Pike stared at her. He just stared, for a long time. This wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her to be repulsed. He wanted her to hate him, to call him a monster, to run straight out of this bay and not look back. He'd just told her that he'd mowed down seven people and spilled another one's insides all over the floor of an abandoned warehouse. He'd told her that the killing hadn't meant anything to him. That it had been routine for him, so routine that he could not even recall the faces of the men he'd cut down. How could she still be here? Why was she still here?
One eyebrow rose. "Past tense? I killed somebody less than a month ago." He sighed, one hand coming up to massage the bridge of his nose. "You don't get why I fed that guy to the zombies, Claire. You say I did it to 'defend your honor'. That's not why I did it, not exactly." He stared right into her eyes and said, "I killed him because what he did to you made me angry and I wanted him dead. So I got his description from you and deliberately tracked him down. Then I held him up in a tree until a group of zombies gathered around us, and then I dropped him down to them. I knew I could get away with doing that because Peterson mentioned those wavers the guests signed." He smirked mirthlessly. "It was nothing less than cold, calculated, premeditated murder. In any court of law, I would be convicted in record time."
His eyes narrowed. A defense mechanism? She was trying to use some Psych 101 crap to brush so much innocent blood under a rug? He shook his head. He couldn't deal with this right now. He'd been right, this was a bad idea. He should've followed his first instinct and left before she ever got there. "Then I am," he snapped, and breezed past her, heading toward the door. He wasn't running, but it was a brisk pace.