Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
He was haunted by blood on his hands.
Oh God.
OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod.
I had to get the hell out of here.
Panic gripping my system, I flew out of the garage, leaving the door open, not caring that he knew I knew, just needing to get as far away from him as fast as possible.
"Shit shit shit shit," I hissed to myself as I ran to my car, glad I'd left my purse and keys inside, having thought we wouldn't be that long, and that it was a nice, quiet neighborhood.
That was always where serial killers lived, wasn't it? In "nice, quiet neighborhoods." In places where "things like this never happen."
I'd reversed out of the driveway, and was shifting back into drive when Finn walked out of the side of the house, looking over at me with confused brows, likely trying to figure out what was going on.
He must have seen the shock, the disbelief, the bone-deep terror on my face.
Because he looked from me and right to his garage, then back to me, face falling.
Go.
I had to go.
Slamming my foot on the pedal, I tore out of his neighborhood, not caring about speed limits, not caring about anything but getting as far away from him as fast as possible.
But to go where?
Home, where he knew I lived alone? Where he knew all the entrances and exits? Where he knew where my cameras were, so he could avoid them, sneak in, kill me, clean up, and no one would ever know what happened to me?
I had to go home.
I had to get Yogurt.
But I couldn't stay there.
Where would I go?
To my mom's?
No, he could just as easily find me there. I could never put her in danger like that. All because I was too stupid to put two and two together, too blind to see the warning signs.
For God's sake, I'd shown him my serial killer command center. And right after that, he'd gone and distracted me with kindness, with his brand of vulnerability, with his mind-blowing sex.
"Oh, God," I groaned, banging my head against the steering wheel at a red light.
I'd slept with a serial killer.
Granted, I hadn't known at the time. Which made me marginally more sane than those serial killer groupies. But only slightly.
Bile rose up suddenly, making me pull over, throw open the door, and empty my stomach into the street, tears starting to stream, and I couldn't tell you if they were from the vomiting itself, or from the situation. Hell, it was probably a mix of the two.
Feeling shaky, I pulled up to my house, pulling into the garage for a change, closing and locking the door, then tearing into the house.
"Hey, girl, we gotta go," I said, rushing upstairs, grabbing a bag out of my closet, shoving clothes inside with reckless abandon, having no clue if any of them were even things I could wear outside. It didn't matter. What mattered was getting away from here, getting somewhere safe.
I flew into my office, grabbing as much of my equipment as I could, then going into the basement to grab my file on the serial killer.
On Finn.
A whimper rose up, burst out, as I ran back upstairs, shoving my things in my car, then going back to get Yogurt, remembering at the last moment.
I had his DNA.
I had his toothbrush on my counter.
If I could find a cop to take me seriously, I could give them that.
"One second, girl," I said, running back upstairs, grabbing the toothbrush as well as Yogurt's pig baby, then making my way back down, having to push and shove Yogurt into the backseat before I climbed in, and started backing out.
I didn't have any destination in mind.
My mom's house was out.
Blake and Marc and Lawrence were the only friends I had.
But even if I was willing to explain this insane situation to them, Finn knew of them, had met them. If he was determined, he could track them down.
"Jesus Christ," I whimpered, feeling the tears swim in my eyes.
No.
No crying.
I had to be smart.
I had to get safe.
I refused, I fucking refused, to be the missing person's case other true crime creators covered next week.
I directed my car out of Navesink Bank, ignoring the thrumming of my heartbeat in my wrists, in my throat.
I didn't go too far, just wanting safety, not distance. I wanted to be able to easily get back to the NBPD station to report what I knew once I wrapped my head around all of it.
I sat in my car, calling around to the hotels until I found one that would let me bring Yogurt, then got myself a room.
I'll admit it, I was looking over my shoulder every step of the way inside that hotel, paranoid that he'd followed me without me noticing, that he was going to drag me out of there, kill me, and make it appear like nothing had ever happened.