Scarlet Angel (Mindf*ck #3)(6)

She turns, putting her back to him, acting as though he has no power over her, showing him he’s no threat. The gun is lying in front of the closet doors, but he hasn’t gone for it again.

It’d be too weak to go for the gun.

She’s playing him too well.

She’s playing a man who has played the world.

And she’s winning.

He lunges for her, ready to prove himself, and she spins, the knife at her waist as she faces him. He runs right into it, and I hold back the sounds, now worried about being heard.

She rolls her eyes as his eyes widen in shock, his features paling as he stumbles back, the knife sliding out as she jerks it away.

“And now I’ve gotten lucky,” she mocks. “Just like the horror movies. They’ll never suspect a thing.”

He drops to his knees, the wound in his abdomen bleeding profusely. There’s too much blood for him to survive if help doesn’t come right away.

I’d have been his next victim. Now I wonder what happens when she finds out I know it all.

She could have already killed me, though. No one would have suspected her.

Instead, she tracked down my stepfather, killed him, and then saved a child’s life. A child I let down by not being the hero a devil was.

Lana Myers, or whoever she really is, survived something so dark that she needs revenge.

But Logan is sleeping with her.

He’s falling in love.

And she’s a fucking psychopath.

My own guilt for my failures has me wondering what happens if I stop her. I don’t know enough about her victims to know if they’re hurting others the way I let Kenneth get away with.

I failed so many others by trusting the lies.

She brought his evil deeds to an end.

What happens if others are hurt because I stopped her before she finished? I’m barely living with the guilt I’ve yet to face.

I have no idea what to do.

As I agonize over the options, Lana sits down, watching him bleed out, holding onto the knife as casually as if it’s the TV remote and she’s watching her favorite show. He chokes and gurgles up blood, staring at her in disbelief.

He came to kill a weak woman, only to find he was really the prey who ran into the lion’s den.

“This is my favorite part,” she tells him softly. “The look of resignation. The moment the hope slips away and you know you won’t be saved. I’ve been there. It’s terrifying, so I know exactly how panicked you are right now. How helpless you feel. The difference is, you won’t get up and live to kill them all one day.”

Live to kill them all one day.

I file away each bit of information, deciding to make a list of reasons why I should or shouldn’t tell the world who she is.

“They took too much. Left too little. I had nothing to lose,” she whispers, the words barely making it to me. “Until him.”

My heart thumps faster. Logan. She’s talking about Logan.

“Then you wanted to kill him. He’s too good to die. He’s everything opposite of us. His light still shines. I hope they have fun with you in hell. You sentenced yourself there the day you targeted the only thing that makes me feel as though there’s still a soul inside me left to be saved. The only thing I love more than revenge.”

Just like that, I have my answer. And I watch with her as the Boogeyman dies by his own knife. At the hands of a woman.

The hands of a victim.

In a way, it’s poetic justice.





Chapter 3


The course of true love never did run smooth.

—William Shakespeare



LANA



My brother was a Shakespeare lover. He lived and breathed the words of a man his generation took for granted. The people of that time didn’t respect or appreciate the anguish and torment tied into each tragedy he produced under the guise of true romance.

Marcus was a romantic to the core, with nothing but light and beauty shining from him.

The world around us snuffed out that light.

They stole his grace.

Shamed his name.

Killed him.

Destroyed us.

With great amusement, I watch as the Boogeyman exhales his last breath. No longer will he steal lights as bright as my brother’s.

The Boogeyman will no longer be seen as the immortal that taunts the police or FBI. He’ll no longer be the nightmare who terrorizes women, haunting their lives. He’ll be revered as a mortal who died at the hands of a weak woman he failed to kill.

A woman who got lucky enough to kill him first.

Curious, I pull on a glove and check his pockets, finding a remote. Hmmm…

I look around, and spot what the remote goes to. There’s an out-of-place little contraption next to my fireplace. I’m fairly positive it’s a cell phone jammer. My phone was working before I came in, so he shut it on at some other time.

Putting the remote back in his pocket, I stand to go to my cell phone. It was dropped within the first five seconds that he blindsided me. Sure enough, there’s nothing going on when I try to dial out. No signal.

Good. That gives me an excuse as to why I watched him bleed out for over thirty minutes—the same way he let his victims die.

I glance over my shoulder, a horror movie flashback hitting me, but he’s still dead. No disappearing act for the mortal who has drawn his last breath.