He whipped around to glare down at me. “You should have picked me,” he growled at me, now enraged with murderous intent in his eyes. “I was everything you should have wanted, I did everything right. I played the perfect boyfriend, even saved you from the red caps when that imbecile led you straight to the trap that was meant for him. I saved you! Not him!” He was psychotic. How could I not have known? How many times had we talked, touched—how could I not have seen that he was utterly insane? Still on the floor, I gawked up at him in confusion and disbelief. “Who are you?” His features fell blank, as if someone had pulled the plug on his emotions. One minute he was a bundle of intense feelings and the next, nothing. “Where is the necklace?” “My necklace? You want my necklace?” A small glimm
