Page 97 of Pink Ink

I wince once I catch sight of him. “As painful as it looks, I want you to know that you’re doing a wonderful job. I think my student will really appreciate this piece.”

Crimson falls down his chin onto his pristine white shirt in a steady stream, dripping onto the shards littering the floor.Bloody hell. For the sake of art, I would have left the fallen glass alone. I’ll have to clean it now because I’ll be pissed if Reyna cuts herself on it.

Paddy cries out a truly pathetic sound when he attempts to talk.Go figure. I grab the duct tape off the floor, grip his head, then apply strips over his nose and mouth to block his airways. The moisture on his skin makes it peel off immediately. Huffing, I slap his face to keep the edges down despite the blood, sweat, and tears on his skin, but the useless thing keeps lifting around his nose. I pinch his nose together with one hand while his thrashing becomes more extreme. It’s not exactly what I wanted to do, but improvise, adapt, overcome.

Right about now—if his choking is any indication—some glass is lodging in his throat.

It’s a relatively simple death. Sometimes less is more.

His attempt at fighting me off grows more desperate the redder his skin gets. It quickly dissipates as the purple tinge to his face grows more prominent.

I check my watch before glancing around at my stage, waiting for him to die. I’ve always found it rather irritating how long it takes to kill someone by suffocation. Sure, his esophagus is all cut up, and there’s probablya bit of brain damage going on, but I’m going to need his heart to stop beating before I can wrap this up.

Reyna was looking for that light bulb moment that takes the words right out of her mouth. I can’t say for certain that she’ll be rendered speechless by what I’ve done, but ol’ Paddy over here definitely is.

Soon, she’s going to see what I did for her, and she will know how perfect we are for each other.

Until then, I have to wait approximately four more minutes until Paddy is dead for good.

The things I do to impress my girl.

REYNA

I’m sure I’d be put on a watchlist for feeling glad that a serial killer murdered someone. Except the usual excitement isn’t there this time around. I haven’t felt dread this strong since Mom was in the hospital and every day was a waiting game to see when the lights would go out.

The pit in my stomach has tripled in size, and I feel sick every time I think about the kill.

Sleeping has been impossible since Lawrence handed me the latest file two nights ago. I would have visited the crime scene immediately if it weren’t for the wedding I had to film yesterday.

My feet are rooted on the other side of the door, mind conjuring a million different reasons why I’m so nervous.

Sneaking into murder scenes is dangerous.

The killer could be watching me right now.

If I get arrested, I lose my scholarship.

I home in on each because I can’t shake the thought thathecould be behind this.

A coincidence. That’s all it is.

Taking a shuddering breath, I steel my spine, and head into the spotless kitchen, camera in my trembling hand. There isn’t so much as a speck of dust around, every inch has been wiped clean. I can only assume it wasn’t the victim’s doing.

My heart stops when I spot the bag of Cheetos and a cup of tea sitting on the counter. I swallow.No. It has to be a fluke.Has to. Something like that wouldn’t happen to me.

It’s one of the most popular snacks in the country, and tea is a well-loved drink. It’s… I clear my throat. That’s not enough of a sign.

The KitKats and almonds at one of the other scenes isn’t enough either.

Once is by chance. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is a pattern.

It’s nothim.

I glance up at the light bulb, and that dreaded sensation flushes through me again.It’s not a pattern yet.

The Shadow left every light in the house on. Lamps, chandeliers, candles. For that reason alone, I knew it was my killer before I ever saw pictures of the body.

It only gets worse when I make my way into the living room that’s been staged to perfection—the cushions are fluffed, coffee table cleared, and a blanket is neatly folded over the back of the couch. The knickknacks on the shelf are the only sign that anyone lives here.