Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
The knowledge that this address was once the home of a family I sought justice for has escaped him for years. I had to buy it and live here just so I could sleep after I slaughtered the men who took their daughter and ripped their family apart. After ending their lives, I stole every penny they had and took on their wealth and names for years. Even the deed to this place bears the name of a man who’s long dead but according to records, resides elsewhere and the place is thought to be empty, waiting for him when he returns.
I imagine one day I’ll forget this address, but I’ll always remember her name. For so long, it’s the names of the victims that I used to justify what I’d done. I murdered, I stole, I manipulated situations to wreak havoc and send bad men to war against one another. And all of it was justified if I could name their victims.
It’s her name, Delilah Jones, that prompts me leaving this place forever.
I simply can’t go back. Not after what’s happened.
The only other thing I regret is bringing my brother into this. He could have had a different life; instead I led him into the nightmare with me. Delilah and Cody will forever be the names that counter the one I took, Marcus.
I can’t do this any longer, but I don’t know how my brother will recover. I don’t know where any of us will go from here. Which is why I have to meet her one more time.
Crossing out the name at the bottom of the note, I write another there instead.
Maybe she’ll realize I’m trying. If that doesn’t prove to her that I am willing to do anything to keep her close, I don’t know what will.
Delilah
All I can think as his silhouette comes into view, is whether I’ll have the strength to call him Christopher and what he’ll do if that name slips from my lips.
He isn’t the man in a dark alley they call the grim reaper. He isn’t a supervillain with inhuman strength. He’s not a demon or the devil. He’s a man who was hurt, cut deep and never able to heal. So he bled all over the world, letting all those who he felt wronged him drown in it.
Christopher is a broken man and that scares me, because I don’t know how he’ll ever heal, but my inner voice screams to help him. Because I irrevocably love him.
“I haven’t been able to sleep,” I say, ignoring the heavy thoughts when I’ve made my way to the large oak tree just beyond the barn. The field is barren and recently harvested. In the distance, a sliver of silver stains the background, snow that’s yet to melt from the storm this past week. It’s cold and lonely and in the dead of winter, there’s not a soul out here on the edge of this Podunk town.
The bitter bite in the air has turned the tip of Christopher’s charming nose and his high cheekbones a shade of pale pink. Even his chiseled jaw holds a hue of rose. With a black wool coat and dark blue jeans, a hint of stubble on his face and freshly cut hair, he could pretend to be a CEO or businessman and I’d fall for it. Those baby blue eyes of his could fool the best of the world into believing whatever he said.
“You look beautiful, though,” he murmurs and eats up the small distance between us with quick strides. I swear I feel warmer just looking at him, even if he is feet away. “Even if you are tired,” he adds and then swallows thickly. The nervous energy pricking between us is almost palpable.
I nearly call him by name, telling him I can’t do this. Instead I rip my gaze from his, ignoring the stampeding in my chest to search along the tree line for anyone who could be watching. In this position out in the open, we’re exposed. Anyone and everyone could see us, if only they knew where to look or bothered to be here. But we’re all alone and why would anyone bother to look for us?
I’m of no consequence and my father will forever carry the moniker of serial killer for crimes I know Christopher has committed.
With that thought in my mind, I focus on the building behind Christopher. The run-down barn my father bought years ago is decrepit and in disarray. He didn’t keep up with it in the decades since I’ve left home, that much is obvious.
I tell myself the only reason I came is to forgive Christopher for pinning all those murders on my father. To acknowledge that he saved me and to thank him … To kiss him one more time. To end a business deal of sorts that we made in a cheap hotel room weeks ago when he told me I would beg for him. He wasn’t wrong, but there’s no need for such a deal to exist anymore.