Page 36 of Edging Sanity

Now, mere hours later, Rowan found herself all but stalking the man. She’d gotten lucky. She’d gotten really lucky. His bar of choice hadn’t changed since he’d been fired, and he hadn’t suddenly decided to spend his nights at home.

The sun had set long ago when he finally stumbled out of the bar, pausing to right himself against the building wall before he set off walking. The streetlights illuminated his slouched figure, swaying and tripping over his feet every fifteen steps as he made his way home—at least, that’s where Rowan assumed he was headed. This was going to be too easy.

Some part of her recognized that she should feel guilty about this. That there should be any bit of trepidation about planning to murder a man in cold blood. Her first planned kill. But there was none. Where adrenaline should be ratcheted up, there were only thoughts of Delilah. She was a woman possessed.

The only thing on her mind as she followed Brinks down the dark street was what Delilah’s face would look like when she told her it was done, how she would demand the details. She knew Delilah would be pleased, would reward her for her actions. And she knew what Delilah wanted, what she felt like, how hard her slender fingers could grip Rowan. She craved that possessive hold on her body, claiming her, marking her, destroying her.

Rowan pulled the switchblade out of her pocket. It wasn’t the same one Delilah had so delicately hidden on her person, but it was close. The handle was small and smooth, the blade fully concealed when it was retracted. The main difference was the size. Rowan had needed a larger one. She’d need to shove her blade deeper than Delilah’s surface level cuts.

Brinks turned down a small, concealed alley. Rowan watched as he leaned against the wall, barely keeping himself awake while he gathered the strength to continue. She took a quick glance around before pulling the hood of her plain, black sweatshirt up with gloved hands, hiding her features. On a cursory look, she didn’t see any security cameras, but she wasn’t going to take any chances, wasn’t going to risk getting caught and separated from Delilah.

He didn’t even falter as she approached, didn’t raise his head at her quiet footsteps. His reaction time was shot, drowned in the alcohol, and his movements were too slow to catch up with his surroundings. Rowan shoved the blade through his abdomen before he even registered her presence. Pushing hard, she met resistance, like cutting through a thick, leather canvas. Then she twisted the knife, hoping to perforate whatever organs she could, ensuring he’d bleed out before help found him.

Blood gushed from the wound, darkening his thin grey shirt immediately, and Rowan retracted the blade, helping him slide to the ground against the wall before she quickly located his phone and wallet. He gurgled, sludge crawling out of his mouth as he tried to speak, to plead, to beg for forgiveness that she wouldn’t give. But his words were too garbled to make sense. The light was fading quickly from his eyes.

She sorted through his wallet, removing the credit cards and the cash while his labored breathing slowed. Then she tossed the now empty wallet onto his blood and piss-darkened lap, scrunching her nose at the sight of him.

There was no point in sticking around now that it was done. She pocketed her findings, intent on tossing the phone somewhere it wouldn’t be found. She’d destroy the credit cards, but there was no point in letting the cash go to waste. The death would look like a mugging and the police would spend no more than a day looking for the culprit.

A few blocks away, she removed her gloves, shoving the phone and credit cards into them before throwing them into a trash can on the street. As quickly as it had started, it was over. Rowan couldn’t wait to tell Delilah.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

First thing on Tuesday morning, Rowan had already been called back to Adele’s office. Her pulse pounded in her throat and blood rushed in her ears, drowning out any other sounds as she made her way to the small room, which might very well seal her fate. She hadn’t been greeted at the door with cops, and the stabbing hadn’t even made the news that morning, so Rowan suspected the reason for this summoning was Delilah related instead.

But that only made her more anxious. It made the creeping paranoia that something had happened crawl through her entire nervous system. She hadn’t seen Delilah yet today. No one had attempted to call her last night on Delilah’s behalf. Something could have happened.

Rowan took the chair in front of Adele’s desk without so much as a “hello.” Her nerves were getting the better of her as she ran through a hundred different scenarios in her mind. Adele looked up, her gaze briefly flicking over Rowan. Then, she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes while Rowan waited with mounting anxiety.

After entirely too long, Adele removed her hand from her face and spoke, her voice laced with disappointment.

“You should have hidden it better, Rowan.” Adele shook her head, leaning back in her chair. Her mouth formed a thin line as she looked on. “I really thought you’d be smarter about this. Hell, let’s be honest. I thought you’d take longer to break.”

Rowan swallowed a thick lump that had formed in her throat. No way. No fucking way Adele knew.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said weakly. Adele’s subsequent look could only be described as pity mixed with condescension.

“Rowan…”

She was about to deny it again, to continue pretending that she had absolutely no idea what Adele was alluding to. But then that opening statement rang through her head again: Thought you’d take longer to break.

“How long have you known?” Rowan asked instead, leaning back and hoping that she looked calmer than she felt.

“Since Riley contacted me about having Delilah transferred here.”

Rowan quickly shut her mouth, which had fallen open at the confession. Adele? She had helped set this up? It didn’t seem plausible to Rowan that this mild-mannered woman in front of her, the one Rowan had never known to get angry or swear. This woman was working with Delilah?

“Why?” Rowan asked, even though what she really wanted to ask was why the hell Adele was risking everything for a serial killer.

It was a hypocritical line of thought given that Rowan had literally killed for that same murderer last night, but that was different. What Rowan and Delilah had… it was beyond any comprehension. They both had a darkness that called to each other, that filled them with the need to consume. A trauma. A craving. An addiction.

Adele had none of those things.

“When I was ten,” Adele started, folding her arms on top of her desk and leveling Rowan was an incredibly serious expression, “someone close to my family started assaulting me. It continued until I turned eighteen and left home. I was never believed. Nothing was ever done.”

“Until Delilah,” Rowan guessed, a pang of sympathy shooting through her. Adele swallowed, nodding and shifted in her chair. She took a deep breath before continuing.