22. Crave

I glare at those words.Me hiding from her? It's a fucking joke. She doesn't have that much power.

And yet the fact that I'm even doing this—watching her surveillance footage as she taunts me—proves something.

Rae isn't afraid of me. And I can play with that.

I look from the video feed on my phone to the DNA samples and paternity tests in my lap. Most of the DNA samples have nothing to do with the Galloway House, and yet, I still bought enough materials to test all of them so that I could show her the proof. The answer I already know.

She shifts her weight from leg to leg, then stretches her arms. Her muscles are getting tired.

Admit it to yourself,her message reads.

"I do want you," I mutter. "I want you like a toy. A possession. An object that I can keep and destroy. A piece of garbage that I can crunch with my fist."

Blood surges to my groin. In the darkness, she lies on her bed and stares at the cameras, waiting for me to do something. The note lies on her chest, exactly where I placed my mask the night I killed the hitmen.

Stop hiding from me,her note reads.

She thinks her metaphorical hands are wrapped around my neck and dick, controlling me under her hypnosis. Perhaps some small part of me is under her control. It's part of why I've let her live for so long.

And it's also why I need to end this.

Tomorrow is her murder-suicide anniversary party where she can talk to people who will pretend like they care, when in reality, they'll gawk at her like a car accident. A gory train wreck. An animal in a cage.

She holds onto that party like it'll bring out the devil himself. Just like I hold on to these DNA samples, even though I know the truth.

These DNA samples, the hookup I killed, those hitmen I hired and killed—all of it is too much. The more entwined I become with her, the more I know that soon, I'll unravel and get caught. Even a girl like her isn't worth life in prison.

"Tomorrow," I murmur. "I'll kill her tomorrow."

Even if the party lasts into the morning, I'll be there, ready for it to clear out. She'll stick around, waiting for me to show up.

Waiting until we're alone is the smart thing to do, but the image of killing her in front of her party guests entices me. I could even kill the party guests right after her. It's not that hard to get an assault rifle in Nevada.

I can cut off Rae's head, just like Mrs. Galloway. Her skull will roll to the side, and I'll smile down at her corpse through my zippered mask while the party guests scream and the sirens howl in the distance.

This shit will be over, and I'll have the last laugh.

I close the surveillance app, then stow my phone.

Rae is nothing more than an obsession, but obsessions are dangerous; they poison different parts of you until your entire life revolves around that single object. I'm done with that.

I'm ready for death. I always have been.

It's time we both died.