Page 22

Chapter 21

I slam the car door shut, huffing and puffing—the nerve of that man. To make it worse, I got busted by the next-door neighbor. Putting the car in reverse, I back out of the driveway, and Eli pulls out behind me.

“You should get a dog,” I mock. Yeah, a golden retriever to match the one I already have trailing me. Frustrated, I glance in the rearview mirror, half expecting him to follow me to the hospital, but he turns off, heading east. I wonder where he lives.

Wait, no, I don’t. I don’t need any romantic entanglements. I don’t. I really don’t.

Maybe it will ring true if I chant that in my head long enough. I have to admit, I do feel lonely sometimes. I’ve been living alone for years now, and the few casual flings I’ve had never fully satisfied me.

Last night was incredible. Eli is the only man who’s ever made me feel this way. The way he looks at me, the way he works his fingers and his dick. I can’t remember the last time my body felt so satiated, so rested.

Did sleeping in his arms last night really keep the nightmares away? The only thing that has ever kept them at bay is after I’ve eliminated a target, and even then I’m lucky to go a couple of weeks without the nightmares. The intrusive thoughts, on the other hand, never completely go away, not for long, at least. I often wonder how different things would have been had he never happened. Had my parents not abandoned me when I needed them the most? Things weren’t supposed to turn out this way.

I never thought I would become a killer, but then again, does anyone who finds themselves wandering down this dark path? The first time I took a life it had been an accident. An accident I have never once regretted.

It happened back when I was nineteen. Life had been going my way, and I felt happy for the first time in a long time. I had entered my second semester at college, and while my mother had attempted to reach out consistently for over a year, she had finally taken the hint to leave me alone.

And in those months is when I began a relationship with the tall, dark, and handsome Brady Collins. Starting pitcher on the baseball team, and the most gorgeous male specimen I had ever encountered. Brady had bumped into me in the cafeteria one day. Never one to trust strangers, especially men, it took him a little while to win me over. It was also hard for me, the self-proclaimed introvert, to believe that someone like Brady could actually be interested in pursuing a relationship.

But win me over he did, and never once did he make me feel uncomfortable. Always the gentleman, Brady would take me on dates where we would have a lovely dinner and then end the night with long romantic walks where he held my hand as we discussed our hopes and dreams.

Then the beach trip happened.

We had been dating for four months when the idea to visit the beach for Spring Break came to him. There were to be several of us, including his teammates and their girlfriends. It sounded perfect, and, in my naive head, the right time to take our relationship to the next level. I wanted my first ‘real’ time to be with Brady. He had been nothing but patient, never pressuring me to do more than I could handle.

One of the things Brady and I bonded over in the beginning was how we were both what you would like to call trust fund babies. Neither of us liked to flaunt our comfortable status in life, but when Brady told me he had rented a small yacht for us to have a quiet, luxurious overnight excursion together, I wasn’t surprised. We enjoyed hanging out with our friends, but there were moments when we wanted to spend time together alone.

It makes me sick to think of how excited I had been, even going out and purchasing some sexy lingerie to wear under my incredibly tight red strappy dress. Brady had told me to meet him at the bar close to the dock, and when I arrived to see him and his friends waiting, I couldn’t help but be a little smug when the group gawked as I approached.

But I shouldn’t have been paying attention to that. I should have noticed how Brady’s eyes appeared dilated, or how his friend Garrett handed him a small baggie before we left. None of it mattered to me then. I was too excited. Arriving at the yacht we were greeted by the captain, and a perky red-headed staff member holding a tray with champagne. Money changes everything in this world. When you have it, you can make the rules and break the rules, and that night the staff proved they understood.

Anything we wanted they gave us, including privacy, and after tossing our luggage off in the primary we found a sumptuous meal waiting on the top deck. When we finished, I found myself tipsy from the few glasses of champagne that I had consumed, but again, I ignored any good sense I might have possessed, and went excitedly with Brady to watch the sunset.

Up on the top deck, yet another perfect setting waited. Instead of champagne we had wine waiting, and with nary a staff member in sight, we made ourselves comfortable on the plush cushions of the larger lounger.

The memory of what happened next burns, and while it’s a moment I don’t regret, the residual emotions left behind continue to hold a sharp sting to it. The first kill is always the hardest, with the rest falling into the carved out pieces of your soul as they attempt to fill the void they created by those who make us into the monsters everyone fears.

However, make no mistake.

Brady had it coming.

Uncorking the bottle, Brady pours us each a glass of the heady red wine . His bloodshot eyes feast on me as he does, and the warmth from the blanket he’s laid on the cushions keeps me warm when a chill coasts over me at the hunger I see there.

But I ignore it, and reaching for my hand I allow him to hold on, as I slide off my heels. Shaking off the snap of unease I settle in, and know that this is it. This is our moment .

My heart pounds, and my palms embarrassingly sweat when the nerves kick in. I’d heard of liquid courage, and go for my wine glass, gulping down the contents as he does the same.

Not knowing what else to do, I blurt out the truth. “I want you, Brady.”

Reaching for me, he takes my lips, and I eagerly let him slip his tongue into my mouth. We kiss for a moment, and it feels…. nice. A slow burn begins to build, and I pull back to take a deep breath.

The heat that had been in his gaze cools instantly, and he pushes me down on the cushions. I’m totally taken aback, and when his hand begins its steady creep up my thigh, my insides recoil in disgust.

“It’s okay, sleeping beauty.”

That voice. Those words. It’s like he’s reached into my deepest, darkest depths and is attempting to conquer me by using the worst moment of my life against me.

“I’m a little nervous, Brady,” I stammer, making an excuse so I can get ahold of my emotions. “Can we take it slow?”

“Haven’t we been taking it slow for quite a while now?” he snarls. “I’m fucking sick of taking it slow. It’s time you give it up, Tess.”

Brady has never so much as raised his voice at me in anger before, and to hear him snap like this causes tears to roll down my cheek. “I’m sorry—”

He slams his hand across my mouth, shoving me back down again. In one swipe, he tears the front of my pretty new dress open, and roughly grabs a breast, squeezing it until I’m crying harder, only no one can hear my screams since they’re muffled by his hand.

“Quit fighting me.” He removes his hand from my mouth, dragging it down to wrap it around my throat. “You said you wanted this. ”

This isn’t the Brady I know. This isn’t the boy I had come to know.

Or is it?

Had I missed all the signs? Had he been cruel this entire time, and I had been too awestruck that someone like Brady could be interested in someone like me that I hadn’t noticed?

“Please… stop,” I whimper. He glares at me, and that’s when I see his pupils are heavily dilated. Brady is completely out of it, and once his powerful grip tightens around my throat I know I’m in trouble. “Don’t do this.”

Keeping me locked down on the cushions with his hold on my throat, he ignores the crying and goes straight for what he wants. “You’ll thank me later. The quicker we get the first time over with, the quicker we can get to the fun stuff.”

“I said, no!” I try to get up. “Get the hell off me.”

My panties, he’s shoving them aside, and I buck in a wasted effort to move him, but it just pisses him off more. He squeezes harder, cutting off my air supply, and I panic, reaching out for anything that can help me.

Spots are appearing before my eyes, and right as I am about to succumb to the darkness, my fingers connect with the wine bottle. I grasp the neck of the bottle and bring it down hard on the top of Brady’s head.

“Fucking bitch !”

The death grip on my throat loosens, and I take the opportunity to kick out, hitting him dead in the crotch. I make the hit, and he stumbles backward and into the railing, losing his balance.

Horror erases the anger on Brady’s face when he falls over the side. Surprisingly, a person doesn’t make that much noise when they hit the water.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, stifling the scream threatening. I stare at the spot where Brady once stood, trembling uncontrollably as I rise to stand. Rushing to the side, I see nothing but the endless, inky blackness of the ocean. The yacht is still moving at a slow but steady pace, and when a minute passes, and then two, a calmness washes over me. It’s followed by a feeling of euphoria, as if I’ve found my own personal drug, the thoughts in my head become clearer.

There is no guilt. There is no regret, no static that overtakes my thoughts.

There is only peace.

And wannabe-rapist Brady’s body floating off to sea to hopefully become shark food.

I smirk when remembering how I had immediately gone into survivor mode. Chucking the wine bottle into the water, I waited the appropriate amount of time to scream for help. It had been so easy to convince the captain, and later the police, that Brady was drunk when he fell overboard. When questioned about my ripped dress, I confessed demurely that we’d had sex and then continued to drink until he was utterly wasted. Brady was a known prankster, living for cheers of the crowd, so when I explained that he had been climbing on the side of the railing, and lost his grip, no one thought it was strange.

Why would anyone suspect me of any wrongdoing? I was just a girl out on a yacht with my boyfriend. It was a horrible accident. Playing the heartbroken girlfriend wasn’t difficult, considering he actually broke a part of me. And to this day, that’s the story I have always stuck with. I’d waited for guilt to consume me, but it never came. All I felt was relief. He would never have a chance to hurt anyone else like he had hurt me .

Nobody knows the truth, not even Allie. I can never tell her. She wouldn’t understand. Speaking of Allie, she’s been awfully quiet since the bar incident. We’ve shared a few text messages but haven’t seen each other since that night. She’s scheduled to work today, so I’ll track her down.

After pulling into the hospital parking lot, I climb out of the car and check the time on my watch. I’ve just barely made it on time. Jesus, Eli is throwing me off my game. I rush through the back entrance to the emergency department and toss my things into my locker in the doctor’s lounge. Grabbing my stethoscope, I head out to begin seeing my patients. Before noon, I’ve treated a patient with acute appendicitis, two with the flu, a broken ankle, and an elderly woman with pneumonia.

When I finally stop to grab myself a water, I send a text to Allie.

Hey, Alls, want to meet up in the cafeteria for lunch?

The message shows as read, and I watch the dots pop up, disappear, and then pop back up again.

Something’s definitely going on. What exactly? I don’t know, but I’ll damn sure find out.

After another hour of no response, I let the nurses know I’m breaking to grab lunch. They know to page me if they need me. I take the stairs up to the third floor, where Allie’s office is, bound and determined to get answers.

Despite the urge to bust into her office, I politely knock on the door, in case she’s with a patient. I hear a shuffling sound for a few seconds, and then finally, Allie responds. “Come in. ”

I enter the office and find her sitting at her desk, her cell phone in hand, and her eyes wide. “Hey, Tess, I was about to message you back.”

“Allie, where the hell have you been, and why haven’t you responded to me?”

She averts her gaze and pulls at the hair framing her face. Her hair is parted differently than usual, shading the left side of her face.

“Things have been busy.” She evades, looking down at her hands before chancing a glance up at me nervously.

“Busy? Alls, this isn’t like you. You’re my best friend. I know you as well as I know myself, and I sense something is wrong. Now spit it out. Or should I be talking to Dalton?” I say, grabbing my phone.

“No, wait, stop.” Her eyes fill with fear and shame. She runs a shaky hand across her face and takes a deep breath before continuing. “That night at the bar, Dalton was so drunk. He was so angry with me, and I embarrassed him. I shouldn’t have been dancing like that.”

“What happened?” my voice softening with concern. But on the inside, I can already feel my rage building.

“He didn’t mean to do it.” A small sob escapes her lips. “I know he didn’t mean to hurt me.”

Through clenched teeth, I enunciate each word in my next question. “What. Did. He. Do?”

Her pale face goes green as she covers her mouth and rushes into her bathroom. I follow behind as she vomits into the toilet. I hand her some wet paper towels to wash her face with as she flushes the toilet and turns around to face me .

She meets my gaze and brushes the hair back from the left side of her face, revealing a fading yellowish bruise just below her temple.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” I gasp out. “Why did you keep this from me?” Literally, I’ll kill him. His days are numbered and ticking down quickly.

“Because I knew you would react like this. You don’t like him, and I know that. But he’s never done this before. I- I really think he was going to punch the wall, so I grabbed him. He didn’t mean to hit me. It was an accident.”

“Allie. This isn’t okay. This is assault. You deserve better than this,” I seethe.

“Do I?” she lashes out angrily but then pauses to take a calming breath. “Look, he apologized for hours. He got on his knees, crying and begging for forgiveness. It was clear he was heartbroken about it. I know he meant it. Afterward, he grabbed a pack of frozen peas, pressed it against my cheek and later held me so gently in bed.”

“And every day since, he’s been doing more to help me around the house. He finally put up the bird feeder I’ve been wanting for ages. Our porch now has a new pair of rocking chairs that he bought. He’s even been making me dinner.”

“I’m sure he is sorry. And the next time, he’ll apologize again. It’s a vicious cycle we both see daily at work. You know this as well as I do,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Tess, I need this to work out. I have to give it a chance.”

A feeling of dread washes over me. “Why do you say that?”

“I-I think I’m pregnant.”