Page 49 of My Girl

A murderer who has fisted me.

And pissed on me.

My pulse increases as I reach for the doorknob. The surprise could be pleasant or horrific, but the truth is that whatever it is, he did itforme. And that means he wants to please me. Or, at the very least, he wants to see my reaction.

And if he’s trying to get me to react, then that means I have power over him. It may not be sexual power, but it is some kind of power. Which means I can ask him for help with getting the evidence from the police station.

The basement stairs moan under me. It’s dark this time. A steady breath whispers from the corner of the room.

A figure looms in the darkness. My heart rate quickens. At the bottom of the stairs, I check my phone, making sure the hidden camera lens on my purse is recording. Then I turn back to that shadowy figure.

“You have something for me?” I ask.

“How many people are you fucking?” Crave asks.

I cross my arms over my chest. Why does that matter? It’s not like we’re in a committed relationship.

It’s not good to make a killer jealous,my brain warns.

Yet my heart drums inside of me, pushing me forward to see exactly how much I can taunt him.

“Are you jealous?” I ask.

“Do you want me to be jealous?”

I snicker. Of course, he turns it back on me.

“No,” I say. “You’d jerk off to it.”

“I get off on a lot of things, little girl. Do you think me watching you fuck other men is one of them?”

With other, normal people—people like my mother—it’s always easy to flip around the circumstances until they thinktheyare the guilty ones.

Crave knows our interactions are a game. He likes dragging out agonizing answers from me.

I can get back on top though.

I’m here for more than his “surprise.” I’m here to trick him into stealing evidence from the police. There are plenty of ways I could ask for his help, but acting like I need him seems like the most effective.

“I need your help,” I say, making my voice weaker than before.

“What do you want me to do exactly?”

“Get the DNA samples from the police records.”

He steps closer. My mind erases, filled with his scent. He towers over me, his boots stomping on the floor.

“Your little mall owner couldn’t get it for you?” he mocks.

“No,” I whisper.

“What a pity.”

Our shoes touch, and a jolt of anticipation tingles over me. The overwhelming need to touch him surfaces on my fingertips. I want to feel him. I want to feel him and know that I can have power in this situation too. I want to seehimreact.

Instead, that faceless bondage mask stares down at me.

“This isn’t about finding your father anymore, is it?” Crave says. It’s not a question, though. It’s a declaration, and inside, I know he’s right. “It’s about you trying to find your place in the world, to pretend like youmeansomething.” He chuckles, then tangles his gloved hand in my hair, using it to guide me to his leather face. “But you’re back to square one, aren’t you? A blank slate where the only person whowantsto be connected to you is your mother.” He laughs. “No, not even her. Because that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Not even your mother wants you.”