15. Only So Many Beats

15

Only So Many Beats

Violet

There's always a countdown.

Days only have so many hours.

Hearts only have so many beats.

We're all inevitably waiting for the last of anything, whether we'll admit to it or not.

And I can't help but wonder if that's why serial killers are fascinated with death. The fact that they get to decide how long a person's last day is. Or that they're in control of the final beat that pumps blood through a person's veins.

I can't help but wonder how much of it is impulse and how much of it is calculation.

I've spent the past year studying murder in textbooks, but it didn't prepare me for seeing it face-to-face. It didn't prepare me for Saint .

He's smart enough to know what he's doing and not to get caught. And yet, nothing he's done so far has felt premeditated. Each kill I've witnessed bled with a certain undercurrent of passion.

He might have admitted to being on that road on purpose, but when I saw him kill Liam, nothing about it felt planned because it started with them talking. Friendly, even. I watched them through the car window, having what appeared to be a normal conversation.

But then, something was said that shifted the tone between them. I couldn't hear it with how hard my heart was hammering between my temples, but Saint's posture changed. His shoulders stiffened, and his fingers clenched. He glanced at me sitting in the car, and any friendliness he displayed, dissipated with what Liam said.

Something set Saint off.

The same can be said for what happened when he killed Nixon. Even if Saint knew the rumors about Nixon were true, I doubt he cared until he thought I might be the one in danger because of it. Me going to Sigma House isn't what set him off. It was when the threat became real.

I don't think he murders for fun; he uses me as his excuse.

Why does he need one?

For a man with no boundaries when it comes to stalking me, I'm beginning to get the impression he only kills with purpose. Not that anything can justify it, but in his mind, he seems to.

He thinks these sick acts can be explained.

Body parts on my bed .

Cameras in my room.

Sending me pictures of his cock when he comes in his hand.

I can't decide what was worse: the fact that he sent me the picture or the way it felt like a taunt after I'd just been trying to get myself to come and I couldn't.

Knowing he was watching me.

I wanted to do it for me and for him.

I slide Safe Now back onto the shelf and grab a copy of Mind for Murder instead. I'm supposed to be studying for an upcoming exam on victim advocacy, but all I can think about is Saint and my growing desire to figure him out.

I need to know who he is behind the mask. And not just his face but his mind. I need to understand all his secrets.

Why me? Why the obsession? Why the extremes?

Underneath those blue Xs is someone who truly believes he has a good reason for doing what he does. And I can't help but want to know where that stems from. Childhood trauma, sexual assault, abuse? What was his trigger?

Why do I care?

It's a drain I'm circling.

What makes Saint a killer, his past or me ?

Did the bodies start piling up when he met me, or did this go back further?

I set the textbook down on the table and sink into a hard wooden chair. The library is quiet like it is most days because it's cold and uncomfortable. The lights are too dim for good reading, and the seats make your ass sore after thirty minutes .

Then there's the librarian, always watching from behind her desk. Her eyes flick up over the rim of her glasses like she's looking for any excuse to kick us out. I might be one of the few people who find this kind of environment comforting.

Anything is better than trying to focus back at my dorm room. Saint has cameras in my bedroom, and I'm starting to guess they're in the general living space as well. And tonight, Mila is throwing a party when I'm not in the mood to pretend I'm not spiraling.

Glancing at my phone, I realize it's almost ten o'clock. I have an early class and should probably be sleeping. But I can't get my questions out of my head, so I dive into the pages instead.

My studies of Jeffrey Klien examined his fear of rejection, stemming from his father abandoning him and his mother at a young age. He rationalized his actions based on the delusion that all relationships inevitably ended in abandonment. And as such, he believed force was the only means to maintain long-lasting relationships.

When interviewed, he showed no remorse for killing Prue Winters. Klien stated she was the one who "broke them first," ultimately placing the blame on her. Klien was adamant in his disillusions of their relationship, continuing to reaffirm that they had one, even when provided copies of the protection order Winters filed against him.

The reality he created in his mind was safer than what he perceived as a threat of humiliation from her attempting to terminate their relationship.

A chill shimmies through me .

If psychopaths are incapable of love, then what's Saint's interest in me?

Is it obsession?

How different is obsession from love at the onset? They both start with fixation and desire. With an unexplainable need to be around someone. To spend every moment with them.

At what point is infatuation no longer love? At what point is it no longer healthy?

Is it defined by what a person will do for someone or to them?

It's easy to define a healthy relationship because it fits in neat parameters. But what about an unhealthy one? If each party is getting what they desire, whether society would view it as right or wrong, can it still be love—healthy or not?

Killers don't love.

I close my eyes and inhale through my nose.

I'm justifying Saint's fixation with my own sick interests because I handed him the blueprint on how to tap into them. But this isn't him caring. This isn't healthy. This will continue to escalate until we reach that tipping point.

What happens when his rage turns my way?

After so much death, sooner or later, there's a real chance it will be my body he's burying.

Someone across the library bursts out laughing, and it makes me jump. Glancing over, I spot a few members of Sigma Sin propped on the edge of a table, not studying, and I'm surprised the librarian hasn't kicked them out yet .

I guess that's one of the perks of being wealthy and insufferable.

I'm not sure why they're even here. Everyone at Briar knows they don't have to study to pass their classes. If their family money continues to pour in, the professors look the other way.

Declan and Maddox are laughing at something on Declan's phone while Kole is leaning against the table reading a book. And when someone walks past them, Maddox slips his foot forward and trips him, which makes Declan burst out laughing.

Assholes.

I gather my books and shove them in my bag.

I'd rather study in my stalker-surveilled dorm room than risk a run-in with Sigma Sin tonight. But just as I'm about to tuck my final book into my bag, I drop it and catch their attention.

"Violet." Declan practically sings my name from across the library. He drags it out and whistles at the end.

Wonderful .

When I was dating Liam, I didn't get this much attention from Sigma Sin, but ever since he went missing, they've been breathing down my neck every chance they get, trying to figure out where he is.

They assume I know something they don't.

Which I guess is true, even if I've yet to admit it.

I ignore Declan's catcall and sling my bag over my shoulder, but the three of them close in before I can escape .

"Trying to run, Vi?" Declan stops in front of me with his arms crossed over his chest, a devious smirk painting his face with amusement.

Maddox spins the chair I was sitting in around and straddles it, facing me. But Kole is still reading his book, walking over slowly, disinterested as always.

I roll my shoulders back as I pull my hair out from under my strap. "What do you want, Declan?"

"Haven't seen you around in a few days. You wouldn't be avoiding me, would you?" He tilts his head to the side.

"Avoiding you?" I square off with him. "That's assuming I care, which I don't. Go bother one of your many groupies if you're looking for attention."

I try to step around him, but he shifts into my path, refusing to let me go.

"Feisty." Declan steps toward me, getting close. "Maybe I'm starting to see what Liam saw in you."

My stomach turns as his eyes skim to where my sweater hugs my chest.

"And maybe I'm starting to see why Liam didn't introduce us."

Declan's dark gaze flicks back up to mine, and he smirks. "Sure. That's why."

I don't know how to take his comment, so I take a step back. The three of them surround me now, and my arms prickle at the intensity of Declan's focus.

"So…" I rub my arms. "I guess you still haven't heard from Liam? "

My voice shoots up, and I hope it's not obvious. But the fact that it manages to pull Kole's attention from his book tells me it is.

"Nope." Declan hitches an eyebrow. "You?"

I shake my head, swallowing hard.

Yesterday, Braxton called me again, asking if I'd heard anything. I hadn't, and I won't. But people are starting to question what's going on, and like seasons changing, I sense this reaching a breaking point soon. Things are about to get messy and complicated, and the fact that I've kept the truth to myself this long leaves me at a loss for what to do when people start figuring it out.

"Well, let me know if you do." Declan tucks his thumbs in his pockets.

"Hey, Vi." Maddox tips his chin up at me, tucking his blond hair behind his ear. "You coming to our party this weekend?"

"Funny." Declan knocks Maddox on the arm, and Kole chuckles, still reading his book but clearly finding the notion ridiculous.

I narrow my gaze on him even if he's not looking at me. "Maybe."

I'm not, but I don't like that the three of them think I'm too uptight to be seen at Sigma House a second time. So I appreciate that my answer is surprising enough to drag Kole out of the pages of his book.

"Damn, I was expecting you to tell us to fuck off." Declan tips his head back, laughing. "All right, party animal."

Kole doesn't look nearly as amused as Declan does. Then again, Kole doesn't look much of anything at all. Staring at me with icy eyes that chill me to the bone. The only character on his blank face is that scar that cuts along his cheekbone.

"We done?" Kole asks, still looking at me for a beat, then turning to Declan. "Places to be."

Places to be.

The most annoying thing about Sigma Sin is how important they think they are. Like every moment they spare for the rest of us is a waste of their precious time.

"Yeah, man." Declan tips his chin up, and Maddox stands, spinning his chair around. When I stare too long, Maddox winks at me.

Kole punches him in the arm. "We're out."

"See you at the party, Vi." Declan backs up but doesn't spin yet. His gaze does a once-over that turns my insides cold.

Kole's eyes narrow at his friend's clear perusal. Setting his book down, he grabs the edges of his long sleeves and pulls them up his forearms, almost like he's thinking about decking Declan in the face for looking at me.

But then, Declan turns, and his shoulders relax.

My gaze drifts down as they start to walk away, and that's when I spot them—four half-moon cuts on Kole's wrist. Red and puffy where they're still healing from what looks like nails being dug into his skin.

My breath catches as my memory takes me back to the forest.

Scratching, clawing, trying to escape. I fought Saint, even if it didn't do me any good. And when I gave into his sick, twisted game, I grabbed his arm, and my nails sank in.

I can still feel the flesh breaking.

Blood pooling beneath them.

It's him .