Page 40 of The Hellkeeper

He shrugs. “I like to spoil you.”

My chest warms. What is wrong with me? This man confessed to having been a hitman, a person who killed and earned money from it at some point. Yet, here I am, absolutely swooning over his every word.

I lower myself to the edge of the bed and start pulling my hair out of its braid. He watches, just like a predator caught mid-hunt but fascinated by the stillness.

“You can’t sleep here forever,” he grumbles.

“It’s not forever,” I say, combing my fingers through tangled strands. “Just until I figure things out.”

“Or until I give you something better.”

“What does that mean?”

He doesn’t answer, and I choose to move on from the subject.

“You’re always here,” I whisper. “Do you ever go home?”

He pushes off the doorframe slowly and crosses the room. Closer. Closer still.

“This is home,” he says. “Wherever you are.”

My pulse stumbles. “That’s—” I start, but the words evaporate. Too much. Too fast. Too dark. And I’m starting to hate how precious that makes me feel.

Silence stretches between us, but it’s not empty. It’s loaded with everything we’re not saying; things I’m not ready to admit.

I hear him move. Just one step back. A mercy.

“Sleep,” he says. “I’ll be here.”

He always is. Even when I don’t see him, or when I wish I didn’t feel safer because of it.

I lie down, facing the wall, and he doesn’t say goodnight. The lights go off with a click, and the shadows crawl in. Stillness. Quiet. Him. And something inside me splinters open at the realization that I stopped being afraid of the dark the moment he stepped into it. But even in this darkness, I feel that he is watching me. I’ve become attuned to him.

“You’re staring,” I accuse, eyes closed.

“I can’t help it. I’m always thinking,” he confesses. “About you.”

I snort. “That’s not creepy at all.”

He doesn’t laugh, because for him, it’s not meant to be funny…it’s a confession.

“Alright, stalker. What are you thinking now?”

“I’m wondering how you ended up here. Alone. In a back room that smells like damp cardboard and tomatoes.”

I don’t know why I feel comfortable enough to spill my darkest secrets and my biggest sin. Maybe it’s because he opened up to me. I have no idea, but I give in to this urge to expose myself to this man.

“They were going to burn me,” I say softly.

Silence. A beat. Then—

“What?” The word slices the air.

Something in the room shifts, like the pressure has changed. Like the walls are holding their breath.

“They picked me,” I continue. “The cult. My village. Whatever you want to call it. Every five years, they choose a girl. A virgin. A sacrifice to the creature of rot and fire.” I let out a breathless laugh. “They told me I’d be a blessing.”

He still hasn’t spoken.

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