Page 22 of A Very Killer Christmas
The fluttering in my belly intensifies as I stare at his expression. He seems exasperated, a bit earnest, and very determined.
I don’t dare believe him, yet my body feels light and fizzy, as if drunk on his words.
“Who was the person you killed?” I ask, because I desperately need reminding about who he is.
Rowley frowns, taken aback by the change of topic, but finally nods.
“That’s fair. Okay. I said I’d be honest, and if you want to know, I’ll tell you.”
I watch as he collects his thoughts. He’s still on the floor, sitting on his heels now. I suddenly wish he’d sit on my bed, but that’s a very dangerous direction.
“Gerard Fletcher worked as a contractor for one of the Big Pharma companies. He got wind of some falsified studies that led to ineffective but very expensive drugs being approved for sale. After his contract ended, the moron decided it would be a good idea to blackmail the company. He said he’d blow the whistle if they didn’t pay him fifty million dollars. They preferred to pay me one puny million to get rid of the problem.”
I try to digest this, and even though I do my best to focus on what matters—themurder—all I think about are the numbers.
He said he’s wealthy, but I never imagined he meant likethis.
“Let me get this straight. You made one million dollars last night? And you say you’ve killed seventeen people altogether? Does that mean you’re a multi-millionaire?”
He shrugs, though his pleased expression betrays that he’s proud of himself. “I mean, my rates used to be lower. I increased them as I gained my reputation. Until tonight, I was flawless and very discreet. Can I sit on your bed or lie down with you? It will be more comfortable. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
Just like with the kiss before, I find myself nodding before my brain has a chance to weigh in. Rowley shoots me a wide, quick grin and jumps to his feet. The mattress dips as he urges me to lie down, too, and then he’s under my comforter, his jean-clad legs tangling with my bare ones as we face each other.
“Smells so good,” he says after taking a long, blissful breath. “This is nice. You can ask whatever you want, and I’ll tell you everything, no lies, no omissions. It feels great to get this stuff off my chest.”
Great. Yes. I have a bona fide serial killer in my bed and can ask himanything, yet all my brain can come up with is,“Can I see you naked again?”
“Um, okay,” I begin, forcing my frontal lobe to do some work. “So, uh. Right. Why did you become a killer?”
He smiles like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, his eyes crinkling pleasantly with male satisfaction. I guess my face is red. It feels hot, just like the rest of my body.
“Because of my father, actually. He taught me the ropes.”
My eyes widen, and I’m not thinking about naked body parts sliding together anymore. “What?Your father was a serial killer, too?”
“Nah.” Rowley grins, like it’s a private joke he loves to tell. “He operated the electric chair.”
Chapter 10
Rowley
God,she’s so flustered. I love this side of her, inexperienced and easily riled up, and it’s with heroic strength that I force myself to keep my hands off her.
But I will persevere. She has to know the worst about me before I make my move.
“Then how do you mean, he taught you the ropes?” Prudy asks after she digests my answer, her forehead lined with a frown.
“Well, not the ropes of killing outside the law,” I amend. “He taught me a certain moral stance, though. I learned that some people don’t deserve to stay alive. The planet has finite resources, and I firmly believe we should eliminate those who waste them to harm others.”
She stares at me, maybe just speechless, maybe appalled. When she regains her voice, it’s filled with disbelief.
“But… But fine, your father only killed criminals sentenced to death for serious crimes. Like, I don’t know, maybe they deserved to die, but you… You killed a man whose only crime was being stupid and greedy.”
“Stupid people are harmful, though. Do you know how many people die in road accidents simply because some idiot driverdidn’t think? Anyway, that doesn’t matter. I have my code, my one rule, and I stick to it. I only kill people I’m paid to kill, because money is real and tangible, and it always shows the truth. People can say anything, so if you want to know what they actually value and support, look where their money goes.”
“So… So you believe that if someone is ready to pay a lot of money to have a person killed, that person deserves to die? That’s crazy.”
I consider her for a moment. She’s shocked but not disgusted. She hasn’t thrown me out of her bed. So far, so good.
