Page 61 of One Bad Knight

“Tell me what you want.” His voice became a low, almost desperate rasp. “Tell me what you want, Kat, and I’ll give it to you. Anything.”

A hot tear dripped off my lashes and onto my cheek. “You. I want you. I love you.”

The knife jerked back as he released my wrist. It clattered to the floor.

Gatsby stepped back; shock slashed across his face. “What?”

How could I still want the person who killed my own father?

Something inside me was broken and twisted. I thought if I killed Gatsby, I could be what my family wanted me to be. The perfect elegance expected from my family. But killing Gatsby wouldn’t change any of that. I’d only lose the one person who ever saw me for me. Someone who saw my pain and didn’t try to fix me. Because in his eyes, I’d been perfect just as myself.

Even if I could bring myself to kill the man in front of me, I couldn’t kill the little boy I met twelve years ago. Those nights may have meant nothing to him, but to me, they had been everything.

“You,” I repeated even as I hated myself for it. “I want you.”

“Don’t say that,” he hissed.

I reached out toward the blood sliding down his neck. I wanted to erase the mark I’d left. He jerked back, out of reach. His eyes went wild.

Then he did the only thing he could. He ran.

He jumped right over the edge of my balcony. Shortly after, the roar of his motorcycle trailed behind him, while I shook so hard, I fell to my knees trembling like a leaf in a storm.

I was in love with my father’s killer.

I really was crazy.

26

Gatsby

She loves me.

Kat knows I killed her father, and she still loves me, still wants me.

The roar of my motorcycle and rushing wind filled my ears, but it couldn’t drown out my thoughts, or my pounding heartbeat.

Maybe she really did need to be institutionalized. Because no one sound of mind would fall in love with me knowing so much about my past and who I am.

For fuck’s sake, I killed, and destroyed lives. I should have told her how I fucked up those kids by killing their mother in front of them. Then maybe she would stop loving me.

Leaving was the best thing to do for her. But still, I couldn’t leave before making one more stop.

I slowed down in front of the familiar, purple-colored house. When I went to press the doorbell, I was stopped by a sign that read, “Sleeping baby. Touch that doorbell or knock, and you die.” So I went around back and slipped in through a side window off the dining room.

“Dumbass,” croaked the parrot who stood atop his cage.

Choosing to ignore the damn bird, I followed the smell of cooked beef, strong seasoning, and off-key singing, and found Travis cooking dinner in the kitchen.

Not wanting to startle him, I rested a shoulder against the door jamb, crossed my arms and waited.

Travis continued to sing and hum about someone not having to be beautiful or cool to be his girl, he just wanted her extra time.

Just as he launched into kissy sounds, he turned around to see me standing there.

The high-pitched scream that came out of him was accompanied by a wood spatula flying straight at my face. I caught it midair, an inch away from my nose. The spoon end had some kind of red sauce on it. I licked it.

“Tacos?” I asked.