Page 61 of Please Hate Me

I snorted. “Sebastian isn’t a cop.”

Cameron’s brows raised.

“Luce said he’s a detective.”

“And he is… I think. But there’s no way he’s a cop.”

“How do you know that?”

“He makes too much money,” I explained. “We were talking one night, and I asked what the mortgage on his house was like... just in case we all moved back to Portland.”

Cameron raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question me further. I was really hoping to keep everyone together—it would just take a little convincing to get Lucian and Cameron to agree. Lucian didn’t want to be close to his family, and Cam didn’t want to be in a big city.

“Okay, and?”

“He paid cash for his house and his car.” Which was as scary as it was impressive. “That means at some point he had approximately a million dollars in his possession…waytoo much for a cop.”

Cam’s brow furrowed.

“Wait, so, if he’s not a cop… what does hedo?”

Chapter 18

Sebastian

As far as I was concerned, I was a simple man who derived pleasure from the simple things in life: time with my girlfriend, soft sweaters and warm blankets, and the occasional piece of extra-dark chocolate. But, out of every pleasant sensation, the feeling of a job done right was my favorite—and I was thebestin my line of work. I just wished my boss would let me operate in the way I preferred.

The leather of my glove strained against the rope I was clutching as I pulled it harder. I lifted my sneaker and stomped down on the vertebrae that connected the Salem Slasher’s skull to her neck.

“Quit fuckingmoving,” I snarled.

Murderers were the scum of the earth. None of them were ever truly remorseful until they were faced with the true consequences of their actions:me. Each and every one I snuffed out made the world a better place. Normally, I was allowed to terminate their meaningless existence however I saw fit, butthis particular extermination was boring. I had been tasked with making it look like a suicide, and that just wasn’t my style.

I liked the gore that came with my job: the smell of iron, the sight of blood pouring from a gaping wound. I craved the fear in a monster’s eyes when they realized their game was over. But the agency was apparently getting tired of covering up my hack jobs. Unfortunately for them, I was too good at solving cases. They couldn’t get rid of me; even better, I was free to do whatever I wanted.

I let go of the rope, and the Slasher’s head lunged forward as she gasped for air. I rolled her onto her back, forcing her to look up at me as I grabbed my hunting knife from my belt. Her green eyes were wild with fear, and the feeling was intoxicating.

Slowly, I traced the back of my blade down her cheek. It felt like there was a hummingbird in my chest as a wicked smile tore at my lips.

“Marjorie Smith…. fifty-five… local therapist, pillar of the community,” I purred as her breath hitched. “How does it feel to be the one hunted, for once?”

Her leathery antique skin took on an ashen tone, and she swallowed hard.

“I... don’t know... what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do.” I flipped the blade of my knife, pressing it to her neck. “The Salem Slasher killed between twenty-five and thirty individuals within a ten-year period… just because you’ve been dormant for a decade doesn’t make you innocent.”

I applied a little more force, causing sanguine blood to weep from her. Soon, this room would be ripe with the scent of fresh blood, and I couldn’t wait.

The Slasher’s breathing grew frenzied, and she tried to push me off, but she wasn’t strong enough. They never were.

“Please, I can give you money, or—”

I stabbed the knife into the carpet just inches from her wretched face, and her eyes bulged like a guinea pig being held upside down. Sweat soaked her brow as she fought her screams.

“I’m not a monster, Marjorie. I’m a man with a job.”

With a heavy gulp, she met my gaze.

---