Page 54 of To Love a Monster
Chapter Twenty
Nikolai
Lila’s breathing isshallow but steady.Her posture is rigid, her shoulders squared like she’s bracing for impact but there’s no fear in her eyes.Not anymore.Just a quiet, burning resolve.
“I’ll bait him,” she says.My jaw flexes.Not because I doubt her but because I fucking hate that it’s come to this.That this is the only way to control the outcome.But it is.
I nod once.Not because I’m sure it’ll work or because I like any part of this.But because we don’t have the luxury of waiting anymore.The silence between us hardens into something else, something sharp and tactical.
We already know who the enemy is.Now it’s about how to make him bleed.“We’ll start prepping tonight,” I say, voice low and calm.“Cameras are already in place in the living area and just outside.Four angles.Two inside, two out.Motion sensors on the back porch and the front steps.I’ll monitor everything from the woods.”
Lila’s head snaps toward me.“Wait, cameras?”
“Yeah,” I say, without flinching.“Had them up before you got here.”She blinks, her mouth opening slightly.“You bugged my cabin?”
“Surveilled,” I correct.“Big difference.”Her eyes narrow a little, but there’s no heat behind it.
More surprise than anything else.“You really set all that up before we even spoke.”
“I needed to see who was coming and going,” I say.“Who was watching you.If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have picked up Carl casing the perimeter a few nights ago.”She exhales, running a hand through her hair, then gestures vaguely.“So where are they?”
I reach for the phone on the coffee table, tap the screen, and pull up the camera grid.Each square comes to life, faintly glowing shots of her front door, the woods, the hallway near the kitchen, the main living room.I hand it to her.“That’s your front porch.There’s a pin-cam in the birdhouse and that one,” I point to the interior feed, “is behind the third air vent above the bookshelf.”
She turns toward the bookshelf, eyes scanning.“You drilled into my wall?”
“Adhesive mount.No damage, I promise.Now,” I say carefully, “you’re the one in control.You invite him in, decide how far you’re willing to go to keep him distracted.I’ll be watching every second.”
Then quietly, without looking away from the camera feed, she asks, “What should I say to him?Should I try to get anything out of him?Ask questions?”
I study her face, how carefully composed it is, even with that storm still building behind her eyes.She’s willing and ready to help.But there's no way I’m letting her play double agent.Not with someone like him.“No,” I say firmly.“You don’t need to push for anything.Don’t try to outsmart him.That’s not the goal.”
Her gaze flicks to me.“Then what is?”
“Distraction,” I say.“That’s all.You keep him inside.Keep him talking and comfortable.He’s good at reading people, so don’t give him a reason to be suspicious.No sudden changes, try not to show any nerves.Just ...be who he thinks you are.Like you don’t know anything.”
She swallows hard.“I don’t know if I can pull this off.”
“You can.”My voice softens just enough to cut through her doubt.“And you’ll have me in your ear the whole way.”
She nods but there’s still a question there, I can see it rising behind her lips.“And then what?When he’s inside, when he’s comfortable, what then?”
I lean back, folding my hands.“There’s a compound called oral transmucosal etomidate, it’s both tasteless and odorless.It can be absorbed through the mouth lining and dissolves in under ten seconds if it’s stirred into something like wine or soda.It’ll knock him out.”
Her lips part slightly, eyes widening.“He’ll be unconscious?”
“Fully,” I say.“Fast onset, under six minutes if it absorbs properly and no memory of anything after it hits the bloodstream.”
“And how long will he stay under?”
“Two to three hours.Honestly, it depends on how his system processes it.But I won’t give him that long.”I pause.“You won’t have to handle the dose directly.I’ll make sure it’s powdered and sealed in a heat-stable film.All you’ll have to do is stir it into his drink.”
She swallows and nods once.“Okay.”For a second, neither of us speaks.The plan just hangs there, suspended between what we want to happen and what could go wrong if even one detail slips.Then she asks, voice quieter now.“And once he’s unconscious ...what do we do then?”
I meet her eyes.“Then I come in, restrain him, secure the house, and confirm we’re not being monitored.Once I’ve got him tied up, I’m going to get everything I can out of him.Information, contacts, orders.Anything that tells us who else is in on this and how deep it goes.”
