Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

“Mine, of course.”
He sounds so confident, so unruffled, so calm. Too calm.
How many guys does he shoot in an average week?
“Kage?”
“Yes?”
“I’m having trouble with all this.”
His voice grows softer. “I know, baby. But trust me when I
say I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of everything.
Everything is going to be all right.”
“But the police are looking for you!”
“There were no security cameras in the restaurant. The
eyewitnesses who provided my description to the police didn’t
actually see me shoot anyone. I walked through the room, then
they heard shots. The kitchen doors were closed behind me.
They can’t ID me as the shooter.”
“How do you know all that?”
In his pause, I feel his satisfaction. “I know everything.”
I’m beginning to think he really does.
“Sloane—”
“Is in Rome. I know.” His voice drops. “You look so
peaceful when you sleep. Like a little angel. So sweet. Good
enough to eat. Fuck, I love the way you taste. The way you
come so hard for me. I’m already addicted.”
I sit back down at the kitchen table, drop my head, and
gently bang my forehead against it a few times.
“What’s that sound?”
“My mental breakdown.”
“You’re tougher than you think. You’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? Because right now, I feel like I need some
preventive hospitalization. A very concerned doctor should be
monitoring me in the ICU.”
“That’s just adrenaline. You’ll get used to it.”