Page 97 of Savage Desires

I close the distance between us and crush Willow to my chest, kissing her like it’ll be the last time, even though our lives together are just starting. She kisses me just as fiercely in return. Willow pulls away and spins towards Damon, who is reaching for his dropped weapon. She yanks the knife from his neck, and blood gushes out of the wound.

“It’s rude to interrupt people when they are kissing. Hurry up and die so I can get back to kissing my man,” Willow growls.

A weight lifts off my shoulders when I see him take his last breath. Years of searching are finally over. No more dead ends or close calls. No more obsessing over Damon Savada. He is dead and gone. The last piece of the puzzle is finally in place, and I can close that chapter of my life.

I have a new obsession now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

WILLOW

Kisten pulls me back into his arms and kisses me lightly. "I love you, Willow."

"I love you too."

"Let's get the fuck out of here. I want to go home."

"Yes, please," I say. He takes my hand as we walk. I stop before we get to the door. "Wait! I need my trophy."

I run over to Madame's—Larissa's—body. She died too quickly. She deserved more pain for everything she's done, but dead is dead. I push her over so she's lying on her back. Her throat is sliced cleanly, looking like a gruesome smile. I quickly find her knife sheathed in one of her tall boots. I pull it out and stand, staring at the blade in my hand. The same blade that she used to slice into my back all those years ago. I pull one of the knives Hera gave me from my boot sheath and replace it with my second trophy.

Prolific serial killer status, here I come!

"Now we can go home," I say, rejoining Kisten by the door.

We wait in the living room for everyone else to finish their searches. It seems like we were in that office for hours when, in reality, it wasn't even ten minutes. Time is really wonky during a fight. Slowly, the others trickle into the room, declaring their part of the house clear.

"We only had one guy hiding in a bathroom on the second floor," Zeke says.

Zeke and Joker are the last team, bringing the count to sixteen people.

"Yuri must've sent most of his men to Mecca and the mansion because only sixteen people were here. That seems like a foolish plan," I say.

"Twenty-one people," Hera says, correcting my count.

I glance her way and do a doubletake. She's covered in blood from head to toe. She could be the stunt double for Carrie, only this isn't pig's blood. The whole covered-in-blood thing isn't even the most disturbing part. No, that would be the fact that she's eating a fucking sandwich while covered in blood.

"Where did you find a sandwich?" T.J. asks incredulously.

"The kitchen. There's a whole plate of them in the fridge. Turkey and cheese on rye. Delicious."

"T.J., if you take one step towards that kitchen, you're staying behind to wait for the tech team to sweep the house," Kisten says.

He shrugs and walks off down the hallway Hera just came from.

"How was your first night as a serial killer?" Hera asks me.

"Productive. However, I have a question. Do the people I shot count towards my serial killer status or only the people I take trophies from?"

She tilts her head, seriously considering the question. "The ones you take trophies from. The others are just business."

"Sounds logical. Any idea what the kill count of the most prolific serial killer is?" I ask.

"No."

"I need to do some research. Find out who my competition is."

"Yes! Then we can make plans. I know who your next three trophies will be," she says with a feral smile.