Page 203 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

I want to scream.

Mostly, I just want to disappear.

Tonight should have been a victory.

We watched from the van—every monster hauled out one by one, including the mayor.

No shots fired. No bodies dropped.

The girls were rescued. The warrants were already flying before the dust even settled.

It should have felt like winning.

But it doesn’t.

It feels like sitting at the bottom of the ocean, the weight of everything crushing me, no air left to breathe, nowhere to put the hurt clawing through my insides.

When the front door creaks open, I don’t flinch.

I already know it’s him.

The man who never knocks, never hesitates, never asks permission.

He steps inside like he belongs, the sound of boots on hardwood grounding me in a way that terrifies me more than anything else.

I run to him.

No hesitation. No thought.

I collide with him mid-step, my body crumpling into his chest, sobbing so violently it rips the air from my lungs.

He catches me without a word.

Strong arms wrap around me, steady and unmoving, like the world can fall apart and he won’t.

I bury my face in the thick fabric of his hoodie, fists clenched, holding on like it’ll keep me from drowning.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just holds me.

Lets me fall apart without judgment.

The tears slow eventually, but my mind doesn’t.

It runs in jagged, vicious loops, pulling up things I can’t seem to shut off.

Of course, my first thought goes to Declan.

The way his hand cradled my jaw. The way his breath brushed my lips.

The ache to close the distance and taste him.

The wish that it was him who walked through my door.

Instead—I’m in the arms of another man.

Another predator.

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