32. BURNING RED

32

BURNING RED

THE STRANGLER

N o. NO. My soul screamed in violence. I wanted to burn the whole place down until the traces of her deception died with him… the man she chose.

She can’t do this to me.

My eyes followed Yara and the man in the black shirt. I immediately recognized him—I had seen that face more than a few times, printed next to the articles he had written about The Strangler. Well, me. Ryden Sinclair. How dare he come between me and my love?

He thinks he knows me, but he doesn’t. No one does. Only Yara knows me.

I had seen Yara with men before, but she never looked at them like she was looking at Ryden, her eyes almost soft and needy.

The trace of the ruthless killer was gone. This was Yara, the woman. No. I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let her fall for someone else. After everything I had done for her… why the fuck would she want someone else?

She knew I was doing everything for her. Why would she break my heart? “It’s not… fair, Yara. It’s evil.”

My fingers tightened around the glass in my hand, and it broke with a snap. The bartender gave me a worried look, his eyes studying the blood dripping from the scratches.

It didn’t hurt.

No, this pain was nothing when compared to the sting of betrayal. Gritting my teeth, I rubbed the blood against my pants.

“I’m sorry,” I said as the bartender quickly called someone to clean the mess I made.

“Do you need help with your wound?”

“No, thank you,” I said, quickly hiding the anger.

“Who is he to you? Is it more than just sex this time?” I whispered, staring at the blood coating my palm as I walked out of the club, feeling anger and rage. My breath came out in a short, painful gasp.

“You can’t, Yara. You…can’t.”

My body burned as I glared at the shining light flashing repeatedly above.

I came home for her. Only for her.

She should have just stayed with the other one… what was his name, Josh Something, until it was time for us. Yes. Now, that one was a harmless, stupid fucking piece of nothing.

Not Ryden Sinclair, though. He wasn’t nothing.

“What am I going to do with you, Ryden? You’re an obstacle, and I have to remove you. It’s nothing personal.”

Every piece was finally falling into place, and I couldn’t afford his presence to disrupt my plans.

I was… hers.

She was… only mine. She would only ever be mine.

I wouldn’t share her with anyone else. I had been waiting for the moment when we would finally be together. The moment we wouldn’t hide behind the masks but stand against each other without lies, masks, deception. Our true selves. She would never find that with anyone else.

“You can find a hundred men, Yara, but in the end, you’ll only ever belong to me. You did that first night when I saw you bathed in Robert Miller's blood, looking like a Goddess of vengeance and justice. That’s the moment I fell in love, that’s the moment I was born.”

It had been two days since Tany was dead, and Robert Miller walked around like he did nothing wrong, like he wasn’t the reason a girl took her own life.

The orphanage chapel was lit with candles along the altar, and there he was. Robert Miller, on his knees. Praying to Jesus and Mother Mary.

Cold wind crept up my skin, and the knife in my frozen, trembling fingers felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. I stared at him through the windows, watching him from behind the tall tree, trying to get the courage to kill him.

“Kill him. Kill him. He doesn’t deserve to live.”

I slapped my hands against my head. The voices in my head were loud and incessant.

“Kill him. Take him to hell.”

I wanted to kill him, but fear paralyzed me, keeping me in place. I trembled when the door to the chapel opened, and a thin girl walked in. Her red hair was like a flaming fire. Yara Kent.

Before I could jump inside the window, I caught the gleam of the knife in her hand. I pressed my hand to my mouth when I saw her pushing her knife into his back. She looked calm. There was no trace of fear in her eyes.

When she was done, she smiled, bathed in his blood.

Like an angel from heaven. Crimson-soaked messenger of God.

I fell in love.

I never stopped loving her, but here she was, once again finding comfort in someone else who would never understand her or know her as I did.

I slapped my cheek, once, twice, shaking my head, letting the pain steady me. “How can you do this to me? We shared that night. We shared more than blood and bodies.”

She would pay for it, but not yet.