Page 89 of Dead Love

I rubbed my forehead. She was still on my mind, even now, when I knew it was over.

“Where’s the friendliness you use with the guests?” I asked, focusing my annoyance on Catie. “Do you save all of your mood-killing ammunition for me?”

“Only when you need it.” She smiled. “Seriously, Vincent. She’s not going to come crawling back to you.”

And even though Catie was right, everything tensed inside of me.

I wasn’t going to leave it up to Kora, then.

“Go home,” I said. I motioned toward the funeral home. “I’ve got it from here.”

“Got what?” She threw an arm around us. “From what I can see, you haven’t got a thing to—”

“Go home, Catie,” I said, more firmly this time. She blinked, trying to read me.

“Okay.” She got up from the bench, then glanced to the sides. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” A hint of worry lingered in her voice.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”

She walked through the cemetery back to the funeral home, where she went around to the front, finding her car. My body tensed, my blood pounding in my ears.

I opened the tracking app on my phone. A red dot flashed on the screen in a familiar area: Rose Garden Neighborhood. I smiled to myself. It was amusing that she wouldn’t move that far, even after everything that had happened. Almost like she was waiting for me.

Calmness washed over me as I turned on the engine to my car. It was like falling back into a familiar pattern, one that I looked forward to.

But this time, it would be different.

A few blocks away from the old house, the tracking app led me to a rental. Everything was fake, from the grass to the plastic fence. A perfection that only a woman like Shea Nova could appreciate.

Kora may not have gone to the grave, but if I knew Kora—if I knew anything about her—she would be on the bottom floor again.

And her window would be open for me.

I went around the side of the house, lifting the latch for the fence, then entered the back. A sliding glass door led to the living room and an empty kitchen. And to the side, another small door was closed. Next to it, an open window.

I peeked inside, seeing the hill of her hips as she faced the wall like before. A babydoll clung to her body, just like that first night. Heat crept through me. I wanted to hold her close to my chest, to never let her go, but I also wanted to wrap my hands around her throat, twisting until her neck snapped. How could she be so naïve to think that everything would be fine after what I had done to her? She would never be the same. She would be unhappy, and if that’s what she wanted, then maybe she deserved to die.

The words pulsed inside of me. My lips curled and my nostrils flared. It’s what I should have done the first time.

I removed the screen, then quickly hopped inside. Kora immediately stirred. I didn’t care if she knew I was coming.

“Vincent?” she asked. “What are you doing? You can’t—”

I pressed a hand to her mouth, pinching her nose shut. Her eyes widened, focused on me. She fell silent. I removed my hand.

“I won’t let you do this to yourself,” I said.

I climbed out of the window, holding her against my chest, my body raging with need and brimming with fire. The need to save her from herself. The desperate fiery urge to burn her to ashes.

I put her in the backseat of my car. “Lie down,” I ordered.

“If my mother finds out, she will kill you,” she said. “And if she doesn’t, my father will put you back in jail. For good, this time.”

I started the engine and drove. None of that mattered anymore. Not to me.

And soon, it wouldn’t matter to her either.

Once we parked, I pulled her out of the backseat, holding her in my arms once again. It wasn’t lost on me—carrying her like a damsel in distress—but Kora was no damsel, and she was far from a maiden. I had made sure of that.