Page 43 of Only for Him

He’s giving me a place to direct my anger. My hatred.

My need for vengeance.

I throw back the rest of the whiskey in a single practiced swoop, clench my jaw to feel it burn all the way down, and set my glass down so that the bottom lines up with the ring it’s already left on the table.

Teddy nods, and his sympathy is genuine. “I’m sorry.”

I wave it off. “Don’t be. Serena’s the reason I’m still here.”

“You want another one?” Teddy nods his chin towards my empty glass.

I nod.

But when Teddy gets up to go to the bar, I taste the faintest hint of scent memory: a mixture of spices, sweet and cloying, and something that seems to reach the depth of my soul. Something that reminds me of a dark bathroom, and wet heat moving along my neck.

He’s here!

My back tightens in alarm as I frantically scan the bar, but the smell has already faded. There’s no huge blue-eyed shadow lurking in the corners.

Maybe I’m losing my mind. I must be. Smelling phantom stalkers in a crowded bar must be a sign of psychosis at this point, right?

Teddy returns, and I almost jump when he puts my drink down in front of me.

I breathe through the fear and anticipation while Teddy studies me, his fingers running around the rim of his glass.

“You seeing anyone these days?” he asks.

The question is so sudden it almost sounds like a dare. I blink.

Little viper.

My mind flashes back to that bathroom and a pair of blue eyes.

Two souls, both corrupt and dark, twisting closer to each inch of skin touching skin. I swallow my shame as I cross my legs and squeeze, needing the friction for an ounce of relief.

But then another image floats forward. One where Teddy is hanging by chains in a basement like Ivan Tupolev. His hand is gone. His body is split open while his guts dangle out like ribbons in the air.

Somehow, I get the feeling that my stalker wouldn’t carve “TO DETECTIVE CANTIANO”onto Teddy’s corpse.

No, he’ll addressthatmurder to his little viper.

I’m sure of it.

I’m quiet for too long, and Teddy laughs.

“It’s okay if you are,” he says. “You deserve to be happy, you know.”

There’s an ache in my chest, a static behind the breastbone that’s more hunger than regret. “Thanks, Teddy.”

But I don’t deserve to be happy. That’s why all this is happening.Thisis what I deserve. Being stalked by a serial killer who leaves my body burning with hollow, crazy lust every time he sends me another flower-stuffed corpse with my name on it.

“What about you?” I ask, trying to banish the creeping sensation of the world tilting out of control. “You ever settle down with someone?”

“Nah.” He snorts. “This job keeps me too busy. Wouldn’t be fair to a nice girl to waste her time with my workaholic ass.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. But the moment I do, I feel it.

The prickle at the base of my skull reminding me that my shadow is glaring at me. Unlike the scent, it doesn’t flash then fade. It throbs, unrelenting.