Kill You: A Father's Best Friend Serial Killer Romance (Dark Tales Book 6) by Teresa Wolf

Author:Teresa Wolf [Wolf, Teresa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-03-09T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

EMMA

Griffin leads me up to his apartment, carrying my travel bag over one shoulder, but he doesn’t dare utter a word. He’s giving me the space I need to process the bombshell he’s dropped on me. I’m left with so many questions, but I can’t formulate them into words.

Is this the reason I feel as if I can relate to the Whitefish Vigilante? Have I somehow known, deep down, that it was Griffin all along? I’ve thought about it for the entire drive over, and – even though it’s insane – maybe I felt it through some cosmic connection. A part of my soul’s connected to his, and we’ve shared secrets without saying a word.

It’s hippy-dippy bullshit I’m telling myself to process the information. It’s not true. Not at all. But I have to reason it out somehow, I have to make sense of it. Otherwise, am I as crazy as he is? I feel no difference in me, even now I know his secret. Christ, a part of me even finds him hotter, now.

I can’t stand it. I want to be angry and upset; scared even. But there isn’t a part of me that feels those emotions. I’m inspired, invigorated, dare I say, excited?

“Here we are,” he says for something to say, as he unlocks his front door and ushers me inside.

Griffin’s apartment is exactly as I’ve pictured it. The entrance has nothing but a keyholder against the wall, leading into a sparsely furnished living room. A coffee table sits with last night’s beer cans on it, and a flat-screen tv, a two-seater sofa, and a single-person recliner fill the space.

Home sweet home’s quite drab.

“Your place is. . . nice,” I say.

“It’s somewhere to lay my head, nothing more, nothing less.”

“You’re not here, often?”

“No, between my day job and my nights, there’s not much reason to be.”

He sets my bag down, before leading me into the kitchen. Like the living room, there isn’t much in the way of things on the countertops. A toaster sits beside an oven, and a fridge. He fetches a beer and a can of soda.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Emma.” Griffin leans against the kitchen counter, cracking both cans open. “I want you to understand who I am. What I am. You showed me a different side of you tonight, and now it’s my turn.”

“Way to one-up me,” I chuckle. Griffin doesn’t. “I’m not scared, Griffin. Not of you.”

I take the can of soda in one hand and cup his cheek in the other. Griffin leans into it.

“Why do you do it?” I ask.

Griffin sighs, hot breath against the palm of my hand.

“There’s a darkness in this world, Emma. Horrible, twisted cruelty that only comes through in perceived strength. You witnessed it first-hand tonight. Followed home by a lunatic who took advantage of your father’s drunken state and your . . . weakness.”

The word weakness stings my chest. I am weak. At least I have been until now, I think again. I’m not timid but I have been and I have locked up.

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