Page 53 of Under Your Scars

I needed to watch the life leave my victim’s eyes. I needed to feel them take their last breaths, but strangling wasn’t bloody enough for me.

Slitting their throats—nowthat’ssatisfying. It’s a lot messier and takes a lot longer than a bullet to the brain, but it is without a doubt the mostsatisfying.

It’s like playing a fucked-up game of tag, only if you get caught by the psychopath in Kevlar, your blood will paint the pavement.

The duct tape didn’t always have significance. I used red duct tape to shut my victims up simply because it was what I had at the time. When I was still new to this, still scared of getting caught, I’d use the tape to keep my victims quiet. I like taking my time and there’s no greater buzzkill than police sirens. The media took off with it though, claiming I was a serial killer that used the tape to ‘silence’ my victims, and voila—overnight I became public enemy number one to the MCPD.

After my tenth kill, the mayor banned the sale of red duct tape on the island.

That was nearly two years ago. My current kill count is at sixty.Eightof those have been since I met Elena last month.

Now I have to fulfill the promise I made to her before she fell asleep.

I crack my neck, walking in a tight circle. The marble floors beneath my boots shudder when I take a step.

I pause in front of him. His stare is as unwavering as mine. Christian Reeves is not a man that’s afraid of many things, but he should be afraid of me.

I send my fist into his face, my knuckles leaving streaks of blood across his skin.

“You had everything.” I punch him again. My hands flair off my head in a ‘mind blown’ gesture. “She was wrapped around your fucking finger and all you had to do was keep her happy! You can’t even do that right. This is why I fucking hate you.”

I pace around the humid, steamy room, sweat dripping down my brow and temples. Dripping off my chin and onto my chest.

I have problems. Really big fucking problems.

Christian Reeves is one of those problems. He’s perfect. He’s everything Elena could ever want. Handsome. Rich. Doting. He’d do anything to see her smile—to see the way those subtle golden flecks in the brown of her eyes sparkle when she’s happy.

I’m not perfect. Far from it—I am unstable. I am broken and my soul is empty. I have nothing to offer her except pain and suffering and lies.

Yet I can’t stay away from her.

The only reason I haven’t killed Christian Reeves is because of her, so he should consider himself fucking lucky.

The man across from me has said nothing. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t fight. He just…takes it.

I land three more punches in rapid succession, each one leaving more of my blood smeared across his face. I headbutt him, splitting my lip open in the process and watching in satisfaction as blood drips from his nose, over his chin and down to the floor.

I lean over to pick up a reflective shard from the ground. I grip it tightly in my fist until it breaks skin, and then watch my hot blood pool into a small puddle at my feet, mixing with his.

I look back up at him, and he’s staring back at me with a frown. I wave the shard in his face, running my forearm over my nose to wipe away the blood dripping into my mouth. Blood smears across my scarred wrists.

I tear off my shirt and adjust the grip on the shard. I grit my teeth and growl at the sharp pain as I carve my angel’s name into my chest, right over my heart to cement her into my life.

“I’d bleed for her,” I spit at Christian, raising my eyebrows in a challenge. “Would you?”

“Gladly,” he snaps back, spitting out a mouthful of blood that’s stained his perfectly white teeth. I growl, pushing him over and holding him down by his throat as my blood drips onto his bare chest.

“You don’t deserve her!” I shout, my voice echoing off the walls as blood from my mouth lands on his face. “I had her first!”

I begin to relentlessly beat my fists into his face, and I don’t stop until my fists are annihilated and the reflective shards are nothing but dust covering the floor.

The hardest part about falling in love with an angel isn’t making her accept the fact that I kill people. It isn’t even keeping the identity under my mask a secret from her.

It’s accepting the fact that Christian Reeves makes her happier than I ever could. It’s accepting the fact that I am not Christian Reeves.

I am not Christian Reeves.

I am not Christian Reeves.