Page 46 of Executing Malice (Jefferson Rejects #4)

LEILA

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It amazes me how easily we slip into life together.

How it all fits like it was meant to. Each day, I learn a little more about him.

About myself. About the life we had before.

And each day, I become more convinced that someone took me from him.

The alternative is damn near impossible because this man is everything my soul has been searching for, for the last eight years. Leaving him isn’t even an option.

He loves me with a clarity that leaves no room for anything else. He cares for me, spoils me, and listens with calm patience to whatever is on my mind. There’s no judgment, even when what I’m telling him is insane and certifiable. He accepts my dark, twisted side and matches it.

And I think ... no, I know, I love him.

I’m in love with him with such absolute certainty, I can’t even begin to explain.

“What are you so happy about over there?”

I blink out of my thoughts and glance at the man stabbing dozens of tiny holes into a pumpkin with a drill .

My hands are wrist deep in cold gut threads and seeds. The slime clings to my skin as I separate the membrane from our snack.

“I’m just really excited about today.”

It’s not that I’m unsure of my feelings but telling him ... scares me. It prickles the uncertainty I can taste at the back of my throat.

What if it’s too soon?

What if he decides to change his mind and leaves?

What if it changes things for the worse?

I know I’m being crazy and irrational, but everything has been so perfect. So painfully surreal. If telling him I love him, if cutting myself open and spilling my insides into his hands destroys this...

I don’t think I could handle it. Because everything I’m feeling feels so big, so daunting. Losing it would cripple me.

Topless and speckled with pumpkin splatter, Dante raises an eyebrow. “You just want your surprise.”

I won’t deny it. He’s been teasing me for days and now that it’s finally Halloween, yes, I want my damn surprise.

“Maybe.”

He gives a low chuckle and punctures another hole above the neat row he’s creating .

I’m not entirely sure what his plans are, except he insists we need= ten giant pumpkins.

He hauled us out to the Karnal Farm to pick the biggest ones he could find.

Watching him wade through the field in his combat boots, habitual cargo pants and a gray top, I realized this is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.

A guy who is fierce and protective, dirty and open-minded, but silly and funny, too.

What’s more, everything he does is so methodical.

So necessary. Like rejecting a pumpkin because the stem was a bit wonky but getting boyishly excited over one that was barely bigger than his palm.

Mr. Karnal watched the entire interaction with a raised eyebrow and amusement that deepened when Dante stuffed a small stack of bills into his hand. Way more than the pumpkins were worth.

Halloween morning, I was awakened by the clang and clatter of baking sheets and pots being moved around. I followed the noise to Dante sitting topless and cross legged in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by a ring of pumpkins.

“Are you summoning a pumpkin demon?” I teased, still half asleep.

What was probably more concerning was the small arsenal of weaponry laid out before him. Everything from a saw to a tiny butter knife, and he was systematically cutting neat circles around the stems and gutting each one into cookie sheets .

Several hours later, I’m the one left in charge of picking through the slimy entrails in search of the seeds while he pokes holes into the flesh. No eyes. No toothy smiles. He’s not carving them at all.

The great thing about today is my forethought in taking the day off months before Jasmine booked her vacation.

It’s the only day I refuse to work. I’ll even open and close Christmas if I’m asked, but never Halloween.

That’s my special day, which means Jasmine is back from her week away and I’m free from working open to close every day.

A Halloween miracle.

For me at least.

Reed, on the other hand, is having a hell of a time keeping the teenagers in line around town.

I got a flimsy text from him telling me we need to talk, but no response when I asked him what about.

It’s been radio silence over the last several days while the kids of Jefferson run amuck and keep the sheriff’s office on their toes.

Last I heard, they’d lit a giant bonfire out by Ashwood Barn that nearly set the entire forest ablaze.

Parents were called and punishments were issued.

But right when they thought that would be the end of it, someone started a trend to see who could steal the most pumpkins off one porch and move them to a different porch without getting caught .

Harmless, but it still got a lot of people fired up when the challenge went from swapping pumpkins to seeing who could put pumpkins in the weirdest locations, which had a lot of kids climbing people’s houses to get to the roofs.

But it will end soon enough. Once Halloween passes, the kids tend to calm down. The pranks stop and everyone goes about their lives. Reed just needs to keep from shooting anyone for a few more hours.

“Did you want to go to the festival tonight?” I ask Dante while trying to shake a seed off my finger into the bowl with its fellow seedlings.

Dante pauses in his art to glance up at me. “Oh, we’re definitely going.”

My already heightened curiosity peaks. “Is my surprise at the festival?”

The sharp end of the drill is pointed in my direction. “Your surprise is up here.” He gestures with the drill up towards his head.

I roll my eyes. “What was your plan if you hadn’t shown me your face?”

He gives my question some consideration before answering simply, “I was going to leave your costume on your bed with a note to meet me at the festival.”

Pausing in my seed picking, I cock my head. “What makes you think I would have agreed to that? ”

“The same way you followed me down into the basement. You’re curious. You always have been. And you have a shitty sense of self preservation.”

“Hey!” I laugh. “I think I was going to kill you that day, honestly. You were a witness to my crimes.”

It’s his turn to pause and tilt his head. “Really?” He chews that over, comes to some conclusion and shrugs. “Too bad you didn’t try. That would have been fun.”

I snort and return to my task. “You wanted to get stabbed?”

“You always got so wet when we’d fight and I would dominate you.”

I shiver unconsciously at the image of him pinning me down and forcing me to take him.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” I breathe, suddenly a bit warm in my tank and shorts.

“Oh, you’ll get your chance,” he promises, enticing my eyebrow to lift.

“You’re such a tease.”

He shoots me a smirk and returns to his work.

“Why did you stab those tires?” he asks, head still bent .

The drill makes a shrieking sound and punctures the stiff flesh.

“He was an asshole. Slammed his door into mine and then said I hit him.”

Dante’s face tilts, all humor gone. “Who is he?”

I shrug, keeping the motion nonchalant to avoid stirring the pot. “Some out of town douche.”

He’s still watching me, but I can tell his brain is triangulating the best way to find the asshole and teach him a lesson. I’m momentarily relieved I don’t know his name.

“If you see him again, call me.”

I will not be doing that, but don’t tell him that.

“So, I think I’m beginning to understand the majority of your gifts. The candy apple. The jar of condoms. The bike saddle. The home movie. And all the others, but what do the ones on the car mean?”

Dante stops, brows furrowed. “What ones on the car?”

I try to remember them. After the panties, there haven’t been any others.

“The pencil. The piece of cloth. The panties, which was probably the weirdest one. The bird skull.”

The drill is set down.

“When?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I wasn’t really keeping track. I thought they were from you.”

“No. ”

Without waiting for me, he’s stalking from the kitchen. I know he’s headed for his stalker cave — as I’ve begun to call it — before I even get the chance to unfurl my stiff legs and hobble after him.

Everything is exactly like the last time I’d been up here, except the neat, white box resting on the bed.

I ignore it and follow Dante to his system.

His long fingers move fluidly over the keys, bringing up hours of footage.

Every glide is precise, practiced. It reminds me of a dance and for a twisted second, I think how expertly those same digits know every key stroke across my body to make me squirm.

Everything about them is sexy. The ink across the bruised and scabbed knuckles.

The short, blunt nails. But my favorite is the rough texture of his finger pads.

The calloused skin that scratches just enough to make me shiver.

“That’s not right.” His low murmur pulls me free of my thoughts.

I blink and focus on the screen.

I don’t get it. I see the front of the house. I see the wide expanse of space where usually Mom and Dad’s car would be parked next to mine, but only mine is visible in the clear display. The image flips from bright day to the glowing green of night vision. Then bright again.

“What’s wrong? ”

He lifts the hand not manning the mouse and points.

“There are chunks of time missing every night. Not big enough to notice if I wasn’t looking.

Fifteen minutes at most, and always between two and three am.

But I can’t see anything on your car. The items are too small, and you’re parked too far out. ”

“It’s not a big deal. It’ll stop by tomorrow.”

His head tips up. “What’s tomorrow?”

I drift away from him towards the bed and the box. “It’s always like this before Halloween. It stops once the day is over and kids start behaving for Christmas. They never mean anything.”