Happy Death Day (Lilah Love Book 7)

My mind delivers an image of me on Kane’s yacht stabbing Roger over, and over, and over again, unstoppable, at least for about a dozen stab wounds. Maybe it was more like twenty. Bottom line, I stabbed him until Kane managed to free himself from the pain of his own injuries to pull me off Roger’s dead body. I killed him, stabbed him until there wasn’t a breath left in him, and blood pooled all over Kane’s outrageously expensive yacht where he’d proposed to me that day.

I feel no remorse for my actions that day. Roger was a killer who tortured his victims and often the victim’s loved ones. That was his plan that day for us as well, me and Kane. He’d severed a muscle in Kane’s shoulder, debilitated him. Then he’d tried to force me to kill Kane. Ultimately, there was no question he would have gutted Kane himself and made me watch. I was never going to let that happen. He had to die. Should I feel remorse for killing him? I don’t know. I don’t even know if I care if I should and don’t anymore.

He’s dead.

The world’s better off for it.

My brother is not, considering he helped bury the body and he’s fucked up in the head because of it.

“Not that I think you’re a serial killer or anything,” Jack assures me, reminding me that once again, I’m on a phone call that still hasn’t gotten to the point. He laughs another awkward laugh and adds, “but you know, a few people on the forums speculate you might be just like Roger, a killer and all. You have to understand though, it’s just to stir drama and get attention.”

“And you never stir drama to get attention, right?” I challenge.

“I do not,” he replies. “I’m the brainy type who people should listen to, but they don’t because I just—well, that’s a topic for my therapist, not you. You’re famous now, Lilah Love-Mendez, kind of like Anne Rule the ~New York Times~ bestselling author, God rest her soul. She became a famous true-crime writer because she worked with Bundy. You spent years working with Roger. I can’t imagine all the ways you now can put that to use in your work, now that you know who and what he was.”

I glance up as both Kane and Kit step in front of me and Kit arches a brow at me that pretty much says, are you coming or what? Good lord, he’s arrogant enough to be Kane’s attitude protégé, and either brave enough or stupid enough not to know better. “I’m coming,” I murmur under my breath.

“You will?” Jack asks.

I grimace. “I wasn’t talking to you, Jack. Who’s dead?”

“Two in their twenties, one in his thirties. The fourth is unknown at this point.”

“Cause of death?”

“HMC.”

“I don’t talk Dungeons and Dragons, Jack. Give me layman’s terms.”

“Horror movie copycat. So far there’s been four victims, two by hatchet attack from Friday the 13th~, and a butcher knife attack aka Michael Myers from—”

“Halloween,” I say, sliding into the backseat of the car, Kane following. “I know who Michael Myers is. It sounds to me like you’re reaching.”

“Calling these killings coincidental is reaching.”

“Not far,” I retort.

“Two of the victims were having sex, and the killer was under the bed and shoved a hatchet up and through both bodies. That’s classic Jason. I mean, who else does that?”

This killer, I think. This killer is the “someone else,” but I’m officially intrigued. “How exactly did he get the hatchet through the mattress?”

“He rigged a hole in advance.”

“And how did the fourth victim die?”

“I’m on my way to find out. I’ll text you the address.” He was about to hang up when he adds, “Also, you should know that I called the press and alerted them to the HMC killer, anonymously of course, but I had no option.” His voice is stronger now, steady, confident even. “The department is ignoring what should not be ignored,” he continues. “We have a serial killer worthy of the great Lilah Love. I mean Mendez. Sorry. Don’t tell him I keep doing that. Or that I think he’s, you know, leading a life of crime. I don’t want to die. Oh and Ms. Love-Mendez. Cox is one of the twenty-five most wealthy family names in the world.” He disconnects.