his good looks and aloof personality had seduced her. Either way, she distracted him enough to make the visits worth it, and winding up Paul by flirting with her was the cherry on the top.
Romeo backed up to the gate, winced when the cuffs pinched his wrists, then waited for Paul and Fred to give him the go ahead to come out.
He walked past the others on his wing, but didn’t blow kisses or wink to them. Then went through the next door, and past the less friendly criminals.
Justin stuck his hand through the bars of his cell, spitting curses, and stamping his feet. Romeo blew him a kiss just to hear him snarl, and Justin didn’t disappoint. He howled down the corridor, loud enough for Fred to cover his ears.
“Jesus, Romeo! Why do that?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
Holly was already waiting for him when he arrived. The same room Chad visited him in, sat in the same chair. Romeo’s traitorous heart skipped a beat, then settled into its normal bored pace. Chad wasn’t there, Holly was.
Holly, who Paul was absolutely smitten with.
“Hello, Romeo.” She smiled sweetly at him, then tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. He sat down on the chair, and tried to get comfortable, but it was impossible with his hands secured behind his back.
He’d kept Chad cuffed in the barn for days and hadn’t appreciated just how painful it was before he’d been cuffed every time he walked around the prison. His shoulders ached from the position, and his fingers tingled.
“I like the blouse, clings to your curves perfectly.”
Holly licked her lips. “Thank you, but I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
“You like me complimenting you, though.”
She didn’t respond, but spread her papers out on the table a little too fast, brushing some to the floor.
“Careful.”
Holly shook her head. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, take your time. I would offer to help, but … well, you know.”
She snorted, flashed him a fond look, then laid her papers down with shaking hands.
All different questions to ask him to get into the mind of a killer. She was writing a feature article about him for the Canster Times. She wanted to know about his upbringing, his relationships, his desire to kill.
Everything personal about himself he’d told her had been an absolute lie.
“How are you today?” she asked.
“Me? I’m great now I’ve seen you. What about you?”
She blushed and looked down at her papers, sorting through them as she got herself together. “I’m great—good, I’m good.”
Romeo could tell she fancied him, by the redness in her cheeks, her blown pupils, and the amount she licked her lips. She was only human, unlike him who was part monster.
“You’ve been writing this article on me for a long time … isn’t it finished?”
“Well mostly. It has been for a few weeks, but I want to make sure it’s right, I want it to be perfect, I’ve got big boots to fill, and a lot of our readers have been waiting for this.”
“Hopefully I won’t disappoint them.”
Holly grinned at him, all shy and sweet. “You couldn’t disappoint anyone, Romeo. The article … it’s in-depth, more a story of your life, than a focus feature on your crime.”
“But that’s what people want to read about, right? My crime.”
“The Canster Times have gone over and over the killings.”
“Not with the added details I gave you.”
Holly pursed her lips. “I guess that’s true. Not even Marc knew about the dead dogs, or the movie you left on for the police, or the phone call you made from a victim’s address.”
“Exclusive to you.” Romeo mumbled.
Holly nodded. “Yeah, thank you for that, but I’m hoping my article will go beyond the crime. Look into the root cause of why you suddenly snapped one day.”
There was no suddenly or snap—he’d always liked the idea of ending a life. Watching it seep away beneath his hands, or feet. It had started with feet. Stomping on insects, then crushing them slowly, feeling the crunch, the wetness beneath his heel. He’d been born with a need to kill.
“Romeo?”
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked about the number five.”
Romeo frowned. “The number five?”
“Yeah. I’ve always wondered if there’s a significance to the number. Did something happen when you were five years old?”
“No, nothing out of the ordinary happened when I was five.”
“Then why five victims?”
“I only got four.”
“But you were trying for five. I want to know why?”
“Five’s a nice enough number. Why not?”
“You could’ve gone for higher, ten…”
“I could’ve gone for lower, say three, then