Page 71 of Grave Love

“You afraid of germs?” I tease. “I think we’ve shared plenty.”

“You can get your own drink.”

I huff, pretending to be annoyed. It should be rude, and maybe it is, but it doesn’tfeelthat way with Blaze. Blaze isn’t the kind of person to be polite to a house guest, and I honestly never thought I’d be inside of his home in the first place. Fixing myself a glass of water in his kitchen, without his guidance, it’s like I belong here. Like isn’t the first time I’ve been inside of his home.

Like he trusts me.

We eat. Neither of us tries to fill the quiet. We’re comfortable like this, and it both comforts and unnerves me. I should be scared of him, but I’m just glad that we’re enjoying a meal together. I try not to think about what it means that I’m here. That he told me to stay.

After we finish eating, I ask for the bathroom, and again, instead of leading the way, Blaze gestures down the hallway, expecting me to know where to go.

I wander deeper inside, exploring as I go. There are only necessary furniture pieces in his house—a couch, a dining table, a chest of drawers here or there—and the walls are blank. It’s a livable place, not a home where someone has marked their presence, like Blaze knows he may leave at any moment.

Sorrow twists in my gut. It’s a real possibility. I imagine serial killers can’t stay in one place for long.

Maybe that’s why I was searching for him for the past few days—because I was scared he’d disappeared.

Because I didn’t want him to.

After I finish, I meander back to the living room. A gleam catches my eye from an open door. I push it open farther.

Handcuffs. Knives. Restraints. All sorts of intimidating metal instruments lie on the bed, waiting to be used. Like they’re waiting forme.Each device is arranged carefully, as if he’s displaying his wears proudly. Like he wants every onlooker to know how important they are to him.

He’s used these weapons on his victims before. I can feel it.

He’s used some of them on me too.

A pistol lies on top of the nightstand. It’s different from the rest, cut off from the main display. There for convenience. Not for pleasure.

If he has killed women before, then he probably has a gun,I had told myself.That was the excuse I held onto, my backup plan in case I decided I didn’t trust Blaze. I could still finish the job myself.

So many people—myself included—are all talk. We dream about our future deaths; we never actually go after it. Blaze could be just like me. Too afraid to end my life.

And maybe he is. I’m still alive, aren’t I?

I should steal the gun. Keep it as backup. Insurance for the worst-case scenario.

I can finish this myself. I don’t need him.

But that’s not how this works.

I’m not going to end my life. Blaze will. That’s what we agreed on. Still, if I had to do it myself, a gun would be the best option. Very few people survive a bullet wound to the head.

His voice echoes in my brain:There’s no art in a gunshot, love.

And yet he still has a pistol ready to be used, like I anticipated.

I shudder, then tell myself I’ll wait. It’s not like Blaze can do anything worse than murder me.

I swing around, ready to get back to him. I knock into a towering form.

Blaze gleams down at me, a subtle smirk on his lips, like he knows what I was thinking. What I wasplanningto do. And from that single look, I can tell he knows exactly how he’s going to punish me for those thoughts.

And that terrifies me.

Chapter26

Ren