Page 15 of Death Kiss

Liam smiles softly at me. ‘You’re doing great, babe, but you don’t have to do it alone. Let me help.’

Bill’s screams have softened to tortured sobs. Great, wracking ones that press against my blade, drops of blood cascading down onto my hands.

Liam’s hand covers mine, warm and steady where mine falters. The same hand that reassures me when I’m worried and brings me pleasure when I need it. The hand I want to hold forever. Covered in blood or otherwise.

It’s quicker than I imagined. A swift, hard swipe. A series of gurgles and a splash of scarlet. Some twitching.

Then… nothing.

Just the dripping of rain and the tweeting of birds.

And my pulse thumping like a honeymoon headboard. Or our headboard, to be fair.

Breathing hard, I step to Liam and thread my fingers through his, waiting for the horror to hit.

It doesn’t. Not how I expected it to.

I’m more sorry for the ruined Barbour jacket than the waste of space bleeding out beneath it. Such a waste.

Liam’s hand tightens on mine. ‘For Sam.’

‘For you,’ I say.

Pulling me to his chest, he kisses me deeply. His tongue washes away any regrets that might have formed, stoking me with heat and light.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

‘I feel a bit sick. Kind of relieved. You?’

‘More hollow than I thought I would.’ Liam traces a bloodied finger over my chin. ‘Like he wasn’t enough.’

‘We’ll get them all. One by one.’ He relaxes when I kiss him again, sliding my tongue against his.

When we eventually part, pink-cheeked and breathing hard, I’m smiling. ‘I guess we better get this mess cleaned up.’

My knife makes easy work of the zip ties, and Bill slumps forward onto the tarp with a wet thud.

‘I do feel a little lighter,’ Liam admits. ‘A little further from the boy they made me. They turned me into what I am. They reap what they sowed.’

‘Brought it upon themselves.’

We work together to wrap Bill up and use fifty billion baby wipes to clean ourselves and anything around us. Ever tried scrubbing bark with a baby wipe? Ridiculous. Snags every three seconds.

Now to get the fucker to the well without being spotted lugging a corpse through the woods.

Fun times.

SIX

FREDDIE

Having a murder board taking up half of my kitchenette is a little stereotypical, but visualisation really helps my brain.

Well, it’s a partial murder board, partial missing board, but semantics. It’s comprised of three large corkboards, a whole box of thumbtacks and as much information as I’ve managed to muster up. Which is somewhat lacking.

But I know there’s a story here. A link that the police are either missing, ignoring or keeping under wraps. I want this story. The one I know is there. I can feel it bubbling in my veins, like a driving force.

The two men on the board stare at me. Pete’s sullen face, cropped from a picture with his family. Sam’s from his student file. I can find very few images of him throughout his life.