He crosses his big arms over his chest, stretching that suit tight. I try, very hard, to keep my eyes on his when all they want to do is scour slowly down his body to get yet another mental image to torment my mind with. I know how good that suit looks, pulled across his muscles.
"You're mouthy for someone so small."
He. Did. Not.
I snap out of my thoughts and my mouth drops open, then closes. And then I growl, "And you're arrogant for someone so, big … "
Jesus. Big.
I want to slap myself.
The elevator dings, and the doors slide open. I go charging out, horrified and angry at Ace and his rude behavior. I won't take it. I'm already in a bad enough mood as it is, after spending an entire night up studying, before working a full day at the café down the road, where I waitress. Now I'm about to endure date number three, which I'm less than happy about but want to get out of the way so Taylor can finally leave me alone.
"Don't trip on your way out," Ace mutters. I stop dead in my tracks and turn around.
A frustrated sound escapes my throat and I throw my hands up. "Seriously, if I was bigger … I'd … I'd … smack you!"
With that, I storm out the front doors as my Uber pulls up. I don't stop and see if Ace exits the building too, I get in and then cross my arms, brooding the entire way to the restaurant. The driver has the radio blaring in the car, and I zone in on the story about the recent murders that have been happening. I remember hearing people at the café talking about it.
"This evening, another body was found. The third murder like this in the past year. While that doesn't seem like a high number, the police are investigating if it's the work of a serial killer, due to the familiar pattern with each victim. So far we can only confirm that they have all been killed in the same way and left to hang with a bowtie around their necks. At this stage, the name and age of the most recent victim is still unknown."
I shiver.
That's the third murder in this area, now. I had heard about the first one. It sent half the city into a frenzy, but police put it down to a sicko who decided to have a random kill. But then it happened again, and people got even more stressed out, when it was made known that the kill was identical to the first. Now a third. I rub my arms, suddenly feeling cold.
What is this world coming to?
"Terrible, isn't it?" The driver says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah," I agree. "It is. I hope they find him soon."
"Me too. Three young lives ended in a horrific way. I hope they catch the bastard and give him what he deserves."
This person-whoever it is-is twisted. I don't know much about the killings, but from what I've seen on the news, he torments his victims, making them seem crazy by doing things to make them think they're losing their minds, and then he takes them. I don't know how he takes them, or how he lures them away, but he kills them, and when he's done, he hangs them in a tree, with a bowtie around their neck. I saw an article recently saying the police think he's been planning these murders for some time, and that they believe he has more lined up, due to how frequently he is taking his victims.
///
This girl, the one they have just found, I wonder how long he tormented her for? Did her family even know she was missing? Did anyone suspect something was wrong? Does she even have a family, or does he pick the ones who are alone? I don't know, but the possibilities are terrifying. I can only imagine what she went through. God, I don't even want to think about it too long, it sends shivers down my spine.
I send a mental reminder to myself to check my locks when I get home, just to be sure.
When we arrive at the restaurant, I climb out of the car. I glance around-it's a really nice place, a small Italian restaurant with warm lighting and big booths both inside and out. I let my eyes scan the people, seeing if there is anyone waiting, but it doesn't seem there are any single men standing around, so I make my way over to a free table and sit down, glancing at my phone. I'm a little late. Maybe the guy won't show and I can go home.
"You must be Hartley."
The smooth, masculine voice has my head jerking up. My eyes widen when I see a good-looking man standing by the table, dressed in a pair of dark pants, a suede jacket, and a black tee. He's exceptionally good-looking, with flawless pale skin, soft blue eyes, and mousy brown hair that's trimmed neatly and brushed off to the side. He's got the features of a model, not at all rugged, but perfectly proportioned to be on the cover of a magazine. He's tall, too. Lovely.