Monster in His Eyes (Monster in His Eyes 1)

"He had no choice," she says. "He had to… he had to do something."

"So he killed a woman," I say with disbelief. "That was his solution? He shot his best friend. Naz told me all about it, how he smiled in his face, acted like nothing was wrong, and then tried to kill him that night."

"Vitale told you that?" She raises her eyebrows in question. "Did he tell you he was planning to kill John the whole time that was happening?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"No, you don't," she says pointedly. "Vitale can play victim in the whole thing, and he was a victim… he was… but he wasn't the only one."

"That excuses nothing," I say.

"You're right—it doesn't. It happened, and there's nothing anybody can do to change it. But there's been enough death. Too much death. Instead of gunning for John after that, they came for his family. So he left us, so we could go into hiding, because maybe if they thought he didn't care about us they wouldn't bother killing us. But it didn't work. Clearly, it didn't work. Because he found us." She pauses, looking at me. "He found you."

I just stare at her. I always thought my mother was unbalanced, that she was needlessly paranoid, but she'd merely been trying to stay two steps ahead of the monster… a monster I unknowingly ran straight to the moment I was away from her.

Despite her warnings, I walked straight into the lion's den, serving myself up on a platter, the meal he was always looking for.

There's something about you... something I've sought for a very long time. Something I've always wanted. And now that I've found it, I don't know if I can let it go.

Closing my eyes, I drop my head, covering my face with my hands. The truth was right there from the beginning. It's all too much to come to terms with. My head is ferociously pounding. My chest feels like it might burst.

Killer appears at my legs then, nudging me with his nose as he whines. I wrap my arms around him, laying my head against the top of his.

He never lied to me.

He never thought to kill me.

At the moment, he's the only one I don't seem to hate.

"I need some time to think," I say. "Some time to process."

She rubs my back gently. "There's a spare bedroom upstairs. We're going to ride out this weekend here and then we'll go."

"Go where?"

"As far away from here as we can go."

Those words do nothing to make me feel better. Going, I think, might kill me more than staying.

I'm not a man who just gives up in the middle of something. If I go any further, if I don't walk away now, I won't be able to.

The bedroom is decently sized, the furniture light oak and appears unused. No dents, no nicks, no scuffs on the wood, and if I had enough energy to look, I'd bet all the drawers in the dresser are empty, the stiff sheets most definitely never slept on before.

I couldn't make out much of it in the dark, my head hurting too much to turn on the light when I climbed into the bed. Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't fall asleep, wide-awake as Naz's words repeatedly roll through my frazzled mind.

I know I should let you go, should let you walk away from me right now, but I can't do it. I can't.

The sun rose a few hours ago, although it doesn't shine, a thick cloud covering blanketing the sky. Rain beats against the window. I lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the subtle noises of someone moving around downstairs.

My stomach is growling.

My chest is aching.

I can't get his voice out of my fucking head.

I've lost enough, Karissa. I won't lose you, too.

It has been twelve hours since I walked out of the house. He'd be awake now, the effects of the drug long out of his system.

I wonder what he thought when he woke up.

I wonder how he's feeling.

I wonder what he's going to do to me.

I hear a faint buzzing as I lay there. I ignore it at first until it strikes me that it's my phone. Sighing, I reach for my purse on the floor, rifling through it. Glancing at the screen, my blood runs cold.

Naz.

He's calling me.

I look at his name until it stops ringing. I'm about to toss the phone back into my purse when it vibrates again.

Voicemail.

I feel sick as I stare at the alert. My teeth gnaw at my lip nervously until I can't take it any more.

As much as it frightens me, I have to listen.

I'm a glutton for punishment and crave the sound of his voice. I have to know how angry he is, how much he hates me right now…

I have to know he's okay.

Pressing the button, I bring the phone to my ear. Silence greets me, strained silence, before he exhales loudly and the line goes dead.

He offers me no words, only a single breath.

Sighing, I toss the phone aside. I can still hear noise downstairs. I'm no closer to figuring out how I feel about them than I was last night, but I can't stay in this room anymore. I creep down there, hearing someone move around the kitchen, the scent of bacon wafting my way.

My mother's cooking.

John, on the other hand, sits on his couch, toying with his gun. He doesn't look away from it as he greets me. "Good morning."

There's nothing good about this morning. The sky is crying and something inside of me is dying.

Wordlessly, I sit down in a chair, not looking at John.

"Nothing to say, girl?"

I've got nothing to say to him.

My mother, hearing his voice, steps out of the kitchen. "Oh, good morning, sweetie."

"Morning."

There's still nothing good about it.

The day is a daze. I eat breakfast, eat lunch, humor my mother's attention, answer some of her questions, and try to pretend John is nowhere around.

I think about Naz.

And think about him.

And think about him some more.

I think about him until my head starts pounding again, and my heart feels like it's been crushed.

"I'm going to bed," I mutter, standing up. My mother's cooking dinner now and tries to stop me, but I say I'm not hungry as I head for the stairs.

She's making lasagna. John requested it. I wonder if either of them remember that's what they ate that fateful night. They act like nothing is wrong, like we're some happy family that has regular dinners and normal conversations.

The universe is fucking with me.

I climb into the bed and squeeze my eyes shut, hoping sleep takes me away from reality for a while.

Hoping, while I'm unconscious, the answers come to me.

Something pulls me out of a deep sleep so abruptly I'm disoriented. For a second, I forget where I am, the darkness thick and heavy in the room, smothering everything.