Page 74 of From Hell

I’m alone with Jaxon.

My stalker.

My killer.

The only noise is rainwater tapping outside the house, making the walls seem closer and the vast mansion smaller. Now that I have him in front of me, my throat feels constricted. I’d planned to confront him, but now it all seems jumbled up in my head.

He reaches for me, and I step back. “I’m just taking the wet towel from you.”

“You can’t blame me after last time,” I say, handing it to him.

Shaking his head slightly, he saunters further into the house. “This way.”

I ease off my wet slippers and walk after him to a dark gray, glossy kitchen surrounded by large windows. A living room with a horseshoe-shaped cream couch that appears like it’s never been sat on and a glass coffee table laden with heavy books that look like they haven’t been read.

Jaxon enters the utility room with the used towels and comes out wearing a clean, dry t-shirt. He then dumps a stack of two perfectly folded squares of material before me. “In case you want to change. There’s a bathroom in the hall.”

I unfold the squares to reveal a soft, gray tracksuit and a white t-shirt. Huge but dry. “My clothes aren’t that wet.”

“Suit yourself, but you’re still dripping all over my floor. Hot drink?” Jaxon is pottering around the kitchen, making what looks to be coffee. I huff out a breath and nod, taking the clothes with me as I wander into the hallway to find the bathroom. When I return, a steaming mug is on the counter before a stool. Jaxon is nowhere to be seen. I sit and sip the drink, marveling at the hot, sweet, chocolatey taste, the soft fleece of Jaxon’s clothes warming my bones, and a dark view over the valley behind Jaxon’s house drawing my attention, even though rivers of rain obscure it.

My shoulders are rigid, and my heart is racing despite the comforts. But the gun is nestled on my lap, so fuck him and the expensive car he rode in on.

Jaxon walks back in, wearing joggers himself. Only his are black. I blink at him, unable to stop my eyes from running up and down his length as he makes himself a drink. It’s my first time seeing Jaxon wear home clothes, looking uber relaxed, unlike me.

Black on black. He matches the decor.

As if feeling my eyes on him, he looks up, gaze questioning as it settles on the gun.

“Are you going to shoot me? Because it’s rude to do it when someone has just made you a hot chocolate.”

Heat pricks the back of my neck. “Just like it’s illegal to stalk someone?” I counter.

“Stalking?” He looks amused. “No, little fox, I’ve been watching you, protecting you, keeping what’s mine safe.”

“Funny way of protecting me,” I spit out. “You killed Henry—”And you tried to kill me. I trail off, the rest closing up in my throat, cheeks flushing as I accuse him of the same thing I’ve been doing.

Pot, kettle, black as night.

He gives me an amused look as he takes his coffee from the machine. “I finished the job for you. He was alive when you left him.”

Jesus.“But you moved him?”

“Killing him outright was too good for that fucked up piece of work.”

“Okay. But then you dumped the body in the open. Why?”

“Honestly?” Jaxon’s eyes have a wicked glint as he takes me in. “I wanted your attention.”

“That’s it?” I give him an incredulous look.

“What did you think I did it for?”

“To get me caught.”

“And I would do that why?” He looks genuinely insulted that I insinuated it.

I think back to the crime scene my dad described. It was clean. Too clean. “You removed the evidence.”