Darkening Dawn (The Lockman Chronicles Book 5) by Rob Cornell

at Cordon Bleu. But life takes its turns, you know?” He shrugged. “I won’t bore you with backstory.”
    The fact that he had a backstory baffled Elka. At work he had come across as so one-dimensional. Now she was picking up bits and pieces of a Kenny she never would have guessed existed. She hated it because… Well, because it made it harder to hate him . She remembered her desire to throttle someone when she woke that morning while facing the displeasure of a double shift at Chuggers. Because of his lustful zeal for Elka, Kenny had presented himself as the perfect relief to her urge, another body to leave behind until she finally found and killed the one who had sent her off on this wicked path in the first place.
    The others had never had a chance to let Elka get to know them. They had been targets of convenience.
    Damn Kenny for making her second-guess herself.
    “Something wrong?” Kenny furled his brow.
    Elka blinked away her annoyance and tried a smile that felt awkward but hopefully looked convincing. “Fine. A lot on my mind.”
    He tried to slip in close to her, but Elka backed up.
    Kenny held up his hands. “I told you not to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you.”
    That again. And he said it as if he knew what she was thinking about. Sure, Kenny, throw money at me. That will solve all my problems and convince me to go to bed with you.
    “I don’t need your help,” she snapped before she could stop herself.
    His mouth fell open. He squinted as if wincing in pain. Then he closed his eyes and hung his head. “I thought… I thought you liked me?”
    Elka stared at him with a dizzy sense as if she had never met him before. This wasn’t the Kenny she knew at all—dejected, pathetic even. What was that tightness in her chest? She couldn’t possibly feel sorry for him. Yet she couldn’t fight it. She both hated and pitied him at the same time.
    She needed pure hate to move forward. Hate fed her desire to kill. Hate powered her to lash out. But the mix of pity worked like cutting scotch with water. It lacked the proper kick. She could not get drunk on diluted hate.
    “I should go,” Elka said.
    “You sure did send me mixed signals.”
    Mixed signals? Did he have any idea what a contradiction he came off as, as if he suffered from multiple personality disorder? Perhaps that was the problem. Kenny was mentally ill. It would explain a lot.
    But the thought made her feel that much more sorry for him.
    She had to get away from this man.
    “I’m sorry about that,” she said, taking slow steps backward and through the archway between the kitchen and the living room. “This was a mistake.”
    A red flush painted Kenny’s cheeks. His eyes flashed. He began making a high-pitched keening from the back of his throat, the sound muffled by his clamped shut mouth. His lips were pressed so tightly together, the skin around them turned white, a stark contrast to the red across the rest of his face.
    Elka backed up some more, throwing glances over her shoulder to make sure she was lined up with the door. This whole thing had turned sideways. She was supposed to be the one in control. Kenny’s only purpose had been to sate her rage.
    Kenny approached the counter, his gaze fixed on Elka, but his hand reaching down out of sight. Elka heard the rollers on the track of an opening drawer. A moment later, Kenny raised a knife into view. He stopped whining. When he next spoke, his voice sounded wet and nasal like it would after a long cry. His eyes shined in the kitchen’s fluorescent lighting.
    “I’m a mistake?” he asked. “You’re calling me a mistake?”
    Chills rolled down Elka’s back. The hairs on her arms stood on end. Time to get out of there, fast.
    She spun and sprinted for the door. When she reached it, her momentum caused her to slam against it. The doorknob jabbed her in the belly. But she didn’t let the dull pain slow her. She grabbed the knob and twisted.
    The knob didn’t budge.
    Shit