Page 75 of From Hell

“You were all over it. The police would have easily connected the dots,” he says in a matter-of-fact voice. “You were doing it wrong.”

I blink at him. Is he for real? Doing it wrong? There’s a right way? Why am I even questioning it? Of course, there is. For pointers, Sage and I bingedCriminal MindsandCSI, all seasons. I guess it didn’t help.

He tilts his head. “First-time kill?”

“No, third.” I blink at him. Why did I admit that? He already has enough leverage on me, he doesn’t need more. I need to get myself together.

But all Jaxon does is drink his coffee, leaning against the counter while the rain and wind howl at the windows behind him. “Interesting choice, a slash to the throat. I would have taken you for a bullet to the brain type of girl,” he says, like we’re discussing the crappy weather, nodding to the gun.

“I prefer to get up close and personal.” I also still don’t know how to shoot a gun, but even though he knows, saying that out loud to the man who crept into my house at night when I was sleeping feels weak.

“Still can’t shoot?” His gaze sears mine, and a slither of heat races down my spine, straight to my core, making me shift in my seat.

I bite at my lower lip. The sharp pain distracts me because I need it. This man is too much. It doesn’t help that he unravelled me the day before, reducing me to nothing but a quivering mess. I’ve not slept with anyone since my attack, unable to trust any man in my bed since then. And even if I did, the nightmares alone have them running for hills.

Now, all I can think about is Jaxon’s mouth and what he can do with it. All I feel is his tongue, a tornado of pleasure between my folds.

And it makes me ache for more.

“What about taking my clothes? Cleaning the knife?”

He exhales hard and runs a thumb over his lip as he looks at me. “That is self-explanatory, surely.”

“You cleaned the evidence.”

“Of course I fucking did.”

“But why?”

“Same reason. I wasn’t going to let you get caught, was I?”

“I don’t understand.” And I don’t. Jaxon made things very clear when upped and left me ten years ago. Not that we were dating, or that he’d ever tried to kiss me. We were friends, I thought, until he didn’t care enough to tell me he was leaving. Now, I imagine he tried to kill me and left sick letters for me to find. That he slaughtered all those women.

It doesn’t go with the picture he’s painting of some demonic guardian angel cleaning up my crime scenes, asking me how many people I’ve killed. Making me hot chocolate.

Jaxon is still talking. I close off my thoughts enough to tune back in and listen.

“…you made a lot of mistakes. Most do on their first or second. It takes time to understand the mechanics of it. Standing in front of your victim when you make the instrumental cut will cover you in blood. You want to stand behind them preferably—” He pauses when he sees how I’m looking at him. “If you want, I can teach you.”

“T—teach me?”

Lightening flashes behind him, outside the window. Darkness steals into his eyes at that moment. “How to do it properly.”

“You’re a killer,” I say quietly. Jaxon killing Henry wasn’t his first. Hell, I wasn’t his first. Like how he dealt with Addison and Christian, he’s done this before.

His eyes narrow. “Yes, like you.”

“I’m nothing like you.”

“We are the same.”

The world tilts at an angle. “No.”Did you send me those letters? Was it you who gave me this scar?Instead, all that comes out is, “How many?”

The muscle in his jaw tightens, but a small smile, a knowing one, blooms on his lips. “You don’t want to know.”

But I do. I need to. How can I sit with this man in his kitchen, casually drinking hot chocolate, and not know?Because he’s like you.

The heavens choose that moment to open up, letting a divulge of rain shower down. The sound is pacifying…cleansing. It makes me want to stand outside and wash my sins away. But I can’t. My hands are just as bloody as Jaxon’s, and he knows it.