Page 88 of Bound to a Killer

“I’ll kill him,” he says, steady and eerily calm, the same voice he always uses under pressure. It stabs a sharp warning down my spine. Quiet. Collected.

Already decided.

He never raises his voice to make a threat. That’s what makes him dangerous—he never needs to.

“Please don’t h-hurt him.”

“If you don’t want me to. Then I won’t.” His voice stays firm and restrained, but there’s an unmistakable cruelty in the way he says it.

“I’ve never mentioned you to him,” I force out, my voice catching mid-sentence. “I haven’t told anyone…I swear…”

“Are youscaredof me, Aria?”

My pulse jolts, my heart taking flight. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No,” he says instantly, his voice lifting just a notch. “I’d rather die than hurt you.”

Something dangerous stirs, rippling through my stomach like an electric current, sharp and strangely thrilling in a way that should scare me off from asking another question.

I ignore it, swallowing, my tongue briefly darting out to catch the salt clinging to my lips. “Why? You should hate me.” My voice quivers. “I’m the reason your friend is…” The word hesitantly drags out of me. “Dead.”

I expect that reminder to set him off, bracing for him to tell me I’m right. My hand tightens around the phone, trembling against my ear.

“I’d hate myself before I could ever hate you,” he says quietly. “He made his own choices, Aria. That was on him. Not you.”

I nod, the breath leaving me in a long, slow exhale. “Okay.”

A brief silence stretches between us.

“Where are you standing right now?” he asks.

“The kitchen.”

“Good,” he says, a sliver of ease threading into his voice. “Make sure the front door is locked. After that, let me know once you’re in your room.”

I do as I’m ordered, sliding the lock into place, then head upstairs on shaky legs.That answers any questions about potential hidden cameras.

My whole body trembles as I reach the bedroom, remembering the slight dip in the bedding from before.I’d known something was off. I felt it from the beginning, the way the hairs on my arms would lift, how I’d whip my head toward passing cars, or jolt awake from dreams of him beside me, so vivid I could’ve sworn they were real.

My breath quickens. Heartbeat lurching.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I press through the closed door, my pulse leaping to my throat at the thought of seeing him inside.

It’s empty.

Exhaling a shaky breath, I murmur, “I’m inside.”

“Now shut your window, and make sure it’s all the way down before you lock it,” he says, calm but firm.

My gaze snaps to the slightly open window. The hallway light behind me reflects off the glass, casting my reflection back at me, faint and distorted, while the outside is swallowed in shadows.

I reach for the frame, my fingers brushing the mesh screen near the bottom as I lean in, but there’s nothing beyond the glass. Just darkness stretching over the open field like a shroud.

A jolt of fear strikes my chest, reverberating all the way down my legs, locking me in place.There’s no doubt that he was here.

Is he out there now, watching?

Pressing my thighs together, I slide the plastic latch into place, locking the window. “Done,” I say, my pulse thumping madly in my ears.