Page 7 of Dirty Deadly & Mine
Not wanting to embarrass myself, I head to the twins’ shower to fix my suddenneed, wrapping my hand around mycock to get my first release in months that is one hundred percent private.
I picture Lily, just like I do every time, but this time, the memory of her sweet scent lingers in my nose, making it feel like she’s here with me.
Almost.
When I’m done, I wash the stink of prison from my skin, scrubbing it raw so that the next time Lily has her arms around me, I’ll smell more like me. More like a man.
That thought has my mind racing with ways to ensure Lily sees the man I am now, and not the kid she helped raise.
Grinning, I make a decision on how to approach this. I need to show her right fucking now, exactly how I feel.
She has no idea that I’ve been crushing over her for years, but fuck, I’m determined to make her aware, so the next time we hug and I feel her tits pressed against my chest, it’ll be nowhere close to a fucking mum hug… ever fucking again.
CHAPTER 3
LILY
My hands tremble as I hold the envelope that arrived at my front door earlier this morning. I knew exactly what it was, so at the time, there was no reason to open it in a hurry. I kept it tucked away in my bag all day, knowing it was there while I worked my shift at the salon.
Okay, so maybe I’ve been stalling, but now that I’m also getting sent text messages too, this whole thing is starting to get to me. It’s either escalating, or I now have two obsessive admirers.
Sucking in a steadying breath, my eyes dart to the stairs to make sure I’m alone. The twins went back to uni earlier, and as far as I know, Asher is upstairs taking a shower.
Okay, let’s see what this sicko has in store for me today.
Slowly, I start to peel open the envelope, my mind flicking back to the first one I received a little over a year ago, and then each week after as they kept coming. There’s never a postage stamp on it, so I know they get personally delivered each time, but my exterior security cameras never seem to pick up a clear identity of the deliverer, even though I use top of the range equipment.
The masculine figure who delivers the envelopes is always dressed in black and wears a cap to shade his face. He also seems to know the right direction to turn his head, so my cameras never get a good shot.
There is never any particular schedule to them being delivered. The day and time change each week, and a couple of times they were waiting for me at the salon, having been slipped under the door.
Whoever it is, is smart. They know not to be predictable, and they know exactly who I am, in more ways than one if the text messages I’ve started getting are anything to go by.
As I slide the photograph free of the envelope, I hold my breath, taking in the very clear scene it shows.
Me, dressed head to toe in black latex, my ivory face completely recognisable, even past the fury on my expression, my hand wrapped around the hilt of a knife, buried deep in my victim’s throat.
I remember that kill. It was at least two years ago. Maybe a little longer. The man was Bernard Evans. He was a known kiddie toucher and had been flying under the radar from authorities with his more recent activities of preying on children online.
I’d severed his dick that night and shoved it down his throat before ramming my knife up through his voice box and into his brain. The look of fury caught on my face was warranted, but unfortunately, having such damning evidence on me is really fucking bad.
So far, whoever it is that is sending these pictures of me mid-kill hasn’t asked for money or declared that they will hand the evidence over to the police. They just want me to know that they know.
Flipping the photograph over, I read the words scribbled across the back, just like all the others, there is a message for me.
I Know Who You Are!
“Is everything okay?”
I gasp, my eyes darting up quickly at the sound of Asher’svoice, as I clutch the picture to my chest so he can’t see what it is.
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Yeah. Everything’s… fine.” I trail off, my eyes dropping down his bare chest and abs and the tattoos there, before landing on the grey sweatpants sitting low on his hips.
Ohhhh, well… doesn’t he look?—
Shaking my head, I mentally slap myself, needing to get my shit together as I realise I’m practically drooling, my traitorous eyes desperate to travel lower and see if the sweatpants are showing what he’s packing.
What the hell, Lily!
