"That would be really nice of you." She glances at me and smiles.
"I've always held the belief that men and women can't really be friends. One party always wants to fuck the other," I say, glancing at her with an eyebrow raised and a coy smile. "But who the hell am I to say? I don't have any friends."
"Well"—she crosses her arms—"I disagree. Not everything's about fucking, you know?"
I laugh, finding her naivety amusing. "Oh, dear, don't you know? The world revolves around money and fucking."
She glares at me, arms still crossed. "For certain people…" A smirk dances over her red lips. "I'm sure it does."
"I suppose love is in the mix somehow." I look at her out of the corner of my eye. "Tell me, Miranda, have you ever been in love?"
She laughs, shaking her head, her hair falling softly over her shoulders as my fingers beg to get tangled in it. "Love is a crock of shit.”
A sudden burst of laughter erupts from my mouth. I slap the steering wheel hard a few times. "I feel I may have underestimated you. Here I was thinking you were the glass-half-full type."
"Yeah, well, I can assure you I'm not."
"I do believe in love. As black as my little heart may be, I do believe in this world, there is someone for every asshole." I pull the car off the county round and onto the long, pitch-black driveway leading to my cabin. "It's just a matter of stumbling into them. And not ever letting them slip away."
"Well, if that's the case, I've yet to stumble across my asshole, I guess." She shakes her head.
I loop the car around the front of the cabin and park just to the side of it. Opening my door, I nearly trip over myself trying to get over to Miranda's side fast enough to open the door for her. She's got it halfway open by the time I get to the passenger’s side, but I hold it for her regardless. She'll like that.
She looks up at me. "Oh, thanks…"
She steps out and slips past me. I trail her to the front door, my eyes tracing the curve of her ass, lost in the thought of what kind of underwear she's wearing. And the thought of them balled up and stuffed into her mouth.
No. I don't want to hurt her. How could I? I love her.
I unlock the front door and open it, letting her go in first before I follow. The cabin is completely still and dark. Perfect.
She flips the switch on the wall, and the front room lights up. Her eyes drift from my face, down my body. She wants me, and she's making it evident. I smile until her gaze stops on my legs, her eyes widening and her brow scrunching.
"Edwin…" she says softly.
I look down to the exact place her gaze has landed. Blood. In spots near my knee.
"Is that…" Her eyes narrow. "Is that…” Her perfect little brows pinch together, shooting a jolt of want through me. “Is that blood?"
I laugh, shaking my head and drawing my focus back to her. "How funny is that? Cut myself the other day chopping wood." I hold up my thumb and flash an inch-long gash down the side. It's a few days healed, and it was from an ax all right, but I wasn't chopping wood. "It busted back open earlier today. Must not have noticed." I shrug and flash her a toothy smile. "Though I guess you didn't notice either, did you?"
Stepping back, she shakes her head. "No, I didn't." A smile flinches over her lips, followed by a short, uncertain laugh. "Well, good night." She turns on her heel and heads toward the hallway.
"Good night, Miranda," I call as she disappears into the darkness.
She doesn't see it, but I'm smiling. I'm smiling because there's a yearning inside me, alive and feeding off of her, growing in intensity with each passing day. I want her. I need her. And with every drop of willpower I can muster, I fight the urge to follow her into her room, take what I've wanted all this time, and give her what she wants in return. I know she yearns for me too. How could she not? It's only a matter of time before I make her mine.
It’s only a matter of time before we kill as one.
“Cry Little Sister”—Gerard McMann
"How fresh?" I ask Tommy as we cross the busy street, evening rush hour well under way. I cradle a full coffee—probably my twentieth of the day—in both hands as Tommy manhandles two donuts. I stopped counting those around lunchtime.
"Examiners think within the last twenty-four. They figured we'd want to get a look at it before they carted her off." He chuckles, his mouth full of pastry. "It's a mess, partner."
"So I've been told. You said an abandoned house off Twelfth, right?" I ask just as we meet the intersection of Twelfth and Stark.
"Yeah." He points at a decrepit house a few hundred feet away blocked off by police tape with a clutter of personnel spread out around the area. Curious neighbors have taken to their porches. Tommy chuckles again, swallowing the last of his donut. "Fuckin' stray dog pulled the bitch's foot out of the house and into the street. That's how they fuckin' found her."
"You shitting me?"
"Do I ever?"