingers across the knives of all different sizes, brass knuckles, a bat, large-looking scissors, and a homemade garrote constructed from wire and tied between two pieces of wood.
I’ve never killed this way before. Never had someone catch them for me. Can I do it when they don’t fight back? Will it be easier?
