Page 10 of Blood (A Killer’s Love #4)

CHAPTER NINE

Kaleb

I place the key back on top of the doorframe, hidden from sight. Easy to find? Maybe, but they’d have to get past me first, and that’s not happening.

I hear her before I see her. Turning to the left, I see Shelby peek out of the spare room nervously.

“Kaleb,” she whispers, “I think . . .” Her eyes shift to the wall hiding the stairs.

I nod, confirming her suspicions, and walk over to her with a finger raised to my lips. When I’m close enough, I lower my head and whisper into her ear, “Go into the bathroom and lock the door. I’ll lock this one. You only unlock the door for me.”

Panic and fear consume her face.

“Hey,” I call. “Over my dead body.”

I watch to make sure she does as told, happy when she doesn’t fight me.

“Kaleb.” She pokes her head out of the bathroom.

“You’re the brother I never had. You know that, right?

” Surprise fills me. Shelby and I hang out all the time because the girl is always with Sam.

I hadn’t realized she felt this way, but I’m glad she does.

“I can’t lose another family member, so don’t die, or I’ll kick Sam’s ass. ”

“You’re not losing anything,” I vow before securing her door.

I’ve always wanted a sister to have the type of relationship that my brothers have with Samantha.

Samantha is your sister.

The fuck she is! I argue with myself.

As the only biological child of Helen and Christopher Cromwell, Samantha and I share no blood. Our bond is different from that of my brothers and me. We never clicked, never formed that kind of love. As we got older, we found a rhythm that worked for us . . . until it didn’t.

Now, I spend my days wanting to be around her but working so much that I can’t. Some things just shouldn’t be, but that woman owns me, and if I can’t have her mind, body, and soul, I’ll settle for what I can get.

Sam loves me. I know that, and even if it’s not the type of love I crave, it’s enough. It’ll have to be.

Frustration and disappointment fill me but so does excitement. I’m about to have an outlet for that frustration.

The stairs lead down into the living room. If the intruder came through the front, there’s no way for me to surprise them. They’ll have the upper hand.

Creeping down the stairs, I strain my ears. Where are they? How many are there? My back stays plastered to the wall. The hilt of the knife feels familiar in my right hand.

Noise drifts out from the kitchen. They came in through the back. Stepping off the stairs, I slip through the dining room door and into the laundry room. The door leading to the kitchen is open just a crack.

One guy. Someone breaks in to my house, and they choose to do it alone? No, not alone.

I hear someone move farther into the house. The living room. There are two uninvited guests. One of which is closer to my girls than I’d like.

I move quickly and quietly, going back the way I just came. My bare feet are silent on the wood flooring as I approach from behind. He doesn’t hear a thing, too busy opening drawers and looking through the papers inside. He’s big, but I’m bigger.

My left arm wraps around his head and pulls it to the left, exposing his neck. The balaclava he’s wearing makes it easier to grip him. I raise my right hand up, then slam it down. I repeat the motion over and over as fast as I can. Short, sharp stabs slick his neck.

Blood spurts out the side of his neck like a broken water pipe. A gurgle is the only sound in my living room other than my panted breaths. My whole body shivers when I plunge the knife in again.

I’ve missed this.

There’s no other feeling like it.

Freedom, excitement, and arousal.

His body slumps, and I’m forced to catch his weight. I can’t have his friend hearing.

Shit, he’s heavy.

The flashlight in his right hand drops. My eyes widen as I watch it fall in slow motion. My breath catches. Shit. Relief fills me at the same time as air inflates my lungs when the torch lands silently on the living room rug.

I smile as I tug his dead weight out of the room and into the dining room. My mind wanders to one of the women upstairs and all the trouble I gave her over the decor. I hate that fucking rug.

I owe Sam an apology and a shopping trip with my card. She can buy whatever the fuck she wants.

My girl did good.

My girl.

My eyes slip closed for just a second. I shouldn’t have thought of her, not while I’m . . . busy. The cotton pajama pants I have on start to shift. My hard cock stands out in the loose-fitting pants.

Not the time.

Dropping the body carefully, I rip the mask off. I don’t know him. I wasn’t expecting to, but I need to make sure that this break-in is random. The only way to do that is to get answers. Thankfully, I only need one to be breathing for that.

Reaching down, I allow myself a second to grab and squeeze my hard-on. Later. First, I need answers.

The other robber is calling out for his friend. His voice rings out through the lower level.

“Mark! Mark!”

I frown at his volume. He’s not being quiet. Realization dawns. I came back early. They didn’t know I was home. So they’re not here for me. Then what the fuck do they want?

I’d been joking earlier, but really, what are the odds they come here?

My eyes drift to the ceiling and the ladies above. This needs to be quick and quiet.

The knife is slippery and wet, but I’ve never been more in my element. I twist the handle over and over as I approach the kitchen through the laundry room. The second man is distracted because he’s looking for his friend, so I can approach him from behind.

Maybe it doesn’t need to be too quick.

The blade catches the moonlight before it cuts through the jacket covering his arm. I know I got skin when he hisses. He whips around frantically.

Hidden in the shadows, I stay out of view, bathing in the fear that pours off him. He should be afraid. I’m nowhere near done.

Stepping out of the darkness, I swing for him again. This time, I catch him across the face. His balaclava does nothing to stop the blade.

The beam of his flashlight blinds me for a second, and it’s all he needs. He’s quicker than I expected.

“Ugh.”

The little fucker’s shoulder connects with my stomach, knocking the wind out of me, and the force sends us both into the kitchen cabinet. The doors clang, and a jar on the counter shatters when my arm shoots back to steady myself.

Glass explodes across the tiled floor.

I stab wildly at his back with shallow strikes that force him to retreat. The glass crunches under his boots, but the shards cut and embed in my bare feet when I follow. Our blood mixes on the white floor.

Fucker!

Slouched forward, he’s injured but not dying, not yet at least. I don’t know if he senses what’s coming or doesn’t like his odds, but his eyes flit to the back door. Not a chance. To get there, he has to pass me.

I sneer. I dare you.

He darts to the right through the doorway leading to the living room. He’s not making it to the front door.

My body slams into his, driving him into the wood with as much force as I can. He grunts before slumping to his knees.

Grabbing his shoulder, I force him over so he’s sitting on his ass. Gasping for breath, he leans on the door.

I rip off the mask and spit, “Who sent you?”

He shakes his head, coughing. Blood splatters his chin.

“You didn’t come here on a whim. Why are you in my fucking house?”

No answer. I stab the knife into the muscle of his thigh, earning a scream. Ripping it out, I lift the knife again, aiming for the other leg.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he begs, his hands stretched toward me.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

I raise my brow and shrug, the knife lowering to my next target.

“No, no! Mark chooses where we hit. He talked to some guy. He paid us four hundred to search this place. Find any safes or Halloween costumes. The guy was a fucking weirdo, but I don’t know his name.”

I believe him. Fuck! I should have killed this one first. Rookie mistake, Kaleb.

Grabbing the collar of his jacket, I rip him away from the door. His body drops like it’s lined with cement.

Standing tall, I roll my head on my shoulders, walking behind as he crawls forward, leaving a trail of blood on my hardwood floor. Stepping over his body, I cut off the world’s slowest exit.

“Please,” he begs, changing direction. “He was a cop.”

I freeze, stunned. It can’t be.

“A cop?” I repeat.

He nods frantically. “I don’t know his name, but he said he used to be a cop. He’s not anymore. Is that enough?” he cries.

“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s enough. We’re done.” I know who it was. Fucking Cooper.

Michael should have let Daniel and me kill him years ago.

I stand at the bottom of the stairs as he drags himself up, step by step. He’s determined, I’ll give him that. But a promise is a promise. We’re done. I don’t need him anymore.

My feet scream in pain as the glass that’s lodged in presses deeper. The carpet on the stairs is rough against my open wounds.

My bare chest heaves as I stab my way up his legs and back. The hum in my body grows with every injury that I inflict.

By the time I’m done, he lies motionless, and I’m euphoric.