8. KNOW THY RIVAL

8

KNOW THY RIVAL

YARA

R yden Sinclair was a merciless killer like me, and I liked it more than I should. I knew my lust was bordering on crazy, but that didn’t stop me from obsessing over him.

The fire burned. The need blazed. The obsession was pulling, pushing, demanding. It was a savage creature, craving something different but just as violent, just as needy. Whispers became screams until all I heard was his name in my head.

“I know, Irene,” I said, pulling the scarf around my neck. It had been three days since that night with Ryden—him with his demons, and me with mine. I had been busy since that night, getting to know the man behind the mask.

“Are you even listening to me?” Irene grumbled as I continued to get ready for work. The other work. Usually, I’d be hunting my next victim, but this time, it was… Ryden. I added three more layers of clothes over my old dress, before pulling on a leather jacket. I sprayed Kat’s favorite perfume and smiled. Here she was. K.Y. Wolff.

“We could move to one of those picture-perfect towns, like the ones in the feel-good movies. I’m sure everyone there would be nice and kind, and you wouldn’t have to… you know, kill again.”

“Nothing’s perfect.” I could see what I told her about Ryden disturbed her. She rarely ranted.

“This man…”

“Has no idea who I am, Irene. I told you because you pestered me, not to make you worry about me,” I said, painting my lips one of my favorite shades of red. Scarlet Rouge.

I looked at my watch with a smile. Ryden would still be in his office. I’d followed him enough times to know he wouldn’t be at home when I finally walked into his place and touched his things. I was excited to become a part of his life. To break it open, to dig deep, and to find the skeletons in his closets—I knew there’d be quite a lot of them. Literally.

“What are you doing now, Yara?” Irene asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Nothing. I’m going to stay in and watch TV. I had the worst day at work today.”

I had to autopsy a murder victim. Nala Sanders was only two years older than Irene. Blunt force trauma to the face and skull. Beaten to death with a golf club. It took me only two hours to find the perpetrator. Her husband.

This was why I wouldn’t ever trust anyone enough to share my life with them. I had seen firsthand how a marriage could destroy a person.

“You’re lying, Yara.”

“I’m not lying. Her husband killed her. Oh, it was horrible.”

“Now, you’re deliberately trying to distract me. Are you going to fucking stalk him again?”

I didn’t know how she did it, but she always knew when I was lying, just like her sister. Kat was the only one who found a way to rip my masks off. She peeled them away layer by layer until she saw what she was looking for, and she didn’t run when she knew the real me. No, she stayed and taught me to become a slightly more acceptable version of myself. She showed me ways to feed my needs without hurting the innocent.

“No. That’s ridiculous, Irene. I’m a respectable medical examiner under the jurisdiction of the State of Michigan. I don’t stalk. I respectfully… collect information,” I said, adjusting my wig with a smirk.

She snorted. “You’re fucking ridiculous. That’s stalking, Yara. STALKING.”

“Well, you call it stalking. I call it investigating someone I’m curious about. Bye, Re-Re. Go play with your friends, and stop bothering me,” I said, grabbing the phone from the side table and turning it off before picking up my other phone.

A burner phone was essential when you were leading a double life.

“Hi Kasey, I called you about Millicent Wark a few days ago,” I said when the woman picked up.

“Yes, Miss Wolff. I’ll be free tomorrow morning,” Kasey replied.

“Thank you so much.”

With that part of the research out of the way, I walked out of my room. Grabbing a pair of nude shoes from the closet, I headed toward the garage where I kept my grandfather’s sedan.

I pulled down the tarp covering the old gal, closed the garage, and drove straight to Ryden’s house. Parking the car near Rouge Park, I walked the rest of the distance. Soon, I could see the front of his house. The street was already quiet, even though the sun had barely set. I pulled on black gloves and took out a lock pick. Taking a deep breath, I quickly pried the first one open. He had three locks, each one more complex than the last.

It was music to my soul when I heard the final click, and his door gaped open.

“Hello, Ryden. It’s nice to be here.”

Everything in his house was dark and spotless, except the files and papers strewn across the coffee table. I had a quick look through them and put them back down.

What I needed to know was what he did with Phil. How he made the man disappear without a trace. The curiosity was killing me.

One day. Two days. Three days. Still no fucking news about Phil. I even visited the building where Ryden killed Phil—it was reckless, but I couldn’t stop myself—but there was nothing there. Not even a speck of blood. Not a single trace that a man died there three days ago.

It was as if the wind ate Phil away, leaving nothing in its wake.

I climbed up the stairs to his bedroom. The door to the room yielded without resistance. The moment I walked in, I smelled something heady—the scent of warm, freshly roasted coffee beans and cinnamon. Fucking delicious.

Taking a deep breath and filling my lungs with the mouthwatering scent, I searched the drawers and under the bed, but found nothing I was looking for.

Finally, I opened the mahogany closet, absorbing everything that was Ryden. I grabbed a shirt from inside, pressed my face to it, and inhaled deeply. My skin tingled as I put it around me, pressing my lips to the collar. I sat down on his bed with a sigh.

“Oh, Ryden…”

His scent was addictive, and I wanted to drown in it and never resurface.

No drowning, Yara. You need to get the fuck out, Kat hissed. And put the shirt back in its place.

I removed his shirt, folded it, and put it back inside the closet before kicking his bathroom door open.

What the hell are you doing in his bathroom?

My eyes went to a wooden hamper of clothes on the side. I peeked in and groaned when I saw his boxers on top of the pile. I grabbed it with my gloved hand, smiling as I did.

Fuck Yara, put the underwear back in, you disgusting piece of…

I tuned Kat’s voice out and took a sniff of him, my pussy clenching in delight. Imagining myself only in his boxers and nothing else was already turning me on. I couldn’t wait… to paint the insides of his boxers with my cum.

I pushed them inside my pocket with a delighted smile, and Kat’s scoff was filled with disbelief.

“I’ll just take a quick look at the next room before I leave.”

I strolled toward the next room, but I wasn’t as lucky as I was with the main bedroom. I knew that this must be where he buried his secrets, the bodies. It was his murder room.

“Let’s see what you’re hoarding in here, Ryden Sinclair.” Grabbing the pick, I inserted it inside… before the click, I heard a car. He was back from work. Oh, shit. He was early.

Fuck me all the way to hell.

You want that, don’t you? If you ask nicely… maybe he will.

Oh, this isn’t the time to be funny, Kat.

I darted down the stairs and toward the back door. I pulled open the door, scrambled out, and ran toward the trees. My heart raced in exhilaration. Sweat dripped down my spine in a long line. I knew I didn’t want to get caught, but a part of me wanted to get caught, wanted to see what he’d do to me if he caught me.

I knew what I wanted him to do—fuck me like there was no tomorrow, his hand around my throat, his cock buried deep in me. I wanted him to punish me in ways that would deliciously ruin me.

Ugh.

I was safely in the woods when I heard footsteps.”

“We meet again. I’ve been looking for you,” he said in a thundering voice.

He didn’t sound like he was going to invite me to a pleasant dinner. If anything, he sounded like he was going to eat me for dinner and maybe keep the rest of my remains for the next day.

Fuck.