The Kind Worth Killing

She was beautiful—long red hair, eyes a lucid greenish blue like tropical waters, and skin so pale it was the almost bluish white of skim milk. If a woman like that sits down next to you at your neighborhood bar and compliments your drink order, you think your life is about to change.

Everyone dies. What difference does it make if a few bad apples get pushed along a little sooner than God intended? And your wife, for example, seems like the kind worth killing.”

I imagined her frantically searching for his EpiPen, trying to keep him alive. I always thought that Lily lucked out. She only knew Eric Washburn as a faithful boyfriend. She never learned the truth about him

Truthfully, I don’t think murder is necessarily as bad as people make it out to be. Everyone dies. What difference does it make if a few bad apples get pushed along a little sooner than God intended? And your wife, for example, seems like the kind worth killing.”

every hundred years, all new people.

We understood that survival was everything. It was the meaning of life. And to take another life was, in many ways, the greatest expression of what it meant to be alive.

“Rare breed of animal,” my father had once called me, and that’s what I felt like. Totally alive, and totally alone.

I pictured her alone, naked under the sheets, thinking about the two men in her life—her husband and her lover—and plotting murder.

I kept thinking of the way that Miranda used to look at me, still looked at me sometimes, like I was the center of her universe. And then she had ripped out my heart.

I stayed where I was, the taste of her lips still on mine.