Killer Crush - Ella Goode Page 0,32
kitchen. I open the door to see Trin standing there in her pajamas.
“We have to watch it live. People ruin it on Twitter.” She pushes inside, dropping her stuff down in the living room.
“You don’t have to look at Twitter,” I remind her.
“I like following the hashtag and seeing if everyone is thinking what I’m thinking.”
“You like to talk shit.” I laugh.
“That too.” She looks over to Daman. “What’s wrong with him?”
I wave my hand. “He’s all shocked that I love him.” I fake an eye roll. Trin snorts.
“Did you see his face when I said you guys act like a married couple? That shit lit up like a Christmas tree.”
I look over to Daman, who has finally moved. He’s coming right toward me. I try and think back to what I’d said when Trin had mentioned marriage earlier. I don’t care if I get married or not. I just want to be with Daman. It's not that I wouldn’t marry him, I just always figured people don’t get married until they are older. But what the heck do I know? When Daman reaches me, he lifts me off my feet.
“I don’t need to see you guys making out!” Trin half shouts. “I’ll go away while you guys say your goodbyes.” She darts out of the living room. I rush to put my hand over Daman’s mouth.
“You don’t say those words to me until you get back here,” I tell him. He kisses the palm of my hand and nods his head yes. “You say them when you slip into our bed before you make love to me.” I drop my hand away from his mouth. “Now kiss me and go do what needs to be done.”
He does as I ask, kissing me with everything he has. Telling me he loves me without the words. Then going to make the world a little bit of a better place for me to live in.
Chapter Twenty-One
Daman
A computer hard drive is like a diary of sorts. The browser stores traces of your internet visits, emails keep track of your conversations, the metadata on a photo can reveal the location and time of the photo. With a person’s hard drive, I can recreate their entire life. The best part is that I don’t even have to break into someone’s house to track all this information. You only need to send a link to their phone or email and once they click on it, the door is opened.
That’s how I know the handyman is at twelve on the ten scale of worst humans around. It’s not that he’s going into women’s apartments and jacking off on their beds. It’s not even the dozens of porn sites he visits every day. It’s the videos and photos he’s stored of the college girls that live in and around the apartments. He takes daily snaps of the apartments he oversees but the vast majority are in their apartments when they’re passed out. He strips them down, does his business, takes photos and videos and then leaves. The women probably don’t even know he was there. I don’t know if he drugs them. I didn’t find evidence of that, but it’s easy enough for him to monitor who was drunk coming into the building and easier to get into their apartments without anyone questioning it.
If Quinn had lived here much longer, it would’ve been her or her roommate and if I don’t end him, it’ll be someone else. That is something I will not allow. He should have never looked at her. Fuck. He doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as my Quinn. Never mind him having the thoughts I know he was having about her.
I’ve killed people for thinner reasons. My moral code isn’t that strong. After all, I was a hitman. I killed for money, but this guy deserves to be gone and I’m not sorry I have an excuse. When it comes to Quinn, I’ll never let anything harm her. Even if it’s only to clear her thoughts. I will fix it. I check my watch again. The handyman is taking a while. He should’ve been here at least an hour ago. It only takes about ten minutes to get a sandwich from the deli, especially on a Tuesday night. Then again, the dude is not very habit oriented. He gets up when he feels like it, goes to sleep after he’s done stalking the women in his apartments and in between spends time