Page 45 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

You do whatever you have to.

My jaw tightens.

Maybe I’m not a fighter. Maybe I wasn’t built for this kind of justice.

But if I turn back now . . . someone else won’t get the chance to.

And I don’t think I could live with that.

I quicken my pace, trying to keep my footsteps light as the alley curves out of view. I round the corner, expecting to catch a glimpse of his hoodie, the back of his head, anything?—

But there’s nothing.

My breath catches as my pace falters. I scan left, then right. My heart starts to race for a different reason.Where did he go?

A flutter of movement to my left makes me spin. Nothing.

I press forward again, deeper into the shadows now, where the city’s heartbeat seems to slow. Another turn. Another empty stretch. The buildings here are older. Forgotten.

And then, without warning?—

BAM.

He hits me hard from the side, the full weight of his body knocking me sideways into a rusted service door of an old warehouse.

The force sends it crashing open, hinges shrieking. My shoulder hits first, then my hip. The floor is cold and unyielding as I land with a jolt.

The door slams behind us with a sound that echoes too loudly, and in the sudden enclosure, everything stills.

I try to push myself up, but he’s already over me—blocking out the moonlight, breathing heavy, smiling that same awful smile that I swear I’ll see in my dreams for the rest of my life.

The knife—I dropped it. Somewhere in the fall.

I can’t breathe. Can’t move fast enough.

This isn’t the version I practiced in my head. This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

And yet, somehow . . . I think I always knew it might come to this.

Because monsters don’t slink away quietly when you follow them into the dark.

They turn, and they pounce.

“You should’ve stayed in your courtroom, sweetheart,” he grunts against me.

Concrete meets my back like a punch. Cold. Hard. Filthy.

“Now you get to find out what it’s like when no one comes to save you.”

My shoulder jars against the broken tile of the entryway floor as he slams me down, pinning me beneath him with the weight of someone who’s done this before.

He grins down at me, his breath sour and heavy. “You know, I’ve thought about this,” he murmurs near my ear, voice low and thick with cruelty. “Every day in that fucking courtroom.”

My body reacts before my mind does.

I thrash—hard. Panic floods me, white-hot and electric.

My knee jerks up, catches him between the legs, but not hard enough. He grunts, rage igniting in his eyes.

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