The Serial Killers Guide to Love (Deadly Darling #1)

Chapter 20

20

Lilly

Roy started to yawn and I yawned too, just to show solidarity, maybe the herbs will work faster if I use the power of suggestion.

“I need to,” Roy said between yawns and his head leaned against the table. His eyes looked towards me but they were glassed over and weary from sleep. What next?

I am not a random killer. I have never killed anyone like this, in the heat of the moment. Each time it was necessary to end a life, I had enough time to plan it. To make sure that I would use the right herbs for the job. Now, this was chaos.

My body was frozen.

I could take my car keys and run..

But go where exactly?

I had about 20k that I could pick up from my account, and that would be enough for a few months. Maybe I could try my luck down in Cuba or in South America. Peru looks nice this time of the year. I could go down the Amazon and study the orchids.

I bit my lower lip.

There will be no peace for me. Roy knows now that I am alive, and he will hunt me.

There was a chance that he would tell Mike and then Mike will organize a man hunt. He will not take my betrayal lightly, and he will hunt me down until he kills me.

If I run now, I won’t ever see Sam again.

This thought made my body shiver, but I was like Han Solo encased in ice. Awake, aware but incapable of snapping out of this state.

In the meantime, Roy yawned again and his eyes closed fully.

My hand moved towards his gun, and the Beretta lay there, shaking as I watched my fingers clenching around it.

Can I shoot?

A loud gun shot at 3 am in a peaceful neighborhood would attract attention.

What would I tell the police, when they will inevitably show up at my door asking about the source of the noise?

I made the math fast in my head. I never shot anyone, but I saw Mike and even Roy doing it. Shooting is messy. Not only that it is loud, but a gun wound in close proximity gets a wall dirty. Roy is too big for me to drag him somewhere and shoot him there and I am not confident that I gave him enough of the sleeping powder.

Fuck.

My knuckles are already white as I hold on to the gun.

What should I do?

There are not many alternatives. I have to kill this guy, and that way I can win some time. But what if Mike will send men to look into what happened to Roy? What if next I’ll have Mike knocking at my door? I know that he won’t kill me fast, he will take his time and pluck my nails out or rip my skin off with some tweezers.

Whatever it will be, Mike will make sure that the result will be a slow painful death for me.

I swallow the lump in my throat and take a look at my Mediterranean inspired kitchen.

It has tiles, not wooden floors. That way I can scrub the blood off.

I have to kill Roy.

The result of my musings is clear like the writing on pesticide after I put my glasses on.

What would Sam think of me?

The thought slides into my mind and fills me with dread. It makes me shiver.

I should stop concentrating on him, he made it more than clear that he isn’t interested. The next thing I know is that I open one of the drawers and pull a large knife out. It is a good one, I always made sure to keep my knives sharp and ready.

For this.

Killing with a knife is more personal as my Granny told me. When you stick a knife in another body, it feels as if you and the victim are one. It is almost like an act of love.

The Beretta lays on the counter in reach, but I won’t use it. My decision is made.

I need to kill Roy in silence and win some more time. I can’t afford police and nosy neighbors who will poke around the place. I can’t.

I need a little more time to get my shit together.

I need to sell the house and leave, but I need time for that.

Swallowing the lump that is stuck in my throat, I look down at Roy. This piece of crap human has killed and beaten more people than I care to count. He is responsible for drugs and shootings. Roy is not a good guy, but I am not a good person either and I know that and feel the full blown effect of this reality.

My hand grasps Roy’s hair and I press the knife on his skin. The blade barely bites into the skin, but the knife is thirsty and a few droplets of crimson land on my kitchen table.

I don’t need or want to close my eyes.

I do this for me.

I have to.

I press harder and the knife pushes through sinew, skin, veins and arteries, blood pools all over, and it splashes on the ground and on my clothes.

My hands are covered in hot blood, but the moment Roy stops moving, even though those are involuntary spasms, I feel free.

Covered in blood, his head lays against my hip and I move my hand through his hair.

“You fucked with the wrong mental bitch, pretty boy.”

I say and watch how his eyes are open, but can’t see. They look at me, but are lost in a sea of darkness.

Good.

I can’t let go.

This is my first up and personal kill. I am used to poisoning the person and then waiting for the outcome, but this is different. I still feel the knife that pushed into his neck and the way the first drops of blood soiled my fingers.

I can’t stop myself and I close my eyes, bringing my hand up to my lips to taste his blood.

It is salty and coppery, a bit like steak.

Mmm.

An almost sexual noise escapes my lips and I get lost in the moment.

“Lilly?”

The voice is familiar, but I am so far gone, bathing in blood, tasting the unique flavor of life on my lips.

As I open my eyes, I am filled with terror.

I see Sam, but I see police and the electric chair.

This is what a normal person would do, they would call the police when they see that you killed someone, right.

It’s not as if.

But there it is.

He is not scared of me.

His green eyes sparkle with the sort of emotion that I can’t name.

Is it... what?

I can’t make myself speak.

I stay there, holding Roy’s severed head in my hand and licking the blood off my other hand.