Chapter 15

AIDEN

"Jesus! What the fuck, Nate?"

There was no way what I had just seen was real. I didn't just watch my boyfriend slit some random guy's throat in his kitchen. I didn't.

Fuck. This can't be happening. Please let this be a nightmare I'm going to wake from any second.

Nate's eyes were cold and flat when he looked up at me. I didn't recognize the person looking back at me, and it had me drawing my gun and pointing it at him. Even with shaky hands, it was better than nothing. Especially since he still had the knife, and body, in his hands.

"Drop the fucking knife, Nate." My voice shook, and my mind rebelled. I had no idea what he would do, but I still didn't want to believe he would hurt me. He had to still be the guy I knew, the man I'd fallen in love with.

Fuck. I love him.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks and I almost went to my knees from the weight of the knowledge.

I loved him, but he was a serial killer. A serial killer I was trying to catch. Fuck, Victoria had tried to warn me, but I didn't want to listen. All the signs had been there, red flags waving in my face, and I had actively ignored them and all their potential meanings.

A thud jerked my attention back to Nate. And I realized I'd taken my eyes off him, distracted by my own internal struggle. I needed to be careful or I would end up like the guy Nate had tossed to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

"Put the gun down, little bird. I don't want to hurt you." Nate still had the knife, but his hands were out at his sides, trying to appear unthreatening.

"Fuck you," I sputtered. "God, I am such a fucking idiot. You were using me this whole time, weren't you?" I ignored the shake of his head and let it all out. "Did you know I was on the case? On your case? Is that why you came up to me and pretended to be interested in me?"

Nate didn't move or even try to defend himself. I snuck a glance around his house, taking it in for the first time. When I first arrived, I thought for sure I had the wrong address. Sure, Nate said he was wealthy, but this was some Bruce Wayne shit.

Except, instead of being the hero, Nate was the villain. He was a monster, a murderer.

"What are you doing here? How did you even find me?" His voice was low and level, as though he asked about the weather rather than the fact I'd just walked in on him committing murder.

"I'm a fucking cop, you think I can't look up people's addresses?" I scoffed. "Nice place, by the way. You pay for it with blood money?" The pitch in my voice told me I was close to losing it and I was sure Nate heard it too. I needed to take a breath and get myself back under control.

"And I'm here," I said, pausing as I fished around in my pocket, never taking my eyes off him, "because you left this at the house of the guy you threatened at the club." My hand shook as I thrust it out and opened up to reveal one of the cufflinks I'd gotten him for our one month anniversary.

He didn't reply, but then again, he didn't need to. He knew I had him dead to rights. The evidence was literally in the palm of my hand. Nothing he said or did could make it any better.

"You fucking asshole," I ranted. "You couldn't have just tried to befriend me?" I yelled, as if that would have been any better. "You had to go and make me feel like I mattered? What even was the point of our talk over dinner? Why did you even bother to admit to being a psychopath?" I was so stupid.

There was a scream bubbling up inside my chest. Nate told me he'd never hurt me, but this hurt worse than any physical pain he could have inflicted on me.

"None of it was real." My voice was so low even I could barely hear it. "You told me you couldn't feel the same way, but you still were able to make me believe like you cared, like I mattered. As if I were someone important. But it was all lies!"

Nate flinched. It was barely there, but I caught it.

"It wasn't. I know this all seems… impossible. But I never lied to you. And you are important, so don't you dare start that bullshit."

I nodded, taking his words in but not believing them. "Answer me one question honestly. Just one."

"Anything." Nate's shoulders sagged as though he thought we were finally getting somewhere.

"Did you know who I was when you walked up to me and started talking to me at the wedding?"

I watched as Nate's mask slipped into place. He said he never lied to me, and maybe that had been the truth. But I'd never asked such a blatant and direct question before. Maybe it was his way to keep from lying. It was unnerving to see and I shuddered at the sight.

"Put. The. Knife. Down." I said each word on an exhale as I steadied my gun at him. "Don't make me shoot you, Nate. Be smart about this." Despite my bravado, I wasn't sure if I could actually shoot him if it came down to it. But I hoped he didn't know that.

"Let's talk about this," Nate said, as though I were being unreasonable.

"Sure." I shrugged. "We can talk about this down at the station once you're processed."

Nate threw me a wry smile. "Now, now, little bird. We both know that isn't going to happen."

My heart pounded in my chest. He was going to make me shoot him.

Fuck.

The next thing I knew, Nate was taking a step towards me, and I pulled the trigger. But he was too fast, anticipating my move and the shot went wide as he spun out of the way.

I blinked as my brain tried to process the movement, and that gave Nate the opportunity to turn things around on me. He came up behind me and wrapped one strong arm around my throat while the other grabbed my hand and pried the gun from my grip.

My stupid brain's first instinct was to lean into him and tilt my head to the side to give him access. But it only took a second for reality to sink in, and I threw my head back and caught his nose. He grunted but didn't let go.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten about the knife in his hand until he moved the position of his arm so the blade was pressed against my jugular. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and immediately stilled.

"Good little bird," Nate chuckled, his breath tickling my ear. Despite our situation, my traitorous body lit up at his praise. "We can either fight or fuck, whichever you'd prefer, though I think you know which I'd rather."

Bile rose, and I gagged as I swallowed it back down. "Actually, I'm not sure I do," I threw back at him.

His nose nudged at the soft skin behind my ear, and he licked a stripe up my neck. "There's a hint," he whispered as sparks lit up my body, betraying the fact that I, too, would rather fuck than fight. But I wasn't naive enough to believe he wouldn't kill me as soon as he was done.

With Nate's mind on sex, I took the opportunity to throw myself to the side. It was a risky move, and I still got nicked by the blade, but it was better than getting my throat slashed. I scrambled towards the kitchen that was in front of me, figuring there had to be more knives I could use to defend myself.

But I didn't get very far before I felt a burning in my side. I ignored it and kept going but quickly felt something damp against my shirt. When I looked down, I noticed my side was covered in blood and there was a large slit through my shirt.

No, not just my shirt. My fingers probed, and I let out a hiss as I realized the asshole had sliced my side open. The blade had been so sharp I hadn't even noticed.

I looked up at him, shocked. Though, I wasn't sure why. Maybe I had still hoped he'd been telling the truth when he said he'd never hurt me. Maybe I'd been lying to myself and trying to make myself believe he loved me, too, and that meant he couldn't hurt me.

Either way, I'd been wrong.

I backed up and leaned against the island, never taking my eyes off him. But I was getting weaker the longer I stood there. I knew it would only take him a few seconds before his long strides brought him into the kitchen with me.

Then he'd kill me.

"You don't have to do this, baby," I whispered as I started to sag, my elbows braced on the counter behind me.

There was a flicker of sadness in his eyes before he shook his head. It should have given me some sort of comfort to know there was a part of him that didn't revel in killing me. But it was a poor consolation prize.

"I'm sorry, little bird," were the last words I heard before pain and blood loss pulled me under into the cold, unfeeling darkness.