Page 76 of From Hell

He places his coffee down and walks to the mini bar in the connecting lounge. He pours himself a whiskey neat. I can’t help but admire his broad shoulders and muscular torso through his thin t-shirt and how his sweatpants mold to his bottom half. Jaxon looks good in black as well as muted gray. He looks good in all colors.

And he turns and looks at me from across the room, making my heart beat erratically. The look he gives me is one a predator might give its next meal. It’s not a friendly look, but one that makes my skin crawl with heat. All thoughts about Jackson being a killer, about what I've done, disintegrate with that look.

“Was it you?” I brush the ends of my ponytail away from my scar so he knows what I’m asking.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, staring me down. My heart is banging around in my chest like it wants out.

In my lap, the gun seems bigger and heavier as I reach down and hold onto it—my only lifeline.

If he says yes, I’ll shoot him.

Even if I have no idea how.

28

LAINE

“No,” he says finally. “That wasn’t me.” His gaze brushes lower to my thighs. “But I did other things.”

A memory of Jaxon pinning me to Henry’s casket, his mouth stained red, catches me off guard: he left mere scratches between my thighs when he cut my dress off, bloody ones. Nothing deep enough to still hurt, but will leave a mark all the same. There’s a sudden tightness in my chest, and with it comes a familiar tingle as heat slickens my groin.

I swallow and look away.

Jaxon is dangerous…in more ways than one. I’ve always known he was. He may not be the Ripper, but now I know how deranged he is. The worst thing is I can’t fault him for it. I can’t storm out of here screaming he’s a psycho because I’ve stalked and killed people, too. And knowing he has the same darkness as me…turns me on.

I’m just as fucked up as he is.

I have no idea what to do now. Part of me wants to leave, but the remaining fractures of my psyche, splintered by dark, carnal thoughts of what nearly happened the last time we were alone together, are pinned in place by him.

I didn’t fully think this through.

“Now you’re warmed up, something stronger?” he asks.

“Sure.” I finish my cocoa as he pours me a generous shot.

He lifts it up, offering me the glass, making no more of a move than that. I have to get out of my seat to take the drink.

When I reach him, he smirks, clinking my glass against his. “Here’s to losing your wings.”

“Wings?”

“Angel wings. You’re never getting into heaven now.”

“Then I’ll go the other way,” I quip, remembering all too well the university drinking chant.

Screaming, down, down, down.

He swallows his glass whole. Not to be outdone, I down mine, the amber liquid smooth against my tongue, but searing flames against my throat, meeting the molten heat in my middle.

Jaxon pours us another. “So, little fox, now you know my secret, are you ready to let me help you?”

Little fox? Why is he calling me that?

His offer makes me nervous.Jaxon isn’t the Ripper, but something still doesn’t sit right, like a puzzle with a piece missing that you remember picking up but not where you put it.

“I work alone.” It makes me sound tougher than I am.How can I heal if I don’t do it myself?It sounds better; blaming the pact with the girls over my own insecurities.

He cocks his head. “After I helped you with Henry? You would have been caught if I hadn’t. You’d already be dead.”