Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
She doesn’t exactly live in a safe area, and any other girl wouldn’t feel comfortable walking the streets alone at night. Hell, she doesn’t even flinch when a man passes her, and she doesn’t hold on to her bag a little tighter or cross to the other side of the street when someone leers a little too long. But it’s fine. She has me watching her back now. Nothing will happen to her as long as I’m with her . . . at least, not yet.
A thrill shoots through me at what’s to come. I always knew there was something a little wrong with me, something a little different, but it feels too good to give up now. I’m in too deep. There’s nothing quite like a little childhood trauma to fuck with a grown man and turn him into a walking red flag. But hell, every man’s a little fucked up these days, I’m just a little higher on the scale.
Though, am I really that bad?
Sure, murdering women in cold blood is a little frowned upon here and there, but it’s not like I’m going around breaking their hearts and making promises that I’m never going to keep. Who’s the real monster here? An observant guy who just happens to like following a woman home to make sure she’s safe, or a piece of shit boyfriend whose pull-out game is weak?
When a woman comes toe-to-toe with me, she knows what she’s getting. I’m up-front about what I want, what I’m going to do to her, and hell, I might even give her a screaming orgasm before ending her life. But I draw the line at being a shitty boyfriend. There’s nothing worse than a man who leads a woman on, promises her the world, and then the next minute, he’s fucking her best friend in the bathroom at Whataburger while she’s busy slurping on a shake.
Fuck. Men are real fucking bastards sometimes.
As for Kyah, I almost feel bad that I’m going to end her life, but the question is, when? I intend to enjoy her first. I’m going to open her eyes to a whole new world, and by the time her life is slipping away, it’ll be because she wants it, she’ll beg me to push her to the breaking point and set her world on fire. And those sweet, desperate screams, they won’t be made out of fear. No, they’ll be made out of pure ecstasy and pleasure.
It’s gonna be fucking amazing, the sweetest rush, just like when you’re ordering McDonalds and they accidentally give you an extra cheeseburger for free. Pure bliss.
Besides, I’ve been watching Kyah for a while. I know the men who’ve been trying to get between those pretty thighs, and they’re no good for her. It’s best I take her off their hands before they do something stupid like touching what’s mine. I’m sure some won’t see it this way, but honestly, I’m doing her a favor by saving her the heartbreak and regret. All men should strive to be a little more like me. They could really learn a few lessons. But I draw the line at teaching them how to make their kills. That’s far too personal to be sharing. Besides, most men are fucking idiots, and soon enough, one of them will get caught and end up giving the feds my name, and then my whole game would be over, and who wants that?
Unlike moronic, messy men, Kyah is still a mystery to me. I need to know more about her, need to get closer, and that’s exactly what I intend to do.
She talks on her phone and stops outside her apartment complex, and I keep walking, taking advantage of her moment of distraction. As she hashes in the front door code for her building, my gaze shifts over the keypad.
3821
I’ve known this code for weeks, yet every time I watch her hash it in, I can’t help but watch. It’s like a thrill, a dark secret between me and Kyah, something she shares with me every time she touches the keypad. If only she knew.
I keep walking, not wanting to draw her attention, and the second she disappears inside her building, I cross the road before doubling back and pausing in front of the building directly opposite of hers. I lean up against the wall, my foot propped up with my phone pressed against my ear, looking like every other asshole lingering out on the street.
My gaze lifts to Kyah’s building, impatience brimming through my chest as I wait. Then finally, a light turns on in the bedroom window on the right-hand side of the third floor.
Kyah walks in front of the window, her blinds left open, and I watch as she peels off her black tank and tosses it across the room. She kicks off her shoes and then her jeans, leaving her in nothing but a bra and panties.