Page 22 of Dark Wishes

I don’t mind the dark. It’s always been the great equalizer, something I could rely on to keep me safe, or allow me to do my work. Early on, I found killing in the dark was easier on my conscience. Once you see something, your mind never allows you to forget it.

Things done in darkness can be denied.

This time is different. I want the shadows to dissipate, allowing me to gaze on the evidence of last night. The urge to see Selena sprawled beside me is immense—worse than hunger or dehydration.

If I don’t look... it will be like it never happened.

That sentence has been comforting to me in the past; a shield to help me pretend that twisted, terrible deeds never occurred. Not by me. Never because of me. But tonight, it makes me restless.

I have to see her.

Selena’s breathing is perpetual as the tide. Each inhale a gentle three count, her exhale a sharp two. I’ve been listening to it for an hour. I can’t bear the torture anymore. Rolling to one side, I fish my phone from the pocket of my pants where I discarded them by the bed—the same place I slipped the condom from.I’ll put it on the lowest setting so I don’t wake her.

I freeze, noticing a message on my screen from Tusk.

T: Update?

Angling my phone so the blue light cascades across Selena’s sleeping face, I take in the glorious sight of her long neck. Theblanket is loose around her stomach, her boxy shirt crinkled across her chest, exposing her left breast. The dusky nipple tempts the feral core of my being.

Across her right top-most rib is a black streak, the shape of a capitol letter F if you cut the bottom too short.She has a tattoo?I can’t tell what it’s supposed to be. I’ve seen a lot of ink, but this symbol is meaningless. It looks unfinished, as if she gave up minutes into getting the needle.

Glancing at my phone, I read Tusk’s message one more time. The responsible thing would be to tell him what’s happened so far. Rory might have contacted him out of caution—or to gossip, as he loves to do. Maybe Tusk is just curious.Or nervous,I think solemnly.He agreed to the contract, but I know how he is.

Selena is sleeping peacefully. She has no clue Tusk would prefer I kill her.

Things done in the dark can be denied.

I power my phone down, bathing the room in black again. The blue screen lingers in my vision like a phantom. I flip over to watch the ceiling; the blue imprint drags in a delayed sway, refusing to go away, Tusk’s type-font letters burning with his question.

Even when I don’t look at her, I feel her.

Gently, I slide my fingers across the blanket between us. I know where her hand is—I memorized its position like a snapshot in my mind. My fingers curl over hers; she twitches, I brace myself, preparing for her to wake. If she does, I’ll yank my hand away and pretend I’m asleep.

Selena’s breathing returns to a three count.

Ever so softly I wrap my hand around hers, enjoying the silkiness of her skin, the knobs of her knuckles. They’re nothing like mine in shape or texture or deeds.These are innocent hands.

I'll make sure they stay that way.

***

I’m awake before I open my eyes. The hint of color shines through my lids, the heavy curtains in my bedroom allowing a slip of light around the edges of the window frame.What time is it?I’d meant to go downstairs to my couch, but I’d passed out instead. I’ve never been this drained in—I can’t recall. I’m a light sleeper by habit. Crashing hard with business left unfinished is new.

I twist onto my elbow, expecting to see Selena, but finding a wrinkled section of empty bed.

Jerking upwards I throw my covers aside. “Selena?” I say out loud. There’s no response from the master bathroom—the door is cracked wide; I see the shower and toilet and no sign of her.

Where the fuck did she go?

A taste like battery acid rises along my throat and tongue. In just my boxers I march out of my bedroom, striding with purpose down the hall, the stairs, searching every room for Selena.

Each square foot I explore increases my heartrate. The pit in my guts is sucking my hope away, building my panic until I’m running through the halls.

It happened. I knew it could happen.

Ever since that day, I knew this was possible.

I snatch a knife off the butcher block in the kitchen. It’s not my preferred weapon, but I left the bedroom so hastily I didn’t grab my normal blade. The gun from last night is under my pillow upstairs. Her gun is still in my jacket on the granite island—an option, but I don’t know that weapon well enough to trust it.

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