17. Crave

As I walkthrough those doors to the Pahrump Police Department the next morning, comfort washes over me. Wearing the same jumper as their regular maintenance worker, the police don't notice me.

From the outside, it must look like I'm kissing the ground Rae walks on. It's more complicated than that, and it's part of the plan.

"Where's Bill?" the secretary asks. Bill must be the regular maintenance worker. I keep my head lowered.

"Sick. Diarrhea," I mumble. "Came to fix the vents. Shit's leaking in the back."

"The back?"

"Evidence collection or something?"

"Oh, right," she says. She hands me a key ring, then points to the bullpen. "That way."

I swing around and slip through the half-gate. A few of the cops acknowledge me, and I keep my eyes lowered, like I'm rolling over in submission to their authority. The evidence collection is unstaffed. In a town like Pahrump, some officials are too proud to handle their evidence any other way besides the traditional means, and now I've got a key.

The evidence collection room is quiet. Plastic bags lean out of cardboard containers like arms struggling for a way out. Dates are written at the bottom of each row. I peel through each one until I find it.

Galloway House, Hall, Murder-Suicide.

I pick through, then find the vial of Michael Hall's forensic evidence. I stuff it in my pocket, then spin around, scanning the cardboard bins with different crimes. I grab another vial out of a random container and stuff it into my pocket. It's not from the Galloway House, but I don't care. Then I grab another, and another, until I've got five vials labeled with different crimes. Rae may have nothing to do with any of the samples, but it'll be fun to fuck with her frame of mind, pretending like all of it leads back to her.

Out in my truck, I open my phone and click through the surveillance app.

Rae sits at her computer in a loose shirt, typing on the keyboard. My skin crawls, irritated at how much I can't stop myself from watching her, and at the same time, my dick twitches to life.

I just stole for her. And damn it, I stole from the police. It's a huge risk, and a stupid one, but in the end, it'll make her think she has power over me.

Then I'll rip the rug from beneath her feet.

Blood rushes to my groin. I want Rae to fall for me. I want her to think that I love her too. And when I rip that away from her, what will she do? Will she kill me? Or will I finally kill her?

A few hours later, when Rae heads to the Galloway House to decorate with Penny, I slip inside her apartment and find her gun. I empty the bullets and drop them in my pocket. I write her another note and leave it on her desk. Then I clear my video activity from her surveillance feed and leave.

Back at my place, I turn on the encryption software on my computer and log into the dark web. I find an advertisement for carpet cleaners—black market code for hitmen—located on the west coast. We exchange information and make a plan to meet at a fast-food restaurant in Primm in a few hours.

By then, it's evening. I order a nine-piece chicken nuggets and a coffee, this time asking for mint flavored creamer. It tastes like pure syrup, and I enjoy knowing it tastes like the creamer in Rae's fridge.

Each day, I'm a little closer to controlling her, to ruining what's left of her good girl persona. And fuck me, it's like killing for the first time.

I spot two muscular men in the back corner with sunglasses on. The idiots stand out.

"You're the carpet cleaners?" I ask.

The first one bobs his head. "You must be our next home owner."

I slide into the booth across from them, opening up my chicken nuggets. I pop one in my mouth.

"What's the damage?" the second one asks.

They don't need details. They just need to know where she'll be.

"You know the Galloway House?" I ask through a mouthful of meat. One of them nods, and the other wrinkles his brow. "It's in Pahrump. Gotta get it cleaned tonight."

"You got a picture of the stains?"

I pull out my phone, scrolling through the image gallery until I find one of her. In the photograph, Rae is smiling, posed in a maroon blazer and a pencil skirt, the same picture she used on the resort's website before she was fired.

That is, before I helped her get fired.

"Looks like a snobby bitch," the first one laughs, breaking into my thoughts. "She turn you down, man?"

A mix of anger and satisfaction surges through me, like my nerves are full of electricity. I'm not an attractive man, but I never pretended to be. I'm an ugly fucker, but for the most part, I'm the same as any other person in this fast food restaurant, in this small town, in this country, in this entire world. And that's what makes me terrifying. I'm not pretty. I'm normal. And I'm underneath her skin. A bondage mask tricks women like Rae into thinking Prince Charming is hiding under the fabric, ready to lift her up and save her. In reality, I'm a monster, inside and out. And one day, I'm going to cut her open and show her that underneath that normal person disguise, she's a monster too.

"Can you do it?" I ask.

"We'll take care of that stain for you," the second one says.

We talk about the funds, and I give them a down payment in cash. Then I shake their hands and leave the building, tossing my trash in the bin as I go, like a good human being. I didn't even litter this time. Though I'll admit I agreed to a final amount that I don't have. I'm not worried about it. It's not like they're going to come and kill me for not paying up.

Either way, I want this to happen. I want to see what Rae does when she has to defend herself. Will she take the first chance she gets to kill them, or will she stumble in fear, too afraid to fight back? Will they kill her, or will she kill them?

I lick my lips and get back into my truck. I can't wait to find out.