Reborn In a Murderer’s Embrace (Dexter and Phoebe) novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9 

Colin’s eyes blazed with a fiery intensity as he gazed at my photograph. He seemed to be emotionally charged. 

“You know, I’ve gotta say that Phoebe’s got a decent figure. Wouldn’t be a total loss to wake up next to her. Heck, if she threw herself at me. I’d take her up on it.” 

*Remember at Nocturne Club, when she was soaked to the bone? Gotta admit that she’s got curves in all the right places.” 

“Kyle, you sure took your sweet time helping her out of those wet clothes…” 

“Haha…” 

Dexter’s entourage of trust–fund brats spewed their vulgar banter without restraint. 

Since Dexter looked down on me, they all did. Because Dexter always saw me as cheap. disgusting, and inferior, none of them had ever shown me an ounce of respect. 

I glared at their revolting faces, itching to tear them apart. My fists clenched and swung with futile anger. 

“Thud!” 

The sound echoed. 

Kyle was punched hard and crashing to the ground. 

I stood there in shock, watching a man with manic force lung at Kyle. And the man was Colin, the psycho who killed me. 

“Damn, is he crazy? Just get him out of the way!” The people around Kyle cursed in terror, they rushed up to try to stop it. 

But Colin was like a beast that suddenly lost its mind. No matter how hard they hit him, he was still beating Kyle hard and refusing to let go. Those bloodshot eyes of his were like those of a monster in a frenzy. 

“Touch her, and you’ll pay with your life…” Colin’s voice was grave, his words almost a sob. 

But no one could make out what he was saying. 

Colin’s face was smeared with blood, and he looked like a frantic beast under the light. That was inciting a primal fear. 

Finally, it was Dexter who knocked him out with a blunt hit. He was cursing under his breath. 

“Call the police. They’ll sort it out,” Dexter said sternly. 

Kyle lay unconscious. His face was bloodied beyond recognition. 

I watched numbly when a hollow laugh escaped me. 

Chapter 9 

Was this karmic justice? 

Two months ago, Kyle called me using Dexter’s phone. He claimed Dexter had gotten drunk and was calling out for me, asking me to come pick him up. 

It was pouring rain that night, and without a car or a cab in sight, my umbrella useless against the howling wind. 

All because Kyle said Dexter wanted me, I, like a fool, braved the storm and ran desperately toward the club. 

But when I burst through the club’s door, drenched and bedraggled, I was greeted by their mocking laughter. 

“Well, she actually came in this downpour!” 

“Dexter, man, you’ve got game. You win.” 

Dexter wasn’t drunk at all. He and his cronies were playing some vile games. 

“Dexter, this chick is so desperate; she’d do anything to marry you, right?” Kyle sneered. “Tell her she’s got to sleep with me first, and if she does, you’ll marry her. Bet she’d agree.” 

The room erupted in laughter. 

They looked at me as if I was a cheap commodity. Their gazes were sleazy and disgusting.