54
Amara
When Amara entered the hotel room she walked directly into the bathroom, pulled off her sweater and looked at herself in the mirror. She was a mess; her hair disheveled, her face smudged with grime and mascara. She washed her face, her lips quivering as her tears flowed with the tap water. She stayed bent over the wash basin, allowing the overpowering emotions to flow.
Demetrius had poured himself three fingers of Absolut without ice since he didn’t want to risk exposure to the ice machine. He heard Amara cry and went to her. Her body jerked with sobs. Demetrius held her, stroked her hair.
“Why did you kill? Why?” she asked.
He looked at her curiously, grimaced and retrieved his drink.
“I need to know.”
“It’s not a rhetorical question?”
She shook her head. “Start with Sena
