When I was done fucking Logan, I told him to go home.
“Can I get your number first?” he said, his grin a white slash in his paint-covered face.
“I don’t think so,” I said, as kindly as I could. “That was just a one-time thing.”
“Oh,” he said. “Well, it was a great time. At least for me.”
I smiled without answering.
I was already feeling guilty that I’d basically used him as a prop in an act of spite that was beginning to feel more insane by the second.
But not insane enough to stop.
After he left, I still carried that painting all the way to the top floor and hung it in Cole’s office.
He doesn’t even lock his door, the arrogant fuck.
I knew he’d see me on the security cameras, but I was also pretty sure he watched the whole damn event, so the painting would hardly remain a mystery either way.
Riding the last waves of malice, I took an Uber home. The driver didn’t want to let me in the car when he saw the amount of paint still remaining on my arms and legs and hair.
“It’s already dry,” I said crossly.
“Sit on this,” he ordered, throwing a garbage bag into the back seat.
“Fine,” I sighed, seating myself on the slippery plastic and leaning my head against the window in utter exhaustion.
By the time I got back to my house, the manic high I’d been riding had almost entirely dissipated. I was starting to realize the level of fuck you I’d thrown in Cole’s direction.
And look, he definitely deserved it. Trying to make me suck off that dealer was degrading and outrageous.
But I took it to the next level. I gave him both middle fingers, right to camera.
And I’m starting to think that was a huge mistake.
Cole Blackwell is not somebody you want to fuck with.
I should know that better than anyone.
He is neither reasonable nor forgiving.
And he’s gonna make me pay for this, I know it.
After a few fitful hours of sleep, I stumble downstairs.
My roommates are gathered around the table, looking at Erin’s phone. The mood in the kitchen is strangely somber. Heinrich and Frank are staring at the screen while Erin slowly scrolls. Joanna stands over by the sink, arms crossed over her chest, looking faintly nauseated.
“What’s going on?” I ask them.
“They found another body,” Heinrich says.
“Another girl,” Erin clarifies.
A hook lodges in my stomach, reeling me slowly toward the phone. I bend over the screen, my head between Frank’s and Heinrich’s.
The images are gory and graphic—a headless torso with its breasts torn off. Scattered limbs. A severed foot still wearing a high-heeled shoe.
“What the fuck!” I cry. “That’s on the news?”
“It’s not the news,” Joanna says disgustedly, from the sink. “It’s that true crime site. They must have bought the pics from one of the cops.”
“I don’t want to look at that,” I say, backing away.
My stomach is rolling.
The girl was slim, with a tattoo of a pheonix on her ribs. I have a tattoo in that exact same place. Without her head . . . she could well be me.
“None of us should look at it,” Joanna snaps. “It’s disrespectful. I hope they find whoever leaked those pics and fire his ass.”
“I’m not gawking,” Erin says. “They found her right over on the Lincoln Park golf course. That’s only a couple miles from here! This psycho could live right by us.”
My stomach is now doing the death roll of a crocodile.
Cole lives in Sea Cliff. He golfs on that course.
“When did she die?” I ask.
“They think after midnight,” Erin says. “She was still warm when they found her.”
I left the show at 11:00.
I grabbed a date on the way out the door.
What if Cole did the same?
It sounds ludicrous. I’ve been spending hours at a time with Cole. We’re often alone. If he wanted to turn me into mincemeat, he could have done it by now.
And he really doesn’t seem crazy. Controlling and manipulative, sure. Intense, absolutely. But could he actually put his hands on a woman and rip her to shreds?
I force myself to bend over the phone once more.
Erin scrolls down a little further.
There’s the girl’s head, her features strangely unmarked, her eyes wide open, milky as glass marbles.
She was beautiful.
And very, very afraid.
I run over to the sink and vomit.
