Page 148 of X Marks the Stalker
I unwrap a chocolate bar from my pocket, breaking it into pieces. No one comments on my nervous habit anymore.
“We are serial killers,” Thorne continues, the words hanging in the air. “We kill because we need to. It’s a compulsion, a drive that cannot be ignored. Xander must watch. Calloway must create. I must execute justice.”
He leans forward, fingers steepled. “Your drive was vengeance for your parents. Now that Blackwell is dead, that drive is satisfied.”
“What Thorne is asking,” Xander translates, his eyes fixed on mine, “is whether you still feel the need to kill now that your mission is complete.”
I consider this. The nail gun in my hand. The weight of the knife during training. The rush of power when the gas station attendant fell. Were those moments just a means to an end, or something more?
“So,” Thorne asks, “do you want to be a part of us?”
Chapter 36
Oakley
“They’re saying a vigilante killed Richard Blackwell,” Zara says, leaning close over the pounding bass.
My mother’s silver locket freezes between my fingers mid-twist. The man who destroyed my family is dead, and here I am, sipping a gin and tonic in a crowded nightclub like I didn’t help plan his murder.
Bass thrums through my veins, mingling with adrenaline and something darker. Across the club, hidden in shadow, I know Xander watches—my co-conspirator, my lover, my complexity.
I clutch my drink tighter, ice cubes tinkling against glass like tiny warning bells while Zara swirls something electric blue with an umbrella jutting from its sugary depths.
It feels surreal to be here after everything that’s happened. Normal. Almost like I’m playing a role.
“So.” Zara leans forward, her box braidsswinging over her shoulder to rest on her chest, gold cuffs catching the strobing lights. “It’s all over the news. Richard Blackwell found dead in his fancy panic room. They’re saying it was some deranged vigilante.”
I take a slow sip of my drink, ice clicking against my teeth. “I saw.”
“The papers are calling it ‘poetic justice.’ All those documents discovered.” Zara studies my face with the intensity she reserves for diagnosing skin conditions on her canine clients. “The papers are reporting that your parents’ case might be reopened.” That Blackwell framed your dad.”
My finger traces a water ring on the table. “They found everything in his home. Records of payoffs, doctored evidence.”
“Oak.” Zara reaches across the table, her warm fingers closing over mine. “How are you? Really?”
The question hangs between us like smoke. How am I? Relieved? Satisfied? The weight that’s lived in my chest for twelve years suddenly...lighter?
“I’m glad he’s dead,” I say, words bubbling up from somewhere primal and raw. “I keep waiting to feel bad about it, but I don’t. There’s only relief.”
Zara nods. “Your parents deserved justice.”
“They deserved to be alive.” My throat tightens as I twist my mother’s locket. “But the truth is out now. The department’s reopening all my dad’s cases. His name will be cleared.” Another sip, longer this time. “They can rest now. My parents. They can finally have peace.”
“And you?” Zara asks. “Can you?”
I look up at her, my oldest friend who’s stood by me through everything. Who brought me Jamaican beef pattieswhen I was too obsessed with work to eat. Who never once told me to give up on my parents’ case, even when everyone else did.
“I think I’m getting there,” I say, surprised to find I mean it. “What about you? How’s the family restaurant situation?”
Zara’s face breaks into a wide grin, her eyes lighting up. “Amazing. That hotel chain contract? It saved everything. My parents had to hire three new people just to keep up with orders.”
“That’s great, Z,” I say, happy for her despite knowing more than I should. “How much is the contract worth?”
“Triple their monthly revenue,” Zara says, taking a victory sip of her rum punch. “Dad threw out the duct-taped mixer. They bought new equipment. They’re so happy.”
I smile, picturing Thorne—or at least I assume it was Thorne. It’s too much of a coincidence to be anyone else. A single phone call from him, a life-changing miracle for Zara’s family.
I take another sip of my drink, following Zara’s animated gesturing as she describes the new kitchen equipment.
