“I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with me.”
Amusement sparkled in his eyes. As if he was aware of her covert attempt to inch away, and was enjoying her futile efforts. Like a cat toying with a cornered rat.
“We were enjoying our games, but I knew something was missing. We didn’t have a focus for our club.” With one long step he was once again directly in front of her, his foul breath brushing over her face. “And then a friend brought me a copy of your book. I was instantly inspired. Because of you, I knew my true calling. I was destined to kill.”
Her mouth went dry. She originally feared that the stalker—or stalkers—had chosen her because of the book. Then she’d feared it had been because of her past. And then, because of her family.
Who could have known that all her suspicions had been right?
It was insanity.
“That’s not why I wrote it,” she said, the words sounding ridiculous.
Ronnie seemed to think so too. His eyes darkened with a strange emotion.
“I don’t believe you.” He reached up to grasp her throbbing chin. “You’re fascinated with death just like I am.”
“No,” she breathed in horror.
His fingers squeezed, his pleasure visibly deepening as she whimpered in pain.
“Why else would you write the book? You were drawn to the dark side.” He leaned down until their noses were nearly touching. “Just like me.”
She pressed against the wall, wishing it would open up and swallow her. Anything would be better than being trapped alone with this deranged psychopath.
“I’m nothing like you,” she denied, refusing to let him think that she had any connection to his sick fantasies.
“Yes, you are,” he insisted, a fine spray of spit coating her face. “We might not have been raised as brother and sister, but we were baptized in blood.”
The horrifying vision of Ronnie standing in the kitchen with her parents’ bloody and broken bodies lying at his feet once again seared through her head.
Lifting her hands, she shoved them against his chest.
“No!” she screamed.
*
Ronnie laughed.
He’d spent nearly an hour watching Carrie lie unconscious, anticipating the moment she would open her eyes and realize that he was the one who had been leading her directly into his trap.
He’d anticipated the rush of pleasure he would feel at her fear, and then the glorious horror as he revealed his ability to precisely imitate the infamous killers in her book.
She would have no choice but to marvel at his cunning.
But instead of making his grand announcement, Carrie had distracted him with endless questions about the past.
He didn’t want to think back to the gutless boy who’d been desperate for a father. Or remember the times Stuart Jacobs had walked past him as if he was nothing better than a bug.
That had been more painful than the blows from Andrew and the sharp words of disappointment from his mother whenever they caught him spying on the master of the house.
Now, however, he at last had what he wanted.
Carrie was visibly trembling as she stared at him with wide eyes. He could almost taste her fear.
This was the power he’d craved. The ability to prove that he might not carry the Jacobs name, but he was just as capable of greatness.
No, he was more capable.
Any idiot could go to business school and run a company. Lawrence Jacobs was proof of that. The fool didn’t even know what was going on beneath his nose.
But Ronnie had created magic out of chaos. He’d taken his violent needs and molded them into purpose, not only for himself, but for other misfits who struggled to find their way in the darkness.
And then he’d found his ultimate inspiration, and he’d known exactly what his fate was destined to be.
“I read your book over and over, studying the killers until I understood the precise manner they stalked their victims and their preference for satisfying their most basic urges,” he told Carrie. “And, of course, how they each displayed their trophies.”
She licked her lips, her hands continuing to push at his chest.
“You killed those women in Kansas.”
He trembled with remembered bliss. For the first time he’d been able to act out the years of fantasies.
He’d hunted for the whore who reminded him of Carrie. He’d stolen the truck and lured her into the back. Then he’d raped her as she screamed in terror. And then he’d bashed in her skull.
It’d been extraordinary.
And watching the other Kill Club members live out their own fantasies had only added to his excitement.
He truly had been a god. A man worshipped by disciples as he determined who would live and who would die.
“Not only in Kansas,” he said, slightly disappointed she didn’t seem to know about his other trophies. “There are more victims in Baltimore. And here. I have the newest pictures.” He squeezed her chin until she cried out in pain. “Would you like to see them?”
Her hands moved to grasp his wrist, her eyes swimming with tears. But she didn’t whimper again. Instead, she sucked in a shaky breath, her eyes darting from side to side as she tried to think of how to keep him talking.
His lips twitched. He wondered if she truly thought he was so stupid he didn’t realize what she was doing?
Naturally, she was hoping she could distract him so she could try to escape. Or maybe she hoped that someone might appear out of thin air to rescue her.
Whatever. He was willing to play along. Now that he had her in his grasp, they had all the time in the world.
“Were you the one who cut my arm at the hotel in Kansas?” she finally asked.
“I couldn’t resist,” he admitted. “I’d been watching you on TV, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to see you in person.”
Her brows pulled together and he was sharply reminded of her mother. Mrs. Jacobs had never liked him. Even when he’d been on his best behavior. He’d always assumed it was because she suspected he was her husband’s illegitimate son. Whatever the reason, he’d taken great pleasure in blowing her face off with a shotgun.
“You hurt me,” she said.
He allowed his fingers to slide downward, lightly circling her throat.
“A promise for the future,” he told her.
She tensed at his unspoken warning, her face draining of color. Still, she didn’t give in to panic.
Instead, she met his gaze squarely. “How did you know I would be there?”
He shrugged. “The institute is filled with people who have interesting hobbies,” he said. “One of my fellow inmates happened to have some skills at hacking. He also has an addiction to painkillers. I send him a few pills and he keeps track of you.”
She didn’t look surprised. Almost as if she’d already suspected he’d been using a computer to follow her movements.
“How did you get out of the hospital?” she asked.
“My mother died.”
This time he did manage to shock her. Her eyes widened before she gave a slow shake of her head.
“I don’t understand.”
He released his hold on her chin and stepped back. He didn’t want her to see that he still suffered from the loss of his mother.
She’d lied to him. She’d forced him to live with that brute Andrew. And she’d put him in an institute. He should hate her.
But she’d also been the only one to love him. And in her way, she’d tried to protect him. When she’d died, it had stolen his last claim to humanity.
“I was never charged with a crime, so I could have walked away anytime I wanted,” he said, turning to the side to hide his expression. “But my mother never trusted my assurance that I was all better and would never hurt anyone again.”
“Your mother was right,” Carrie muttered. “You couldn’t be trusted.”
“She threatened to tell the authorities everything if I left the institute,” he admitted. “It was her last way of controlling me.”
“And then she died.”
Ronnie curled his hands into fists, stiffening his spine. His mother was gone. He’d mourned her passing and moved on with his life.