Page 8 of From Hell

Not because I want to help, but because it’s fucking painful to watch.

In the end, she dumps him in an open grave. I watch with thinly veiled excitement as she covers his body with the loose soil. I’ll admit, it’s interesting to put a dead body where they’re supposed to be. Then she goes back and retrieves the murder weapon where she left it.

Now get rid of the weapon.

But she doesn’t; she holds on to it.

Caked in dirt with her dark hair plastered to her pale face, my little murderess exhales a long breath before leaning against the nearest tree. The sky chooses this moment to open up, and rain pours from it. She closes her eyes and tips her head back, wet lashes clinging to her damp cheeks as the water pelts down like a mini typhoon, plastering her hair and clothes to her alabaster skin. She’s lucky. The weather will wash away any blood from her body, the evidence of where she killed him, and the vomit in the bushes that she’s just plain fucking ignored.

I’m not so lucky. The rain is going to make my job of cleaning up after her harder.

Not to mention, this is a new fucking jacket.

I make the mistake of shifting my weight, causing a twig to snap. Her head jerks up and she stares into the darkness, almost looking right at me. Lightning illuminates the sky behind her at that very moment, and I swear our eyes meet.

My heart races like I’ve snorted a bucket of cocaine.

I don’t move. I know she sees me, but I also know the shadows make it difficult to really see anything in this place. Her brow furrows before she takes a few steps in my direction, fist curled around her weapon and eyes wild with pure terror.

Fucking beautiful.

Energy pricks at my insides, almost like a thunderstorm of our own as something intangible connects us as one, an invisible cord pulling her straight to me. I can’t help the smile on my lips.

She’s drawn to me.

Suddenly, my body turns hot. Anger and frustration tear through my mind, accompanied by a pounding explosion behind my temples. It always begins with a headache.

I feel myself stepping toward her, the urge to do dark, terrible things to my murderess clawing at the corners of my mind.How nice would it be to see what her insides looked like?

No.With my fists curled tight and jaw locked, I manage to stop myself.

I’m in control.

Slowly but surely, the anger dissipates until everything is the way it should be. My sweet psycho takes another step, but then thunder rolls, making her slip in the mud and allowing me to pull back into the darkness. When she looks my way again, I’ve vanished. She wipes the water from her eyes and gets to her feet. I watch her looking for me for at least a minute before she calls it a night as her survival instincts kick in.

Good girl. Go home.

She slowly makes her way back to the parking lot, the edge of her skirt gathered to stop it from dragging in the dirt. I pace after her. Every so often, she turns to glance sharply over her shoulder. She doesn’t see me, but she senses something… Clever girl. Good instincts. She’d make the perfect killer if she did the job properly, but no one has taught her—that much is obvious. Her valiant slash to the neck wasn’t deep enough. Which she would have realized if she had bothered to check his pulse.

The thought of teaching her how to end a life the right way gives me a thrill, one that makes the blood rush to my cock. Stalking her would just be as addictive. But I should save those desires for another day.

I need to wipe Henry from the face of the fucking Earth.

As she drives off, I mentally take down her license plate. The adrenaline of the hunt rushes through my veins, and I know that whatever I decide to do with my new vixen, I’m going to damn well enjoy it.

The rain is torrential by the time I get back to my car. I drive to the dirt road that leads into the thick of the cemetery and park. Slick mud coats the pathway that meanders into the trees. It’s the closest I can get by car, but it will still be at least a five-minute walk to get to where my little fox stashed Henry’s body. This is not what I want to be doing with my fucking Friday night, but here we are.

I shrug out of my jacket and fold it neatly on the passenger seat, then take my time rolling up my sleeves. In the footwell is a new pair of walking boots—a cheap brand like nothing I have at home. I slip out of my leather brogues to put them on before getting out of the car, ignoring the rain lashing in my face. I’d already prepared the trunk with a plastic tarp, ready to clean up after Henry. How ironic it’s going to be used for Henry himself.

It takes over an hour to move him to the trunk and erase every trace of evidence she left behind—bare footprints, blood, the contents of her stomach that both she and the rain missed, not to mention Henry’s car. I wouldn’t want her getting caught. I also take time to cover my own tracks from when I was following her. It’s another hour to dump Henry where I want him. By the time I’m finished, I’m covered in mud and my clothes are soaked, plastered to my skin. But there’s a dark smile on my face that I can’t seem to wipe off.

I love that she’s a psycho.

I’ve found myself a twisted little soulmate.

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