Page 188 of The Night Shift
“You have literally never spoken about your sister —”or your family for that matter, “— how was I supposed to just know that Emily is your sister?”
“I guess, that’s fair.”
Damn right it is. “So, why don’t you?”
His gaze flicks up. “Why don’t I what?”
“Talk about your family.”
For a moment, something shifts behind his eyes. Something solemn that makes my chest feel tight.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “There’s nothing much to talk about.”
I expect him to stop there. You know, act all broody and burdened about whatever his deeply troubled family dynamic is — something that explains his mental disorder of stalking a poor, innocent woman like me. But instead, he goes on.
“My mother died three years ago.” His voice is steady, but there’s a cold and sharp edge beneath it. “My dad’s a raging arsehole. And my dear, sweet Em is the most important lady in my life.” His eyes linger on my face a beat too long. “Well. One of.”
I try (and fail) to ignore the flutter in my chest.
“What about you?” he asks.
“What about me?”
“Tell me about your family.”
“As my stalker, shouldn’t you know all that already?”
He shrugs. “Some mystery is good in a relationship.”
I glare at him. “We arenotin a relationship.”
“Come on, love. Don’t deflect. What’s your story?” His sleeve is rolled up and his toned forearm is smeared with blood. I can’t look away.
“Excuse me?”
“I told you mine.”
I scoff. “My dad is an assholeis not a story. It’s just a thing.”
Theo keeps looking at me expectantly.
“I don’t have a story.”
“So, you just woke up one morning and decided to start sticking knives in people?”
“Notpeople. Men. And yes, that’s the basic gist of it.” I don’t even know how we landed here. Wasn’t he apologizing for not stalking me a few minutes ago? Can we go back to that?
“When was the first time you killed someone?” he asks.
“You’re a really shit stalker if you don’t already know.”
“I started stalking you two weeks in of knowing you. Are you telling me you never killed anyone before then?”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“Does it have something to do with the girl in the picture frame? Audrey, was it?” He’s digging now. He’s fully aware that the girl in the frame wasn’t Audrey.
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
