Page 220 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Buzz.

UNKNOWN: Make him leave. Or I will.

My heart kicks hard.

Graham crouches—reaching for Dexter like he’s petting a golden retriever, not a plaid-clad war criminal in dog form.

“Don’t—” I start.

Too late.

Dexter lunges.

Snaps.

Snarls like he’s auditioning for a prison riot.

Graham yelps, jerking back.

His face contorts like he’s not sure whether to sue me or disinfect his soul.

I slap a hand over my mouth to smother the laugh clawing its way out.

“Bad boy,” I scold, half-hearted at best, tugging Dexter back.

Buzz.

UNKNOWN: Good boy.

UNKNOWN: Let him bite the fucker so I don’t have to.

I roll my eyes so hard I might sprain something.

“Sorry, Graham, what was your?—”

POPPY: Stop stalking me.

I jab the screen mid-sentence.

Immediate reply.

UNKNOWN: Can’t. I tried.

And the worst part?

I like it.

I shouldn’t.

It’s unhinged.

It’s toxic.

It’s… intoxicating.

“Um, Poppy?” Graham blinks at me, still trying to recover from Dexter’s assassination attempt.

Before I can answer, another text buzzes in:

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