Killer Crush - Ella Goode Page 0,33
selling his homemade porn stuff. I debated nuking his hard drive, but figured the police will need it to track down some of the buyers and contact the victims. I’ve made it all easy for them to find. I am making the world a safer place for my girl. It might not be the way others go about it, but it is the only way for me. I am using my skills to keep her safe in the one way I know how.
The front door opens and the handyman stomps in. His keys make a clinking sound as they hit the table. I hear the faint buzz of the refrigerator as he opens it. He pops a bottle cap off and the small metal piece pings against another surface—probably the sink.
He takes precisely six minutes and forty-eight seconds to drink his beer, rifle through his mail, and then piss. From the sounds, he drinks while he’s pissing. And if he didn’t deserve to die for the other things, that seems like a good enough reason in and of itself.
The toilet flushes and he strolls into the bedroom, flipping on the lights—or trying to. I’ve disconnected the electrical connections.
“Fuck, what now?” he mutters. He tries it again, but the switch is dead. “This stupid ass of a building. I should have quit years ago.”
“But how would you stalk your prey if you didn’t work here?” I ask.
“What the fuck?” he yells, frightened by my voice.
I flick on a flashlight and shine it in his eyes. His hand comes up. “Are you wearing my fucking sweatshirt?” His eyes squint as he tries to make me out.
I am, and a pair of his pants and his boots—all over a skintight neoprene bodysuit. Any blood or fibers from his apartment will stick to those items and not my clothes. It makes it easier for me, not that he needs to know that. I ask my own questions. “If you didn’t work here, how would you be able to take advantage of the drunk and unconscious women? Would you start hunting them at bars or clubs and drugging them in the parking lot?”
His hand comes up to block the light. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I turn off the flashlight and jab my index finger against the keyboard and the computer screen lights up. “Look familiar?”
He lunges forward to turn off the monitor, tripping over his own feet and nearly doing a header into the desk. The guy’s got no coordination. He fumbles around, searching for the power button and eventually just yanks the power cord from the wall, sending the room into darkness again. He thinks the computer is his problem? It really is the last thing he should be worrying about right now. I am going to make him regret every decision he’s ever made. By the time I’m done with him, he won’t be able to say his own name. Least of all Quinn’s.
“This is private shit, man,” he exclaims.
“Call the police then. Let’s have you explain all of this.” As if I’d really call them. Why bother? They are likely busy. I can take care of this for everyone. My mind drifts to Quinn. I picture her face, wondering what she is doing right now.
He doesn’t respond right away. In the silence, my phone rings. It’s Quinn. “Think about it while I take this call.” I turn a little away from him, not wanting to look at him while I talk to her.
“You’re seriously going to talk to someone—” I hold up my hand and he falls silent immediately. I’m glad we’re on the same wavelength. He likely doesn't know what to do right now. He can’t call the police. He’ll put it all together shortly.
“Babe? Something wrong?” I speak into the phone. Maybe I shouldn't have answered it right now but I couldn't help myself. What if something is really wrong?
“I felt a disturbance in the force,” she jokes. Could she have really felt me thinking about her? I know it’s impossible but I thought a lot of things were impossible before her. “Just kidding. I was worried about you. Is everything going okay?” I can hear the worry in her voice she is trying to hide. Of course she is worried. This is all so new to her. She is taking who and what I am far easier than I ever thought she would. I didn't know how good it would feel to have her know all the