Brutal

PLEASURE & PREY

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AJ MERLIN

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Brutal
Copyright © 2023 AJ Merlin
All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Design by Books & Moods

Ebook isbn: 978-1-955540-23-0

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 Author’s Note

This book is a dark romance, and there are some aspects that may not be for
all readers. Brutal contains scenes of slightly dubious consent, though our
main character always has a choice. As our love interest is a serial killer, he
can be a little rough around the edges too.

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 Contents

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24

About the Author

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 Chapter

One

I f there’s one thing I’ll miss about Camp Clearwater, it’s the way the
trees are lit up with fairy lights that come on when the day ends.
I stretch out my arms on the picnic table, cheek pillowed on hard
wood as I look at the twinkling lights in the trees above. I’ve spent all
summer trying to find a place that sits perfectly under some of the better-lit
areas, and this picnic table is it. Well, with a little help from me, anyway.
I’ve been moving it this way and that when no one is around, and finally it’s
just perfect.
Not to mention the lack of children’s voices and screaming makes it
even better. After two months of hosting two-week camps at this place and
being paid over minimum wage for every night of it, I’m finally able to sit
here without the yells of children or the sound of my name being called to
deal with something almost too ridiculous to believe.
Counselor Hazel, Adam is trying to drown Petra in the lake for fun!
Counselor Hazel, Kira glued herself to the craft bench and now she
can’t get to the bathroom…
Never in my life had I thought kids were capable of being so, uh,
creative, but this summer has definitely proved me wrong.
And showed me just how little I ever want to have children.
Letting out a sigh, I close my eyes against the sound of footsteps in the
rough grass, crunching on small sticks and fallen leaves as the person
makes their way toward me. Maybe If I don’t move, they’ll think I’m dead
and will just keep going. Other counselors are like bears, right? They don’t
see you if you don’t move?
 Besides that, I have a pretty good idea of what they want, and I’ve been
avoiding it all evening.
The footsteps stop behind me, and I hear the disappointed parental sigh
that my best friend and fellow counselor, Jenna, has been perfecting for all
of her life. Even when we were children, she sounded more like a parent
than my own parents did when she wanted to. And with the way she perches
her hands on her hips and scowls, she’s just so good at making me feel like
I’m a disappointment to my family’s honor.
I have a good feeling she’s doing that now, but I’m not looking away
from my trees to find out.
“You’re missing the party,” she points out, her voice dry with expected
disappointment. “Remember? That thing we spent all afternoon setting up
for? You were there.”
“Yeah, cleaning up glue while trying not to sniff it,” I joke, turning to
bury my head in my hands. “I don’t want to get drunk, Jenna. We’re going
home tomorrow and I don’t want to be hungover.”
She snorts. “Then don’t drink. But you can’t just sit out here for the
whole night sulking.”
I don’t tell her that I’m not sulking. I’m staring at the fairy lights and
wondering what I’m going to do when I go home. My dog walking job will
be there for me, obviously. But it’s not exactly enough to cover my rent.
Will Ada, the florist at the end of my block, still have a part-time job for
me? If so, I’m probably set for a while. If not, then I’ll have to go to some
temp agency and beg for another shot.
My stomach twists at the thought, and I tap my knuckles on the rough
wood of the table.
“Maybe I’m too worried to go with you,” I say with a light, airy laugh.
“Maybe I’m too afraid you’ll attract the murderer.” She knows what I’m
talking about, and I hear her shift in the debris behind me.
“Why would a murderer be out here at a lakeside summer camp,
Hazel?” Jenna asks witheringly. “What, do you think he gets off on killing
camp counselors? Or that he’s here to defend his childhood memories from
the likes of us?”
“Uh, yeah, obviously.” I sit up, just barely able to see the glitter of the
water through the trees. “I’m on guard so that when he rises out of the water
like a possessed, dead thing, I’ll be able to yell loud enough for all of you to
get out. While sacrificing myself, of course.” I get to my feet anyway,
stretching my arms high over my head. It’s finally cooling down here, now
that we’re firmly into August in Ohio, and the breeze off the lake is pleasant
rather than muggy and carrying a tide of mosquitos ready to suck our blood.
Jenna waits for me to face her before rolling her eyes. “Come on. I
won’t be able to get wasted while worrying that you’re going to get swept
up in an errant lake tide or something. Or wander off into the woods.”
“I’m not going to go into the lake,” I sigh, falling into step with her. “I
barely even like swimming in the first place.” But I can’t exactly comment
on the rest of her statement. Not when I’m good at just wandering off and
getting lost in whatever I’m thinking about or dealing with.
I can’t help it sometimes. I like to be alone with my thoughts, and the
woods are a great place to do it.

“T he body of K irsten W hite , age thirty-two, was found on Glendale

Road, just south of Clearwater lake, while…” The words on the radio fizzle
out in a bunch of static, and I frown, flicking the side of the camp radio that
someone’s put on top of the counter just out of reach of the booze. Just like
I’d told Jenna, I have no intention of getting drunk. For me, drinking didn’t
mean a good time, and it never has. Not at nineteen when we were in
college drinking on weekends, and not now, four years later, here at Camp
Clearwater while the other fifteen-odd counselors are slurping up every bit
of alcohol in sight.
Though I would join them if I wasn’t worried about puking all over the
place and embarrassing myself. Not to mention it’s incredibly likely for me
to get a hangover if I even try to smell one of the drinks that are being
passed around in plastic cups.
What’s the saying again? Beer before liquor and you’ll never be sicker?
Something like that, at least, though it’s never applied to me since
everything makes me sick-as-fuck when it comes to alcohol.
Still, my brain does the calculations of what I’ve heard, and I press my
palms to the counter as I frown. Glendale Road isn’t that far from here.
Maybe ten miles if we’re lucky, and that makes me incredibly nervous.
My eyes flick up, gaze going from face to face of the crowd of
counselors. Unlike other camps that hire teenagers, Camp Clearwater has
always hired young adults for their summer camp, citing that we’re ‘more
mature’ when I’m pretty sure that’s not the case at all. Most of the others are
around twenty-two or twenty-three, like me, though there are a couple of
outliers.
Like Brett. At twenty-seven, it definitely feels weird to me that he wants
to work here with a bunch of people five or six years younger than him.
And worse, he certainly doesn’t act like he’s older than any of us. If
anything, it’s the exact opposite.
At last, I find Jenna, just in time to see her shake her dark bangs out of
her equally dark eyes as she looks up at one of the other counselors, a girl
who goes by Em, with a look on her face that I’ve seen before.
Someone has a crush.
I hesitate, not wanting to bother her or ruin her night. But I do want to
tell her what I’ve just heard, since I worry about us being out here, in the
middle of nowhere, where it would take the cops at least thirty minutes to
find us after we get a cell signal to even call them in the first place.
But I push off of the counter, intent on making my worries known, only
for someone to grab my arm and pull me back around to face them.
Of course it’s Brett. There’s no one else in the world that could make me
frown like this, nor make my heart sink. It’s not only that he’s twenty-seven
and the owner’s son. And not just that his personality sucks. No, those
aren’t the real problems.
The real problem is that he’s been trying to get me alone for weeks and
has been touching me whenever he thinks he can get away with it, though
always apologizes right after like he hadn’t done it intentionally. But that’s
a fucking lie, and both of us know it every time he does it.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and it catches me off guard. He sounds
genuinely concerned, and his eyes flick to the radio before back at me. Had
he heard it too? “Do you want to talk?”
I hesitate. Just because he’s a creep probably doesn’t mean Brett is the
worst person to walk the earth. He isn’t a serial killer, after all. “Yeah. I just
want to talk to Jenna about what’s happening on the news. Did you hear
about where they found the body?”
“Yeah,” Brett says, worry clear on his features. “But look, she’s…” He
frowns as he looks at Jenna, who’s now giggling at Em and working herself
closer to the taller girl. “Do you want to go talk outside?”
I look up at him, into a handsome and lean face that I should swoon
over instead of sneer at. And maybe I would, except he isn’t my type, and
he’s not very nice. But right now, he looks like the most sober person here,
and I want to talk to someone about the possibility of us all being killed in
our sleep.
This can’t be a worse decision than any I’ve already made this summer.
“Yeah, umm. I guess.” I nod a few times, still unsure. “Let’s go
outside.”

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 Chapter

Two

W hen I’d said I’d go outside with Brett, I hadn’t anticipated him
taking me for a hike. I’d expected to just go right outside the
doors of the dining cabin, where it’s quieter and we can’t hear the
noise from the other intoxicated counselors.
I’m certainly not dressed for an almost-midnight hike, either. Not in
denim shorts, sneakers, and a tank top under my light jogging hoodie.
Especially since this hoodie that hugs my curves and makes them look more
appealing than frumpy is one of my favorites. Honestly. I don’t even know
why I brought it with me.
Oh, right, because I only have two early-fall hoodies and this is one of
them.
“Brett…” I nearly trip over a root in the darkness, and just barely keep
my footing while nearly falling into the older counselor. “Hey, where are
we going?”
“You wanted to talk outside, remember?” he asks, glancing at me over
his shoulder. I can’t see his expression in the darkness, but his words make
me hesitate.
We have to be a good half-mile away from the others by now, and I’m
pretty sure we’re between two of the docks that the kids dive into the lake
from or get little paddle boats from. Which goes to show my stupid brain
that we’re way further than I want to be.
“I didn’t want to go on a hike, though.” I stop, arms over my chest as I
look at him in the light from the fairy lights above us. It’s just enough that I
can see him turn and see that there’s a grin on his stupid face. “I wanted to
talk to you about what was on the radio.”
“Yeah?” He takes a step to the side. “Tell me about it, then.”
I don’t like the way he says it, and I drop my hands to my sides to
clench them, nails digging into my palms.
“Dude, there’s a murderer out here,” I point out slowly, like he might
have trouble hearing. “Maybe you weren’t listening, but on the radio, they
said there was a body found this morning on Glendale Road. That’s not far
from here. Maybe ten miles?”
“Nine,” Brett corrects. “I know where it is. So what, Hazel?”
“So what?” I repeat, floored. “What do you mean, so what? That’s way
too close for us to be up here. This person has killed three people in two
weeks. Do you really want to be next?” Secretly, I don’t think I’d mind
Brett being next. But that’s an inside thought and I can’t let it show on my
face.
It would be rude for him to know how little I think of him, or that I’m
sure he’s an absolute creep.
“So what do you want me to do about it? No one’s going to come up
here. This is Camp Clearwater, for Christ’s sake.” It takes me a moment to
realize he’s edging closer to me, and when I do, my heart jumps to my
throat, nearly choking me. “The only ones up here are the drunk counselors
and us. No one else.”
The way he says it makes me nervous. Like it’s a threat, not something
that is intended to make me feel better about the situation.
“Maybe you have the wrong idea,” I say slowly, my heel finding the
same root I’d nearly tripped on when getting here. Again I stumble, but this
time Brett’s hand reaches out to steady me, though he doesn’t let go when
I’m able to stand on my own.
Not even when I try to shake him off. Instead, his grip tightens, and my
stomach twists with nausea and fear.
“Let go,” I tell him. “You definitely have the wrong idea if you think I
want you to touch me.”
“I don’t get what your deal is.” He pulls me closer, one painful inch at a
time, until my shoes are literally sliding in the mud under us. “I’ve been
nice to you all summer. When Jenna came and asked my mom to give you a
job, I made sure you got one. What else do I need to do, Haze?”
 “Don’t call me that,” I snap. I’ve never had anyone try to shorten Hazel,
and he won’t be the one.
“Whatever. I’ll call you anything you want, just give me a chance. Stop
being so cold. It’s the last night of summer camp, you know?” His other
hand reaches out, gripping my opposite arm so I can’t hit him.
It’s a good thing for him he did, because my plan was, until now, to
break his nose. Unfortunately, with his long Nosferatu fingers gripping me,
that’s not going to happen.
I open my mouth to say something, then stop when I hear something
near us, like footsteps or paw steps in the woods.
“Did you hear that?” I ask, interrupting what was probably a charming
speech.
He stops, eyes narrowed. “No. There’s nothing out here except you and
me.”
“I’d rather be here with a murderer,” I snap, my heart beating faster as I
try to pull away from him, only for the taller man to yank me forward. “Let
go of me, Brett. You’re such a fucking creep—”
“So what then?” He sneers the words, cutting me off. “You’ve been just
fucking around with me all summer?”
From the corner of my eye, I see something move to my left, but Brett’s
grip is too painful for me to really see what’s going on, or determine if it
was just a shadow from a branch and me getting whiplash from how hard
he’s jerking me around.
“What?” His words draw my attention fully back to him instead of our
surroundings. “Fucking around… what are you talking about?”
“You’ve never said anything the other times I’ve touched you, or when
I’ve helped you.” I don’t think breathing down my neck during volleyball is
helping me, but clearly Brett does. Maybe he wasn’t taught good manners
as a child. “You’ve never once told me to stop, or that you didn’t like it.
And you told me tonight you wanted to go outside with me. What’s your
fucking deal, Hazel?”
My mind is blown. For a moment I let him pull me where he wants, and
we end up deeper into the woods, where the strings of fairy lights in the
trees are less clumped together and more distant.
“What’s my deal?” I all but whisper, my thoughts wiped of anything but
him and the words still ringing in my ears. “My deal? Brett, I didn’t say
anything because I wanted you to stop. I didn’t want to unintentionally
encourage you. Every time you touched me, I pulled away.”
His grip on my arms tightens, making me wince. “I don’t want anything
to do with you. And I definitely don’t want whatever this is. Let go of me,
Brett. Just fucking let go and go away.”
“You’re acting like such a bitch.” Did he not hear me? His fingers are
tight enough on me to bruise, and I grit my teeth in pain so that I don’t
make any kind of noise to encourage him. I don’t want him to know how
terrified I am, or how much I just want him to go away and that I’d give
anything to make him do it.
God, I can’t believe I was so stupid to trust him and not listen to my gut
and do something like this when I’ve been dealing with this all summer.
“You’re acting like—”
A tree branch snaps in the surrounding woods, loudly enough that it
echoes in the darkness. He stops and I look up, eyes round as I look for any
sign of movement.
“It’s fine,” Brett says after a moment, with no noise except for the
grasshoppers and the other nightlife by the lake. “It’s nothing, all right?
Jesus, Hazel. You act like you’ve never been in nature before. It’s just what
it sounds like here at night.” There’s enough light from the moon that I can
see the cocky smirk on his face, but when his grip tightens once more, I
wince to prepare for what I know is most likely going to hurt and close my
eyes hard against the motion.
But I’m not expecting his hands to loosen. I’m not expecting the intake
of breath, or the soft, choked sound he makes. I look up just in time for
blood to splatter my face and neck, and to catch sight of the man standing
behind Brett, machete falling to his side as the older counselor’s eyes go
wide and his throat pours blood.
When I open my mouth to scream, however, the only thing that comes
out is a soft, keening gasp and a very meaningful, “Fuck.”

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 Chapter

Three

A nother spatter of hot blood catches the side of my face, soaking the
front of my jacket as Brett’s fingers loosen and finally slide away
from my arms as he falls to the ground. He looks up, fear in his wide,
bulging eyes as his knees buckle and he just… goes.
Ungracefully, his legs kick as one hand goes up to grip his throat like he
can do something to alter the fact that he’s dying. His eyes swivel in their
sockets to meet mine, and a sound gurgles from his throat as he looks at me
for help.
But what in the world am I supposed to do?
My gaze slides upward, fear chilling every inch of my body as the
masked man, dressed in a loose, black coat over a T-shirt and relaxed black
jeans, watches Brett die. It isn’t his bloody outfit that keeps my attention,
though. Nor is it the dirty mask smeared with blood that he wears on his
face.
It’s the machete in his hand. Long and stained with Brett’s blood, it
glimmers in the moonlight and reflects the twinkling fairy lights in the
trees. The blood looks black on his blade and on Brett’s skin, where it stains
his tan complexion.
When I lift my shaking hands and see the blood on them, I see that it
looks black there as well.
I’m too stupid to run, even when the man, the murderer, takes a step
closer to me, crossing Brett’s body like it’s just another obstacle on the
ground.
He reaches out, and my heart nearly stops in my chest as a soft sound
leaves me… only for me to realize the hand that cups my chin is the one
that doesn’t hold the blade.
“Please don’t kill me,” I whisper, unable to go anywhere. The leather of
his glove slides against my cheek, and I can hear his soft breathing under
the mask, though I can’t see past the bright white of the plastic to know
what his face looks like underneath. “Please don’t—”
I break off, terrified. When he lets go, I’m sure he’s going to swing the
blade and chop my head off completely. Will it hurt? Brett, who’s now
silent, definitely made it seem like it hurt. And why shouldn’t it?
I’m going to die here.
But he doesn’t do any of the things I imagine. He just brushes past, the
stiffness of his coat making me shiver as it touches the thin, clingy material
of my jacket. I ball my hands into fists, still convinced he’s going to do it
and not wanting to see it, but all I hear are echoing footsteps as he walks
away.
I’m safe. The relief that for some reason he didn’t choose to kill me
floods my body and I nearly collapse. I’m safe and he’s leaving and going
—
He’s going straight for the camp itself.
“N-no,” I say, whirling around. I fall to the ground, kneeling in the dirt
as I scrabble until my fingers close around two medium size rocks. This is
stupid. This is incredibly dumb and I’m not about to throw a rock at a
fucking serial killer so that he can’t go for my best friend and the friends
I’ve made this summer.
They’re sitting ducks, though. They’re completely helpless, drunk and
stupid as they are, and I know he’ll be able to kill them just as easily as he
killed Brett.
“No!” I say again, and this time I think I see his head tilt to the side, like
he’s considering what I’m saying. I throw the bigger rock, my aim bad in
my fright and in the dark, and it sails right over his shoulder.
But it still has the awful intended effect of getting him to stop.
“Shit,” I whisper, watching as the man turns to face me again. He looks
down enough to draw my attention to dead-Brett between us, then looks
back up at me.
“… Really?” I’m surprised that his voice isn’t just a mix of garbled
creepiness and evil. He certainly doesn’t sound like the devil spat him up
just to come murder me, or like a monster.
He sounds normal.
 He sounds amused, even, like I’ve done something funny and now he
wants to have a conversation about it. My heart pounds in my chest, and my
fingers are cold as that stupid thought is chased away by my overwhelming
fear.
“You killed Brett,” I whisper, eyes wide. “Can’t you just… go away?”
He snorts, and it reminds me again that he really is just so human. God,
I really shouldn’t be doing this. I should try to beat him back to camp, and
try to get all my friends out before he gets there.
But what’s to say he doesn’t kill me if I try? Then I’m left with my own
death and the death of Jenna. I can’t handle that. Not when I could’ve done
something, or at least tried.
“If you throw that, I’m going to make you regret it.” His tone is
conversational, rather than threatening. Almost surprised, rather than…
well, threatening. He has a lighter voice that doesn’t match the hockey
mask, and on any other day, I would never pair this voice with a serial
killer.
Today, unfortunately, I know that’s not true.
“Well…” I bite down hard on my lower lip. “If you could just walk in
the other direction?” My words are slurred and obscured by my shaky
breaths, and I hope to God he understood them. “Then I won’t hit you with
it.”
“Were you trying to hit me with the first one? Because if you actually
hit me with that, then I’m really going to make you regret it.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. There aren’t enough fucks in the world to describe
how terrified I am, and I want to cry. He’s going to kill me.
But if he doesn’t kill me, then he’s going to kill everyone else.
Logically, it’s an easy decision. Unfortunately, it’s my life on the line, and I
don’t want to die.
“My friends are that way. I can’t let you kill my friends,” I add, getting
to my feet. If I’m going to throw this rock, then I really don’t want to still
be on the ground when I do it. Thankfully, Brett’s body is between us and I
can only hope it gives me an extra second to get away from him when I
throw it.
God, I really am going to do it. The knowledge terrifies me and slides
something into place that feels like cold acceptance.
I’m going to die here tonight.
 He moves, turning his face like he’s considering my words. His hand on
the machete tightens, and he rolls his shoulders. This time, he doesn’t say
anything in response to my words. Instead, he turns around to head in the
direction of the camp, and I know what I have to do.
I throw the stupid rock. Part of me is hoping it misses, but it nails the
man in the back of the head, hitting his hood and drawing a deep groan
from him.
“Fine,” I hear him murmur, and he turns back to face me again, machete
glinting.
But that’s all I see. I take off running, checking only once to make sure
that he’s behind me and wasn’t bluffing while still heading for the other
counselors.
Please let me outrun him. I trip over roots and branches, though I don’t
let them slow me down. Not even when they cut my bare legs or tear at my
hoodie. I just keep running, finally coming out beside the lake so that the
moonlight helps me see.
Once there, I lengthen my stride, arms pumping at my sides. I was
definitely never a track star in high school or college, but that doesn’t
matter right now. I run faster than I’ve ever tried, my lungs absolutely
burning with the effort. Fear is a great motivator that pushes me past my
limits and helps me ignore the screaming of my body.
I don’t want to die here. Over and over as I run, I beg any listening deity
or fate to help me out. To help me outrun him far enough that I can call
Jenna and get her to call the cops. Maybe I can loop around the lake, if I
have to. It’s not… that big. Not right now, when my fear and terror spur me
onward. Not to mention the overwhelming threat of death.
God, I can’t let him catch me.
Finally I slow, checking behind me again. I haven’t seen him since I got
to the side of the lake, and surely by now he’s given up on me since he
hasn’t caught me yet. I would hear him, I think, or at least be able to see
some trace of the man.
Panting, I focus on taking long, deliberate steps while trying to quiet
myself as much as I can. My chest burns, the fear mixing with adrenaline as
I fish my phone out of my pocket and hold it up to my face. The light
illuminates the blood already smeared onto the glass, and I whimper softly,
wanting to cry.
 Had he given up on me? Had he changed his mind and gone back to the
camp?
What if Jenna’s already dead? My stomach twists so painfully at that, at
the thought of her lying dead on the ground while I run from a killer who
was never chasing me in the first place. I want to cry, the vision is so real,
and my hand on the phone shakes.
Suddenly my phone rings, screaming out the song Jenna had picked for
herself and nearly causing me to levitate in surprise. I clap a bloody hand
over my mouth to keep from making much noise and swipe across the
screen, leaving a bloody thumbprint across the glass that causes me to
wince.
“Jenna?” I whisper, leaning against a tree as relief steals some of the
fear that’s kept me going. “Jenna please tell me—”
“Where are you?” She’s panicking, and I can hear the hysteria in her
voice. “Hazel, where the hell are you right now? We just found Brett when
we came looking for you. Hazel he’s fucking dead.”
“I know,” I whimper. “Jenna, you have to—”
A sigh finds my ears moments before the phone is swatted out of my
hands, disappearing in the undergrowth as I whirl around, already knowing
what I’ll find.
Sure enough, the masked man stands behind me, his mask illuminated
by moonlight.
“Shit,” I whisper, my body screaming at me that I’ve already run too
much tonight. Cardio has never been my thing, but one look at his hand
gripping that bloody machete is all the convincing I need.
I take off again, running through the trees and praying I don’t trip or fall
over something in my haste to get away from him. It feels more difficult
now, and every few steps I feel like my legs are going to give out and I
won’t be able to run anymore. My breath comes in gasps, and I’m far
enough from camp that I can’t see any of the lights or discerning landmarks
from where I am.
Still, being lost is better than dead.
At least, until I do end up tripping, a shriek escaping my throat as I hit
the ground on my hands and knees and roll onto my side. My knees sting
from the impact, and the rest of me isn’t too thrilled, either. But at least I’m
still alive.
I just need to get up.
 Dragging myself up to my arms as I pant and stare at the dark ground
under me. I tell myself again that I have to get up. I need to move, or I’m
going to die on the ground with a machete in my face. And while I’m sure
there are worse ways to die, currently I can’t think of any.
I have to get up.
Footsteps draw closer and my arms shake as I pant. My fingers curl in
the dirt as the steps halt, but I don’t have to look up to know that he’s close.
“Poor little thing.” The man’s voice can only be described as a purr, and
I can’t help but shudder. It’s not what I’m expecting, and my shoulders
tense as I wait for the pain that I know is coming. “You’ve run so hard,
haven’t you? Like a frightened little rabbit trying to get away from the big
bad wolf.”
He steps closer, and when I open my eyes, I can just see the edge of his
jeans and the black of his hiking boots. My lips part as I look up at him, and
I’m dying to say something that will belie the fear that makes me want to
vomit.
But I don’t. I can’t. My stomach twists itself into knots as I stare up at
him, and a gloved hand reaches out to tilt my chin back a little more, until
it’s uncomfortable, and I realize it’s so he can look me in the eye.
He’s going to kill me.
“Aren’t you going to beg me not to kill you?” he asks, sounding curious
more than anything. “You watched me kill that boy. Surely you know what
comes next, right?”
I shudder and grip dirt between my fingers, then shake my head. “Fuck
you,” I whisper, blinking hard to try to push the tears away. If he’s going to
kill me, he’s not going to have me begging, too.
“No, that’s not how this works.” His grip on my chin shifts until his
thumb presses against my lower lip. The leather of his glove is harsh as he
slides it into my mouth, and I jerk back when I taste blood. Brett’s blood. “I
caught you, little bunny. Little prey.” He kneels down beside me, my jaw
still in his grip, and I’m so surprised that I don’t even try to jerk away when
I come face to face with that cold, bloody mask he wears.
This close, he smells like blood, old and new. Like the leather of his
jacket and gloves, a hint of old metal.
It shouldn’t smell good, and I definitely shouldn’t be trying to chase the
hint of spice under all that. But I’m about to die, so I probably get a pass for
my brain being stupid and shutting down.
 Shakily, I reach up one hand and grip his wrist as I jerk my face out of
his grip. “I’m not going to beg you not to kill me again,” I tell him in a
voice that quivers. “I won’t give you that.”
“No? You were more than willing to beg me not to kill your friends.”
He’s so conversational that it unsettles me. Like we’re not here, at the lake,
and the police aren’t coming to arrest him or shoot him dead.
“If you’re going to kill me now—” I turn, trying to keep his hand
holding the blade in sight, though with him so close to me, it’s incredibly
difficult. “Why save me from Brett? Why stop him from hurting me?”
“Save you?” His head cocks slightly, slowly, to one side and the mask
just stares at me with cold brutality. “Who said anything about saving you?”
“But you—”
“Maybe I was just jealous that someone else was touching the gorgeous
girl I’d been coming out here to watch all summer.”
My blood runs cold at the statement and I jerk my face up to his, mouth
open to reply, only for him to suddenly reach up and grip the base of my
throat in one long-fingered hand. He shoves me backward to the ground,
my shoulders hitting soft grass and my eyes finding the soft glimmer of
fairy lights in the trees.
I’m going to die here, under the lights I loved to look at all summer. My
heart pounds in my chest as he moves to straddle my hips, and I’m too worn
out from running to do more than stare up at him and pray to God that it
doesn’t hurt as much as it looked like it did when he killed Brett.
He moves his arm, the one holding the machete… but when it comes
into my line of sight, he doesn’t hold the blade itself. Instead, he holds a
strip of cloth, something that might have been torn from his shirt, and
dangles it above my face.
“Close your eyes, little rabbit,” he purrs darkly, and I shudder.
“No. I’m not going to—”
“Beg me to let you live? We’ve covered that.” The humor in his voice is
back, and I shudder at the words.
“I’m not going to let you do… whatever this is. If you’re going to stab
me or slit my throat, then you have to deal with me seeing you do it.” I
don’t know what kind of stand that makes, and I can feel myself crying now
as I mentally search for any sign that this isn’t really happening.
Because it can’t be happening. I’m twenty-three, and I don’t deserve to
die like this. Sure, I haven’t done anything great like get a real, full-time job
or maintain therapy appointments with any consistency. I’ve never even
kept a plant alive.
But I still don’t deserve to die.
“Adorable,” he replies, and grabs my hands in his gloved fingers,
forcing them down to my sides so he can pin them there with his knees
while I thrash with renewed energy and try my best to buck him off.
“Stop it!” I scream, trying to kick him and failing miserably. I turn my
face away from his hands, but it’s no use. Within seconds, the cloth is tied
over my face, securely enough that it’s not going anywhere. I open my eyes
behind it, unsurprised when I can’t see a damn thing. Everything is pitch
black, and I shudder.
“There you go, little bunny,” he coaxes, running his fingers over my
bottom lip. With a jolt, I realize he’s no longer wearing a glove, though I
can’t figure out why. “Unlike some people, I’m not stupid enough to show
my face so soon.”
“What?” I whisper, voice soft.
“Nothing. I’m just talking to myself.” Something clinks on a rock near
my head, and when I turn, cringing at the expectation of pain and getting
stabbed… nothing happens.
Instead, he splays his hand against my lower stomach, holding me in
place. “Let’s talk about what’s going to happen, little prey,” the man growls,
his voice no longer muffled. It clicks, that he’s taken off his mask, and
that’s probably what’s beside me. “I’m not like Prince Charming back there.
And I will not to hurt you like he would’ve.”
“Yeah, you’re just going to stab me,” I whisper, trying to prove I’m not
afraid. “Totally not the same—” The knuckles of his other hand tap my
cheek, causing me to flinch, though it doesn’t hurt in the least. In fact, if
both of his hands are on me, then that means he isn’t holding the blade.
Is he going to strangle me instead?
“You got your wish, didn’t you? I came after you instead of your
friends. That’s what you wanted. And you gave me such a fun chase. I
didn’t actually think you’d last this long, if I’m being honest. And you look
so good in the dirt, smeared with blood and so tired that you’re shaking.”
I want to say something, though I have no idea what. It feels like it’s
almost a compliment, but my mind refuses to accept that. There’s no way a
serial killer is telling me I did good or whatever this is. Clearly, he’s just
fucking with me to give me hope before he ends my life.
 “I just want one thing, then I’ll let you go.”
“No, you won’t,” I whisper, stupidly. But with my brain too focused on
death, it’s hard for my filter to get in the way of all the stupid shit I want to
say.
His knuckles find my cheek again, like a soft reprimand, though it’s not
a strike. It’s a brush, if that. A tap, at the most.
“You’re going to let me kiss you, pretty little bunny, and then I’ll let you
out of my snare.”

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 Chapter

Four

I know I heard him wrong. Somehow my brain has transformed the word
murder into kiss to protect my subconscious. He’s telling me how he’s
going to end my life, but my brain has turned on selective-hearing
mode and now I’m only getting the things that won’t make my soul
immediately vacate my body.
“Did you hear me, bunny?” He touches my cheek once more, tone
amused. “Or did I shock you into unconsciousness?”
“That one,” I whisper. “Because I know I didn’t just hear what I think I
did.”
“Which part? That I’m going to kiss you? That a murderer with more
victims than years you’ve been alive wants to ravage that pretty little mouth
before he sets you free? Or that I’ve been coming here every week for the
entire summer, so I could imagine what I’d do to you if I had this exact
opportunity? I was going to let you go, you know.” He leans closer to me,
and I jerk in his hold, though there’s literally nothing I can do right now
except turn my face away from him, my sightless eyes wide under the
makeshift blindfold.
“Are you going to make me fight you for this too?” he chuckles, breath
hot against my cheek.
“I’ll make you fight me for everything,” I reply, and I’m not prepared
for the way he growls against my ear. Fuck.
“Careful, little prey,” the murderer warns. “Or you’re going to ask for
more than you can handle with words like that. You’re not going to look at
me?” I shake my head. “Not going to open your mouth for me so I can have
what I want?”
 I shake my head, still staring resolutely to the side.
“Good.” What? “I prefer to take it, anyway.” His free hand grips my jaw
and he yanks my face up to his as he nips at my lower lip, biting sharply
enough that I gasp instinctually.
“Good girl,” he purrs, just before he kisses me in earnest, his tongue
pressing against mine and sweeping around my mouth. Contrary to what I’d
somehow expected, he doesn’t taste like blood.
He tastes tempting. And amazing, and if this were anyone else, I would
beg for the taste of him on my tongue.
But he’s a fucking murderer, and I’m still his most likely next victim. A
thrill shoots up my spine, and when he shifts and I’m able to yank my arms
free, I think for sure I’m going to shove him off of me and onto the ground
so I can run.
Yet somehow one ends up in his hair, nails scratching harshly against
his scalp until he makes a satisfied noise into my mouth. This time there’s a
jolt in the opposite direction that starts at my mouth and ends between my
thighs.
It’s fucking adrenaline, I scream at myself, gripping his coarse hair hard.
You don’t really want this. It’s literally adrenaline.
But it doesn’t feel like adrenaline when he kisses me. In fact, it feels
like I’m really into this, and that I don’t want him to go anywhere. Still,
that’s the wrong response for my body to have, and while I’ve known for a
while I’m kind of fucked up, I can’t be that fucked up.
Right?
I just watched this man murder someone, and I’m probably going to be
next.
Another nip on my lower lip drags me back to the present, and I gasp a
soft swear at the sharp pain.
“You’re going to need to let go of my hair. Or at least hold it more
lightly, little bunny,” he murmurs against my throat. “Otherwise, I’m going
to think you want something more than a kiss.”
Even though his words sear me like flames, it takes me a second before
I can pry my fingers free from his coarse hair. I don’t stop to analyze that,
but instead drop my hand awkwardly beside my head, breathing quickly
against his lips.
“Good little rabbit,” he murmurs, like I’ve done something actually
praiseworthy. I don’t feel like I have, though, and I wish I could see
something other than the blackness of the blindfold he has on me.
“Are you going to let me go now?” I whisper, wishing I’d kept the
words inside the moment they escape. I’ve probably reminded him to get a
move on, and now I’m going to end up with a machete in my chest.
He sighs and brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, dragging it down
until his hand is curled around my throat. “I guess. Since you want me to,
and all.” There’s a playful edge in his rough voice that I definitely don’t
understand, and when his hand tightens very slightly on my throat, I shiver
and close my eyes hard.
“What? Do you think I’m going to strangle you?” he asks, chuckling
sweetly at the end of the words. “I could. You’re making it rather easy for
me…but I’m not into killing like that. I want to see you gasping for breath,
but not because I’m about to kill you.”
There’s definitely no other reason to be gasping for breath, but I don’t
say that. I don’t say anything, hoping he’ll just get up and walk away so I
can run back to the campground screaming.
And if I kick a little dirt over Brett’s body on the way, who’s going to
know or say anything to anyone?
“Here.” Something is pressed into my hand, and as my fingers curl
around it, I suck in a surprised breath.
“Is that my phone?” I’m sure it is. I can feel the case in my fingers, and
my thumb slides over the camera lens as my heart takes it as an invitation to
speed up again. “You’re giving me my phone back?”
“Sure am, gorgeous,” the man assures me. “Took me a minute to find it
when I was chasing you, but I figured it would have been rude for me to
leave it in the dirt.” His words don’t make sense, and I have a feeling I’ve
floated away in a fantasy while he stabs me to death on the lakeside.
“You’re giving it to me,” I repeat, still not believing it. “Just… giving it
to me?”
“Yep.” He moves, and I feel him get to his knees above me, his lips no
longer just above mine.
“What if I took a picture of you?”
When he sits back on my hips and sighs, I know I’ve fucked up. Even as
I said the words I knew, and now it’s only icing on the cake of confirmation
that I really should learn to just not talk.
Oh, well. Maybe in the next life.
 “What if you took a picture of me?” His hand touches my hip, causing
me to flinch. “What are you going to do, little bunny? Rip that blindfold off
your face, knock me to the ground, and take pictures of me to show the
cops? Hmm?” His fingers skim my bare skin, drawing small circles against
my hip. “While you’re at it, maybe you’ll tie me to a tree with rope you’ve
woven from grass and lead the cops to me by scent?”
He’s making fun of me. He’s treating this like it’s a joke, and like I
couldn’t do what I’ve said. Though, to be honest, I’m really not sure that I
can. He probably has every right to make fun of me, and I’d rather him do
that than murder me.
“Excuse me for breathing,” I mutter, face turned to the side.
He laughs. “No, little bunny, don’t be that way. Tell you what. You’re
more than welcome to try. I’m not going to kill you.”
I don’t believe him.
“I’m going to get up and walk away; then maybe you’ll never see me
again. The cops will never catch me, either.” That’s cocky of him. “And
that’s your last chance to be a helpful citizen. You take my picture and the
police will know who I am. I’ll get arrested and rot in jail. Is that what you
want?”
I’m not sure if it is or not. He killed Brett. And he hasn’t killed me.
But he’s killed other people! My brain reminds me, screaming. Maybe
he played games like this with them, too! He’s probably lying about coming
back to watch you all summer.
“You’ve been watching me all summer?” It’s not really any of my
business to know why a crazy serial killer is doing that, but part of me still
doesn’t believe him.
“Once a week at least,” he assures me almost sweetly. “It can be
difficult to get away sometimes, but I’m so glad we got to meet before you
go home tomorrow. It’s a bit like a sweet summer teen romance, don’t you
think?”
No, I don’t think that at all.
“I don’t believe you.” God, I’ve really got to get control of my mouth.
“I’ve never seen you. Someone would’ve seen you.”
“You’ve never seen me because the only thing you ever want your eyes
full of is fairy lights,” he purrs.
My stomach drops through the ground, straight to the center of the
earth, and tries hard not to come back up at his words. How would he know
that unless he really had been watching me, for at least part of the summer?
Too stunned to speak, I lie there like an idiot without the sense to be a
Final Girl in anyone’s movie.
“Do yourself a favor though, and don’t listen to me, little bunny. Like I
said, you could totally rip off the blindfold and take a picture of my face…
But then I’d have to make you regret it. And I’d have to get into your phone
to delete the pictures.” He gets to his feet, his warmth gone, and I find
myself shivering in the cool night.
“I thought… you wouldn’t kill me,” I say, half to myself.
He chuckles, and I flinch when he picks up whatever he’d laid down
beside me. “I won’t. But there are plenty of ways I can make you regret
doing something stupid that don’t involve permanent injury, maiming, or
death. I’m creative like that. I would say tell all your friends I say hi… but I
wouldn’t mean it. You’re the only one who matters here, anyway.”
I don’t respond. I don’t even get a chance to as he walks away into the
woods, footsteps disappearing within a minute until I’m left only with the
crickets and the smell of the lake in my nose chasing his scent away.

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 Chapter

Five

H e’s gone.
Relief fills me just as quickly as the sounds of the woods, and I
pull the blindfold off completely. There’s a breeze in the branches
above me, one that moves the small lights attached to the trees even this far
from camp. From what I’ve heard, the lights go for a couple miles in either
direction of the camp, though they become more and more sparse as they go
on.
In theory, can’t I just look for the lights and follow them back?
Suddenly disappointment sinks through my bones, and I struggle to my
feet with my phone in my hand. I can’t get his words out of my head,
though I’m not sure why.
I could follow him. He might not notice, and I could at least figure out
where he’s going for the police. That would be good, right? He’s killed
people. Not just Brett, who I can’t exactly force myself into feeling sorry
for. But other, better people.
He needs to be in jail, not waltzing around the woods with a damn
machete.
On the other hand, he could have been bluffing. He could absolutely kill
me if I put myself in his path again. A rock is one thing. Figuring out
something to help the police is another.
My eyes find the trees at the side of the lake and I see the winking of
light in three of them. I’m sure I could just head toward those and
eventually make it back to camp, but that isn’t the way the killer went.
But then again, I shouldn’t go the way the killer went… right?
 I take a breath… and turn away from the lit trees.
Instead, I follow the small game trail in the woods, pretty sure this is
where he went. I’m honestly good at keeping silent, and I watch my step so
that I stay on the grass instead of on branches or anything else that’s going
to make noise.
I don’t need a picture of his face, like he teased. If I could just figure out
where he went, that would work just as well for me. Well enough, anyway,
since I’m too afraid to do more than this.
Even just walking the same way he did terrifies me. I’m asking for it,
though some part of me, a really sick part with no survival instinct, wonders
what he’d do if he caught me.
Would I get to see his face? That’s definitely crazy, since in the movies,
killers only show their faces to the people they’re about to kill. I don’t want
to die.
But I don’t think I want anyone else to die, either.
My slow steps take me into a darker part of the woods, though I can still
hear the waves lapping at the shore somewhere to my left. Then the trail
shifts, turning back toward the lake itself, and finally, I come out of the
thickest trees and to a clearer spot on the shore.
Is this a camping spot? That’s the only thing I can fathom, at least. The
ground is clear of some debris, and there’s a small dock that leads out to
what looks like a deeper part of the lake, rather than the gentle shore the
camp uses for swimming that I’m familiar with.
There’s even a picnic table, and on it?
My heart almost stops.
On top of the picnic table is the bloody machete. I swallow back bile,
wishing I’d stayed in the thicker part of the woods instead of coming out
here. I chance a look around, trying to stare into the darkness of the
surrounding trees.
But there’s nothing there. No movement. No white shine of a mask. In
fact, the only thing that’s vaguely person shaped is the thing at the edge of
the dock.
Except, they aren’t moving. Are they dead? It feels like maybe there’s a
victim out there, in a chair at the end of the short dock.
That, or the killer decided to take a nap.
But… What if they aren’t dead? It’s probably not a Brett situation, and
if someone there was stabbed and isn’t dead, then they deserve my help. I
know I’d want to be helped if the situation was reversed.
Yet, my eyes fall on the machete, its blade still stained with blood. He
can’t have just left this. Meaning that he’s here somewhere.
Or he’s gone, and this person just really needs help.
I need to decide fast, and with my blood pounding in my ears, I’m
terrified that it’s going to be the wrong one and that I’m going to end up
dead.
Change of plan, I tell myself. We check to see if that person’s okay, then
we run. That feels less bad. If whoever’s out on the dock is dead, then I’m
home free, anyway. If they aren’t, then I call the cops, or dive into the lake
and swim for help.
And if the killer shows up, then I definitely dive into the lake and swim
for help. I’m a damn good swimmer, and if I have to cross the lake to get to
safety, I will. With his heavy jacket, mask, and machete, I can’t honestly sit
here and think that he’s going to dive in after me. Especially if I haven’t
seen his face.
Besides… hadn’t he said he wouldn’t kill me?
Am I stupid enough to believe him?
Instead of running away like the frightened rabbit he’d compared me to,
I take off at a quick walk toward the dock. My foot finds the first bit of
wood and I pause as it creaks, then continue on more carefully. He’s not
around, or I would’ve heard him.
Right?
I just need to make sure someone’s not hurt.
God, this is the first time in my life I’ve hoped someone is dead. Does
that make me a shit person? My entire body shakes as I reach what I see is a
chair, and as I get closer, I realize that this was a mistake.
Though, it’s not until I come face to face with the chair, with a leather
jacket thrown over its back and the mask sitting in the seat, that I realize
how much of a mistake this was.
It feels like a trap.
Slowly, I turn, mouth pressed to a thin line as I walk carefully back up
the dock. I don’t care how much the wood creaks and moans under me. I
don’t care that it might be dry-rotted and drop me into the lake.
I just need to get out of here.
At the end of the dock, I glance up, intent on doing another check of the
clearing before I escape. But my body slams to a complete and utter halt.
 The picnic table isn’t empty anymore.
Instead, a large shape sits there, feet resting on the bench so he can
drape his arms across his knees. My mouth falls open, my breaths raspy and
terrified as I look at the killer, who sits unmasked on the table.
This was a bad idea.
“Did you think I was sitting out there?” His voice is teasing, calm, and
oh so fucking dangerous. “Or did you think I’d found another unfortunate
victim in the woods?” With his hood up, I can’t see his features, and I don’t
want to.
“I haven’t seen anything,” I whisper. “I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to—”
“Well, that’s a lie, isn’t it?” He shifts to pick up the machete, gloved
fingers testing the edge. I shudder at the motion, edging toward the thicker
trees again. “No offense, little rabbit…” He doesn’t look up at me, but he
does place the machete down on the table again. “But you’re not fast
enough to outrun me. Especially since I have a feeling you’re just as tired as
you were when I caught you last time.”
“I’ll jump in the lake,” I threaten, shifting back toward the dock.
“And I’ll come drag you out. I’ll give you mouth to mouth, if that’s
what it takes. Can’t have you dying to get away from me, bunny.” A part of
me wants to tell him my name, so he stops calling me rabbit, bunny, and
prey.
“Why?” I can’t help but ask, my hands clenching at my sides.
He doesn’t answer.
“Why did you come out here?” he asks instead, a few seconds later.
“After I let you go? Shouldn’t you have hopped on back to your
campground?” Again with the rabbit jokes.
“I got lost,” I lie easily, slowly working my way to the tree line. “I was
trying to go back, but I didn’t know which way to go, and I didn’t know this
is where you went—”
“You’re not a very good liar. And you’ll have to do much better if you
want to lie to me,” he points out mildly, still not looking up from his hands.
“Why would you think I’m lying?”
“Call it intuition.” Slowly he reaches out, his fingers curled. “Come
here.”
“Not on my life.” Instead, I take another step toward the trees, ready to
run.
“I’ll tell you one more time. Come here, or I’ll make you.”
 I hesitate, though I really should run. But he’s right about something
incredibly unfortunate. I’m exhausted. My muscles burn and my legs still
feel like jelly. I need another minute, or ten, to be able to run anywhere, and
I’m scared we both know it. “Why? What do you want from me? You said
you wouldn’t kill me, remember?” I throw at him, like a serial killer ever
sticks to his word.
“I also told you there are a lot of ways to make you regret something
outside of killing or seriously harming you,” he reminds me, not moving.
His hand is still held up between us and I look at it, then at his shadowed
face that I can’t see.
“You’ll hurt me.”
“Maybe. But I think you should take your chances by doing what I say,
instead of running.”
His words cause my lungs to close, and I choke on the air I was
breathing. He’ll hurt me. He’ll fucking kill me, more likely. And I’m so
afraid of him that I feel frozen.
Then, without another word and praying some miracle will happen, I
bolt into the trees.
Or, I try to.
The serial killer lunges off of the picnic table, and in only a few strides
catches me around the waist. I scream and yell, kicking out at him. I lash
out with my feet and hands, trying to hit him and make him let go, but he
doesn’t even seem to notice. Instead, he drags me back with him, until he’s
able to sit me up on the picnic table with one hand suddenly around my
face, covering my eyes.
“Poor little rabbit,” he taunts, grip tight as I reach up to try to make him
let go. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? Close your
eyes.”
“N-no.”
He chuckles. “My friends tell me I’m nicer without the mask, but you
don’t get to see my face either way. Either close them so I can blindfold
you, or I go put it on and you won’t like me as much.”
I feel myself shaking under his near-bruising grip, and slowly I nod,
unable to think of a way out of this without doing as he says. “You won’t…
hurt me?” I ask, as his hand falls away from my face and I ache to open my
eyes to see his face.
“You trust a serial killer?”
 Bile rises in my throat as he wraps a length of cloth around my face,
obscuring my vision like he had before. But before I can reply, he leans
forward, lips brushing my ear. “That’s okay. You can trust this one. Just this
once. I won’t hurt you, little bunny of mine. Not like you’re thinking.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.” My voice is small and terrified,
and my breath comes in desperate pants as he moves. Unthinkingly I seize
his arm, afraid of what will happen once I can’t feel him anymore, and he
lets me keep my grip. “I’m sorry. I’ll go. Please. I’ll leave, and it’s not like I
can tell anyone anything. I don’t know anything—”
“Yes, I’m fully aware of that. What? Did you think that I’d let you
follow me here if there was ever a chance of you seeing something that
could get me into trouble? Did you consider for a second that I didn’t know
what my little prey was going to do once I let her up?” His voice is a low,
teasing rumble and it makes me shiver with a feeling that’s only partly fear.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, letting him use my grip on his arm to pull me
wherever he wants me. I can’t figure out where or what that is, exactly. Not
when I can’t see. Though when he gives a sudden tug and his other hand
forces me over his lap, with my elbows on the picnic table, my heart sinks
again.
“What are you doing?” I demand, trying to fight against his hold. I push
up against the rough wood of the table, my feet kicking uselessly at the
bench.
“Is it not obvious, or were you never spanked as a child?” the serial
killer teases. “Maybe if you had been, you wouldn’t be so keen to follow
me out into the woods at night.”
“You’re not going to—”
“I am, in fact,” he assures me. “I suppose by your definition, I am
hurting you a little. But I think we both know I could do worse.” Before I
can reply, his bare hand slides up my thigh, and my breath catches in my
throat as I regret just how little these shorts cover. Not that I expected to be
over someone’s lap tonight.
“Please don’t.”
“I could ask you to count for me…” He lifts his hand and a second later
it’s back, hard enough that the blow stings against my skin. I gasp, rising on
my tiptoes, trying to get away from him or the stinging pain or something.
“But I won’t be that mean to you. All you have to do is stay there and take
it. That’s all, bunny. Is that too much to ask for?”
 “Yes.”
“Well…” He hums lightly and his hand descends again, this time
against my other thigh. I yelp and turn to bury my face against the arm that
holds me in his lap. “I guess if you can’t take the punishment, you shouldn’t
have committed the crime, huh?” When he lifts his hand again, I flinch,
expecting him to hit me once more. But instead, he runs a hand over the
already inflamed skin of my thighs, making me shudder.
Oh fuck, I think to myself, as something other than fear and relief floods
my body. My thighs clench as he slides his palm over the abused flesh of
my upper thighs, and I whimper when he hits me again, in the same spot,
only causing it to get worse. Twice more he spanks me, and then his hand
comes down to stroke over my tender thighs again.
This part is the worst, and not because it hurts. I attempt to muffle any
noise against his bare forearm, my legs giving out and causing me to sink
down until I’m flush against his lap instead of holding myself away from
him to maintain distance. He murmurs something I can’t hear, and I’m too
focused on trying to keep myself under control to really figure it out.
“Are you ready to go again?” he croons, his fingers digging into my soft
thighs. I shake my head, nose against his arm. “Yes, you are, sweet little
bunny. You’re doing so well for me. Such a good little girl for me.” That’s
not helping, and I wish he’d stop talking. His voice is like soft, smooth
velvet that slides against my body, making this so much worse. “You can do
it for me one more time. Two more on each side, okay? That’s all.”
“That’s too much,” I disagree, barely able to talk with my face pressed
against him.
“It’s not.” He slides his palm down my thigh and then lifts it once more.
I tense, unable to help myself, and whimper when he spanks me again, this
time just under the hem of my shorts, at the swell of my ass. My thighs
clench when he does it again, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m
grinding against his lap, my teeth against his forearm.
He pauses, his hand resting against my lower back as I try to get a hold
of myself. Am I crying? I definitely feel like I’m crying, and judging by the
wet feel of the blindfold, it’s a very well-educated guess.
“Oh,” he murmurs and chuckles softly. “That’s not why I thought you
didn’t want me to do this, little rabbit.”
I say nothing. I don’t know what there is to say, frankly, especially when
he hits me twice more and I feel like I’m on fire from the burning sting of
his hits and the way it all seems to go to the same place in my body.
His hand comes back to my thighs, stroking up one, then the other. His
skin feels cool against my abused flesh, and I whine against his arm as I
squirm in his lap, trying not to grin against him.
“You know, if you need to…” His hand grips my hip, and he coaxes me
to move until I really am grinding on his thigh, my legs slipping to either
side of his in order to do so with ease. “But I think this earns you more,
don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, and his blows are lighter,
more teasing this time. But it doesn’t matter.
They still feel like licks of flame to me, and I grip his knee and what I
can reach of his arm as he rests his hand on my thigh again. I’m shivering,
and I can’t decide if I want him to keep going or to stumble away from him
and run.
“Stop, please. Just… stop,” I plead, barely able to pay attention to him.
My head is spinning with delight that I try to force away, and I only vaguely
hear his soft laugh.
“Stop what, rabbit? You’re shaking yourself to pieces and all I’ve done
is keep my hand on your thigh for the past thirty seconds. Unless you’re
begging yourself to stop, maybe…?” He strokes along the reddened skin of
my thighs, making it harder for me to think. “I suppose that’s fair. Is my
little bunny a masochist?”
I shake my head.
“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure we could both find out pretty
easily, couldn’t we?” His hand comes to rest on my hip again, and he urges
me to sit up so that I’m straddling his lap, knees pressing against the rough
wood of the table as I try to pull myself together, just as unsuccessfully as
before.
“Good girl,” he praises, voice low and tight. “You were so good for
me… you took more than I asked you to.”
“W-will you let me go, then?” I whisper, my hands on his shoulders as I
stare blindly at what might be his face.
“Yeah, of course, I will.” He starts to loosen his grip, only to hold me
tighter, keeping me in place. “Unless you’d rather I give you a reward.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Six

O f course I don’t want that.

I sit still in his lap, knees holding my weight so I don’t sink
down onto my sore thighs. Not that he cares that I’m trying not to
hurt myself, obviously. Especially when one of his hands leaves my arm,
and he moves it to sink his fingers into my thigh, the grip so deliciously
painful against my much abused flesh.
Fuck, maybe I am a masochist.
“That hurts,” I breathe, leaning forward as I try to pull away from his
hand. I end up with my face against his shoulder, still unable to see a damn
thing about the situation. I wish I could see his face, and with a shock I
realize it’s not because I want to be able to describe him to a police sketch
artist.
“I know, bunny,” he coos, sliding his nails up my thigh. “But that’s only
a complaint from someone who doesn’t like it. Are you ticklish?” At the
change in subject, I hesitate, then shake my head harshly.
It’s a lie, but I’m definitely not in the mood to be tickled by a serial
killer.
“Oh yeah? You’re not?” I only vaguely realize that he’s no longer
holding my arms, especially when his fingers skim along my sides, then
leave. A second later I feel him tug at the zipper of my jacket, and with a
few simple motions he tugs it off of me, tossing it somewhere that I have a
feeling is the damn lake or the nearest ditch.
Then he hesitates, hand on my bare upper arm. “Where’s your phone?”
he asks, and the rough words make me tense all over again.
 “I’m not letting you have it,” I tell him, with more confidence than I’m
feeling or ever could in this situation.
“You’re not letting me have it. You’re not letting me touch you. You
didn’t let me spank you… and you didn’t follow me into the woods,” he
teases, turning so his lips brush my ear. “So many things you’ve promised
you won’t let me do… but here you are, in my lap. And I’m not even
holding you here.”
His words flood me with the truth. That I’m not bound here by him.
“You wouldn’t let me leave if I wanted to,” I argue, feeling almost…
defensive? My thighs still tremble and ache, and I doubt I could do much
running anyway. There’s no way I could get away from him.
“Of course, I would. I wouldn’t keep you here if you were fighting me. I
don’t need to force anyone, much less you.”
“You’re lying—”
His hand finds my mouth suddenly, arm resting against my shoulders as
he covers my lips. “Stop that. I haven’t lied to you once tonight, now have
I?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, and it’s not like I could do more than
make noise, anyway. “If you want to leave, you can leave. Even when I
have you pinned to this picnic table and you’re about to come, you can ask
me to stop and I will.”
What… did he just say?
“Do you understand me, Hazel?”
It’s probably his use of my name that shocks me more than anything,
and the fact that he releases my mouth in the same breath.
“You know my name?” I can’t help but ask, my face turned toward his.
“Of course I do. I’ve been stalking you, haven’t I?” He rests his hands
on my hips. “Aren’t your thighs getting tired, little bunny? Don’t you want
to sit in my lap?”
I shake my head, still hesitating. But when he moves to push me down, I
don’t hesitate, and only rearrange my legs so that it’s more comfortable to
sit on his. That he’s just as turned on by spanking me as I am isn’t lost on
me one bit, either. It would be pretty hard to miss, though. Especially with
my thighs around his waist and my weight on him.
“I can’t tell you yes,” I argue, half with myself as I look down. Not that
it makes a difference. “You’re a serial killer. You killed Brett—”
“You’re not very upset about that—”
“You were going to kill my friends.”
 “…Debatable,” he answers, fingers trailing up my spine under my t-
shirt. “But go on.”
I’m not sure what that means. Was he… not going to kill my friends?
Surely this wasn’t just some weirdly elaborate plan to chase me away from
the campground. I’m not that important to anyone, let alone a serial killer.
“Go on,” he urges again, hand slipping under my shirt. “You’re thinking
too hard, little bunny. Keep telling me how you can’t let the big bad serial
killer touch you like this, or keep you on his lap.” He reaches around to my
back pocket and unerringly finds my phone, which he takes. As if he knew
it was there all along.
“I can’t,” I agree, shivering under his touch.
“I bet you can’t let me find where you’re ticklish, either, hmm?” His
nails scratch lightly over the sides of my belly, making me squirm, and I
nearly jerk off of his lap when he does the same to the skin above my ribs.
I’m not deaf to the chuckle I hear close to my face, but at least he stops.
“I’m not going to let you keep doing this. I’m not going to stay, or let
you do whatever you think I want,” I argue, but it’s a losing battle, no
matter how firm my voice is.
“Oh, I see. That’s okay, then. You don’t have to tell me yes.” Is he…
going to let me go? Will he drop me on the ground and walk away,
whistling, into the woods? “But if I go too far or do something that you
don’t like, you will say ‘red.’ And that’s non-negotiable. Got that, little
rabbit?” he orders, voice suddenly stern enough that I turn my face up to
his.
I get what he’s telling me. It’s not difficult to understand, really. And in
some ways, it takes the burden off of me saying ‘yes, Mr. Serial Killer, I do
want you to fuck me into the picnic table until dawn after killing someone
who was intent on hurting me and nearly going after my friends.’
“Wait.” I press a hand against his chest and feel him take a breath. In his
unzipped hoodie, he’s warm under my hand, and it takes me a minute to
remember what I’m going to say. “Can I take the blindfold off?”
He laughs. “Of course you cannot. What are you thinking, little rabbit?
That the big bad wolf is going to go all sweet for you? Take it off and this
ends, and you really won’t like me after that.”
“Why? Would you kidnap me and take me back to your weird cabin
with the rocking chair in front and old rickety bed in the back?” I all but
sneer, finding that some of my fear has abandoned me.
 “No, because you’d like that so much. Why am I waiting, bunny?”
“Because I want to know if you were really going to kill my friends…
or not.”
“I killed your boyfriend, didn’t I?” he murmurs dangerously, pulling my
hand from his chest and bringing it up to his lips so he can nip gently at my
fingertips.
“He wasn’t my boyfriend, and you know that.”
The man sighs, releasing my hand. “I’m not your boyfriend, either. And
I’m not going to get on one knee and promise you I’d never even dream of
killing my obsession’s friends. Keep asking, and this is going nowhere. Is
that what you want?”
It isn’t. But I don’t know what to do. I’m sure as hell not about to
launch myself at him.
“No,” I murmur. “It’s not.”
“That’s what I thought.” There’s a smugness in his voice that I don’t
expect, and he suddenly lifts my shirt with both hands and digs his nails
lightly into my skin, scratching lines against the places that I’m ticklish.
I nearly screech, instead I pitch forward to wrap my arms around his
shoulders. “Stop! That hurts,” I wail, when in fact it’s a very good kind of
pain. He moves his leg so that one thigh sits higher, pressing against me so I
can’t close my legs.
“Does it? Poor thing,” he teases, doing it again. “Clutch me tighter,
won’t you? Maybe I’ll stop. Maybe I’ll take pity on my little prey.” I do,
leaning against him and gripping his hoodie with one hand while my other
hand snakes up to tangle in his hair.
My serial killer fucking groans. The sound is sexy as hell as he presses
his lips against my throat, and in reply, I scrape my nails against his scalp
while he scratches my skin.
“Fuck it,” he growls, getting to his feet so quickly that I’m afraid I’ll
fall. But I don’t, and moments later my back is against the picnic table, my
legs dangling off the edge until he urges them around his hips and leans
over me to slam his hands against the wood on either side of my face. “I
knew I picked the best prey,” he breathes just inches from my lips. “The
best ones are the ones who know how to fight back. You want to grab my
hair again? Want to scratch me up just like I scratched you?”
“Does it hurt?” I ask, voice quiet. “When I do?”
 “Not one fucking bit.” He lunges forward to crush his lips to mine,
drinking in my noise of surprise as he forces my mouth open and tries to
suck my soul out from between my teeth. I reach up as he does, my hands
running up his arms until I can find his face. His jaw is rough with stubble,
cheekbones sharp under my fingers. I wonder what he looks like, especially
when his long lashes brush my palms as he pulls away just slightly to allow
me a breath.
“Do you wish you could see me? Maybe I’m not your type,” he taunts.
“Maybe I’m covered in blood and now it’s getting all over your pretty, pale
skin.”
I don’t reply right away. Instead, I grip his hair again, wrenching his
face down against mine and reveling in the sound he makes against me.
It only lasts a few seconds, however, until he grips the base of my throat
and pulls himself free from my grip.
“Hands on the table,” he tells me, voice low.
“Why? Did I pull too hard?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. I can’t
tell if I’m disappointed or proud, but when I don’t do what he says, he
roughly pushes my hands against the table.
“No. Because I fucking told you to. And shouldn’t you do what I say,
my sweet, exhausted little prey? Who knows what I might do to you, if you
don’t.”
A jolt of fear goes through my chest, and I feel myself tense. My mouth
opens, but before I can speak, he adds, “If you don’t, I might have to
rethink my stance of throwing you over my shoulder and bringing you
home with me. I don’t live in a cabin in the woods like you mentioned
earlier, but I think I can keep you entertained for a while, anyway.”
Entertained?
“I like touching you,” I respond, though I don’t know whether it’s
because I want to argue, or just because I want him to know.
“I know. Doesn’t change what I told you to do.” He waits, utterly
patient, until I drop my arms to the table uncomfortably over my head,
stretching them up toward the end of the table to grip the rough wood.
“Hazel.” When he uses my name, I find myself listening with more
intent. “I’m not going to hurt you. All right?”
“Okay?” I ask, confused. That is, until I feel the kiss of cold,
bloodstained steel against my throat.
 I gasp, my legs dropping from his waist to scrabble at the table. My lips
are forming the word red when the blade disappears and his hand presses
against my abdomen, just above my navel, to keep me down.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeats. “I haven’t hurt you so far, even
though I’ve had every opportunity to.”
“Then why the fucking machete against my throat?” I argue, my hands
lifting from the table, only to be pressed back down by his other hand as he
leans over me to kiss and nip at my throat.
“Because I’m going to cut off your clothes so I can fuck you like you
clearly deserve,” he purrs against my ear, and I shudder.
“But I can just take them off—”
“No. You can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so, little rabbit. Hands there. Don’t move. It won’t hurt
—”
“I have to walk back to the campground!” I protest, my legs no longer
wrapped around his thighs and instead my knees up, shoes pressing against
the table. “You can’t cut them off. What am I supposed to—”
I don’t get to finish. He grabs my shirt and lifts it away from my body
hard enough that my back comes off the table. There’s pressure, and a
tearing sound, then I fall back down against the rough wood, the cold air
suddenly brushing my skin where cloth once covered me.
“You were saying?” he asks sweetly, the cold edge of the machete
teasing the swell of my breasts, just over my bra.
“Please don’t,” I breathe, gripping the end of the table again. “Please
don’t cut it.”
“Why, baby?” he asks, catching the front clasp of my bra with the blade.
“Don’t I deserve to look at you? Don’t I deserve to play with you when
there’s nothing in the way?” He waits for my answer, unmoving.
“No,” I say simply, and he laughs darkly.
“I disagree,” he tells me and cuts through the thin material holding my
bra together. It falls open immediately, and the only thing I can focus on is
the flat of his blade against my chest. “But I’m really nice. I’ll let you keep
your shorts. If you do one thing for me…” The machete blade skims up to
my throat, causing my breath to catch in my chest as I wonder, again, if he’s
going to end my life.
 “Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?” he adds, as the blade trails
further upward to rest just under my lip. I shudder at the cold steel and try
not to wonder if any of the still-wet blood is getting on my skin.
“What is it?” I ask, mouth barely moving.
“Beg.”
“What?”
“Beg me to take them off instead of cut them off of you. Beg me to give
you something so you can keep your dignity when you stumble back to
camp barely able to walk and trying to hide that you’re full of my cum.”
It’s hard to beg when my brain is full of the mental image of his words.
But I jolt into reality when he sighs, and the blade trails down my body.
“Okay, okay wait! Please, please. Don’t cut them off. Please, let me
keep them. I don’t want everyone to see—please just pull them off instead.”
“What don’t you want everyone to see exactly, bunny?” he asks, the
back, blunt edge of the blade pressed suddenly between my thighs. “Be
more specific for me.”
“I don’t want everyone to see… me. Naked,” I reply, humiliation
coloring my face.
“Why’s that?”
“I’d be embarrassed—”
“What would make you so embarrassed, little rabbit? Aside from your
nudity?” It’s obvious what he wants, but fuck it’s hard to say.
“I don’t want everyone to know you fucked me.”
“There it is.” The blade disappears and his fingers curl in the material of
my shorts. “You don’t want anyone to see that you got fucked by Ohio’s
favorite serial killer.” He tugs hard until they’re at my knees along with my
underwear. “You don’t want everyone to see how much you enjoyed it. But
that’s okay. That’s more than okay.” He pulls them off and leans over me
again, pressing between my bare thighs. “Because I think I’d rather keep
you to myself. Spread your fucking legs as much as you can. Let me see all
of you. Every inch of you that belongs to me right now. And don’t move
those hands. Not an inch.”
I don’t move my hands, though I do let him push my legs wide until my
thighs fall off the edges of the table. I shiver under his gaze and against the
breeze, my aching thighs stinging against the rough wood as he just stands
there.
 “Are you… still…?” I trail off, not wanting to irritate him by moving
but confused on if he’s seen something he doesn’t like.
“Yes, baby,” he promises. “I’m right here. I’m sorry, is this better?” He
trails his hands along my thighs. “I’m just looking at you. That’s all.
Looking at how pretty you are, and what a pretty pussy you have for me.”
Fuck. His words send shivers up my spine, and I grip the picnic table
harder.
“You don’t mind when I look, do you?” You don’t mind that I want to
touch all of you. I want to play with all of you… though we don’t have
time, do we? No.” He sounds disappointed, but his hands move until he’s
running his fingers over my slit, dipping into my entrance before dragging
them up to my clit.
I squirm on the table, and he chuckles at the movement. “I know, I
know. We’ve already taken too much time, haven’t we? I can’t tease you
like I want. I can’t do all the things I want, but that’s all right.” He slides his
fingers into me smoothly, stretching me quickly as his thumb finds my clit.
“You don’t need much, do you? Not when you’re so ready for me. I know
how much you want my cock. I know how much you want me to fill you
up. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” I say, flexing my hands. “But I want to touch you.”
“Say please.”
“Please.”
He pulls one of my arms down, guiding my hand until I can feel his
chest and shoulder. I stroke my fingers over his shirt, wishing I could tug
him closer to me.
“You’re wet enough for me. You’ve been wet for me since I spanked
you, though. So I don’t know why I even bothered to wait.” I hear him
unzipping his jeans, and I immediately tense.
Am I really going to let him do this? Am I going to let myself get fucked
by a serial killer in the woods? This is fucking insane. I’m insane at this
point.
“No, no. Shhh. Don’t do that.” His length slides against my body, and
he purrs encouragements. “Don’t tense up. I won’t hurt my bunny. I won’t
hurt you, Hazel. Don’t worry.” The sudden movement of him sliding into
me as deep as he can, until my body is flush with his, puts a little bit of a lie
to his words. I hadn’t expected it, and I cry out in surprise as he leans
forward to seal his lips against mine.
 He groans against my mouth as he moves, pulling out just enough to
slam back into me and make me see stars. “Good little bunny,” he murmurs
against my lips. “So fucking warm and tight for me. Were you waiting for
me? I bet you were. Maybe you knew I was watching you, hmm?”
“I didn’t,” I plead, turning toward the sound of his voice to chase his
lips as he fucks me. My legs go around his waist again and I move to grip
his hair once more, and this time dig my fingers into his scalp. “I didn’t
want you to—”
I’m not expecting the response to my other hand finding his hair. He
growls and slams his hand against the table by my face, making me flinch,
as he leans over to catch my lower lip in his teeth. He continues to fuck me,
and I’d be moving up the table if my legs weren’t around his.
But he’s also knocked my blindfold loose, and when I tense and wait for
him to realize, it hits me that he doesn’t know.
“Wait,” I say, one hand flying down to his chest. “Wait.”
His movements slow, and I can feel the confusion in his body. “Feel.” I
grab his rough, calloused hand, fingers longer than mine, and pull it up to
the side of my face to brush his fingers against the loose fabric of the
blindfold.
He doesn’t move. He feels it; I know he does. Even touching the fabric
in the darkness then he lets out a breath against my mouth.
“Close your eyes,” he urges. “Are they closed for me, little rabbit?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly the blindfold is gone so quickly I feel like I have whiplash. I
still don’t open them, though my heart stutters in shock.
“Then keep them closed. Don’t look. Don’t you fucking look.
Understand? I’ll punish you again if you look, and while you’ll enjoy it,
you won’t make it back to your friends tonight, tomorrow, or this fucking
month if you open your damn eyes. Nod yes for me if you understand,
bunny.”
I nod vigorously, heart hammering in my chest as I reach up to wrap my
arms around his neck again.
“Good girl. So, so good, aren’t you? Poor little thing doesn’t want
another punishment from me so soon, do you?” I shake my head as he starts
to move again, whining at the delicious feeling of him sliding so deep.
“I know, I know, shh,” he shushes me, his lips pressed to my cheek.
“You take me so well, don’t you? I bet you were waiting for me, even
though you say you weren’t.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t know—”
“I bet you did. Don’t lie to me. I can smell the lies on you.” He twists
suddenly to bite my throat, working a bruise into my skin. “You just wanted
to end up under me where you belong. But little bunny… all you had to do
was ask, and I’d be so happy to teach you your place.” He kisses me again
before I can reply, then leans back suddenly, one hand against my stomach.
“You’re going to come for me, aren’t you? Let me feel you tighten
around me. Bet you feel so good.” His thumb finds my clit, and he isn’t
gentle as he strokes it, hips still thrusting in and out of me. He’s so much
bigger than the two other guys I’ve fucked in my life, and he makes me see
stars behind my eyelids. “Come for me. Right now. I don’t have all night,
and I want you to come so I can fill you up.”
I shake my head, out of some lost or misplaced sense of pride.
“Don’t fight me. Don’t fight how fucking much you want to.” I open
my mouth to reply, but he’s right. My hands clench against the wood as he
reaches up, fingers brushing over my nipple as I come. My legs press
tighter against him and I throw my head back, nearly opening my eyes
without meaning to before closing them hard again to the low murmur of
his praise.
Seconds later, he groans out a curse, and his hands move so he can grip
my hips tight and bury himself into me one last time before he comes to a
halt. His grip trembles, and I breathe hard, coming down from my own
release as I lay there, bewildered, as he makes good on his promise to fill
me up.
Finally, when I register how cool the breeze is that’s now brushing my
entire body, my serial killer takes a step back and chuckles. I close my
thighs, feeling my face burn again as I sit up and curl my arm around my
body.
“No, don’t do that. Don’t hide from me, little rabbit. You were so
perfect. You’re so gorgeous. Don’t hide now.” He steps forward, thigh
pushing mine apart, and reaches out to cup my face as he turns it up for the
sweetest kiss I’ve ever felt. “Listen to me closely, okay?” I nod and he
brushes a kiss against my nose. “If you’re looking at the lake, you’re going
to go left. There’s a trail near the water that will take you back to your
campground. You’ll be fine. I’m the only dangerous thing out here, and I
won’t hurt you. You’ll be back within a half hour, okay?” He presses my
phone into my hand, holding it until my fingers curl around the cool
material of my case.
“Okay,” I breathe, leaning up as if I’m looking at him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he dismisses. “I only set you up to fall into my
snare.” He kisses my nose, then my forehead, and steps back. “Have a good
life, my unfortunate prey.” He doesn’t wait for me to say anything. I hear
him collect his things, and his footsteps on the dock, before his steps fade
into the forest at my back.
And not once do I open my eyes, no matter how much I want to see the
face of my serial killer.
He’s right, and it takes me a little more than thirty minutes to get back
to the campground with its flashing police lights and the lights of an
ambulance as paramedics take away Brett’s body.
Poor fucked up Brett. A tragedy, if there ever was one.
Jenna sees me first, and lets out a strangled sound of surprise, hitting me
hard with a hug and nearly knocking me off my feet.
“You’re alive,” she sobs, pulling me down to the ground to sit beside
her. A police officer strolls over, and already I see paramedics making their
way toward us as the officer asks, without preamble.
“Did you see him? His face? Is there anything you can tell us about the
man that did this?” she asks kindly, a hand on my shoulder and her eyes
intense.
Staring up at her with wide eyes, I say without a touch of regret or
dishonesty in my voice, “I never saw him; so I can’t tell you a thing. I’m
sorry.”

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 Chapter

Seven

I t’s insane when a week goes by and I find myself back at my part-time
florist job. More insane when another speeds on past, and I ring up
someone’s flower order that Miss Jenkins had made for them. The man
smiles, says something about wanting to surprise his wife, and leaves. I
hold my smile, though it doesn’t feel genuine until he’s out the door and
I’m alone in the shop with only the cooler humming in the background.
Finally I sit, my arms stretched across the counter as I lay my cheek
against the cool surface. Something is wrong with me, though I know I’m
not sick. If I ask my therapist, she’ll tell me it’s because I went a few days
without taking my medicine, and that my Celexa is trying to enact its
revenge in my brain. Though she’ll say it with more exasperation and less
flair. So I won’t tell her, but I do wish I didn’t feel so… off.
Things haven’t been the same since the last night of being a camp
counselor at Lake Clearwater. My mind flashes back unhelpfully to the feel
of my serial killer’s hair in my grip, and to the feel of his breath against my
lips.
I already think of what he’d felt like when he was inside me almost
every night. I don’t need that to bleed over into daylight hours if I can help
it. Though at this rate, I’m not sure I can help it.
What the hell is wrong with me that I want him to come back? I sure as
hell don’t miss him… do I? Because while my common sense and survival
instincts aren’t always on point, that feels downright Darwin Award-worthy
if I’m silently wishing for him to come find me in the middle of Akron,
Ohio.
 The door opens and I get to my feet, tapping the toe of my sneaker on
the floor as I look up at two men who walk in, one nearly slamming the
door in the other’s face as he grins wolfishly at his companion.
The second to come in, a black-haired, tanned guy easily six feet or
more, rolls his eyes and glares at his lighter-haired, paler companion. He
says something, not even looking at me, and I watch as the two of them
browse the more romantic side of the sample bouquets and stuffed animals
with very little interest.
They don’t exactly look like Miss Jenkins’ normal customers, after all.
My fingers tap on the table as they pick up a couple of stuffed animals and
set them down again. They can’t be here to pick up an order. There’s
nothing left in the cooler or on any of the shelves, and the shop is only open
for another twenty minutes or so.
I want to tell them that, but I bite my lip as I watch as they continue to
browse. After I’m done locking up I’m going home to collapse in my bed,
probably pissing off my cats when I do, and I’ll be damned if I hang out
here past closing time for two men who look like they’ve never stepped foot
into a flower shop before.
Blinking, I realize that they’ve abandoned their browsing, and the two
of them approach the counter. The lighter-haired, blue-eyed man’s smile is
sweet, but the black-haired man grins with wolfish glee.
“We’re here to place an order,” he tells me, leaning onto the counter on
his elbows so he’s looking up at me. His voice is light and pleasant, and if I
didn’t have other things on my mind, I’d probably enjoy listening to it more
than I do right now.
I return his friendly look and set the catalog down in front of him,
scooting it towards his forearms. “You can order anything in here with
minor substitutions,” I explain, flipping it open and showing him what I
mean. “If you want to—”
“Why don’t you show him what you like out of here?” the light-brunette
interrupts, his voice soft. When I look up at him, he adds with a wider
smile, “He’s pretty bad at deciding things like this on his own. I’m surprised
he can even fix dinner for himself, truth be told.”
The black-haired man, who might be thirty at most, glances up at him
and rolls his eyes. “Sorry,” he says, turning back to face me. He’s closer
than he has any right to be, he is inside my personal space bubble, for sure.
But I only shrug and sit back on the stool I have behind the counter.
 “Don’t be. I like orchids, personally.” I flip the page and tap the bouquet
that I’ve always loved to watch Miss Jenkins make. “But they don’t scream
romance, I guess. If that’s what you’re going for.”
“It is,” the black-haired man says. “I’m getting flowers for my
girlfriend.”
“Oh?” A real shame that he’s taken. Not that I was about to throw
myself at a stranger like this. He feels cold, somehow. Distant, even though
he hasn’t stopped smiling once. “And you don’t know what she wants?”
He shrugs. “I’ve never really done the flowers thing before, if I’m being
honest with you. So this is kind of new to me, and I admit I haven’t paid
enough attention to know what she wants.” His words are precise and clear,
and the polite tone in his voice is just as obvious.
“Okay. Umm…” I turn back to the roses. “If you want to do something
really, uh, unique, you could get her the preserved roses?” I tap the black
box and he doesn’t even flinch at the price.
“I don’t think so. That’s not very her,” he denies. I nod and show him
three other popular arrangements, but he shakes his head at all of them.
“Why don’t you show me the orchids again? I don’t think my girlfriend
is the rose type, actually.” The lighter-haired brunette glances at him and
goes back to playing with the displays on the side counter, gazing into the
glass case of picture frames and wedding favors as he does. Miss Jenkins
does weddings as well and always has out on display what she can offer for
the party.
I flip back to the orchids and show him the price options for ten or
twenty stems, and the options for a vase.
He picks the most expensive of each, never blinking an eye, and even
upgrades the vase to a prettier, blue-tinted glass with a band of gold along
the top. When I ring him up, I hand him one of the small cards that can go
in the flower arrangement, glancing at his credit card to read his name.
Wren Crystal.
Did he pick it himself? It seems too… different for his parents to have
picked out, but it’s also none of my business, so I don’t say a damn thing
while he and his friend talk.
“What do people normally say on these things?” he chuckles, marker in
hand as he looks down at the card.
“Hmm. I’ve kind of seen everything,” I admit, handing his card back
and writing his order date and number on the pad for my boss. He won’t be
back until tomorrow to pick it up, which I know she’ll be fine with, but I
might shoot her a text after they’re gone and I’ve closed the shop just in
case she needs to bring something in with her tomorrow to complete the
order. Not likely, though. The back of the shop is piled high with vases,
ribbons, balloons, and just about every other thing one could imagine in a
flower arrangement. “‘Sorry for getting you fired.’ Umm. ‘Love you.’” I try
to think of some of the better, less boring ones. “Oh, once I saw a guy write
out really, really explicit instructions for his boyfriend. That was awkward.”
He chuckles, already writing a message, and hands it back to me.
Haven’t stopped thinking of you one bit.
His handwriting is messy and inexact, and he doesn’t sign it, but that’s
not uncommon. “Do you need anything else?” Wren asks as I close the
catalog and stash it back behind the register.
I just shake my head and smile, putting the card behind the register as
well. “Not unless you want to add anything else to your order.”
“Not today, I don’t think.” He finally stands straight, grimacing as he
stretches the kinks from his spine. “Thank you. And I’m sorry we’re
keeping you past closing.”
“Oh.” I glance up at the clock, then back at him while trying to still
smile. “I didn’t even notice, actually.”
“You didn’t?” he keeps his dark eyes on mine, head tilting to the side.
“You didn’t know it’s ten minutes after you close for the day?”
“No,” I lie. “And it really isn’t a big deal. It’s not like I have anything
better to do.” Except be anywhere but here.
A smirk curls on his lips, and he steps back. “If you say so. Anyway, I’ll
be back for that tomorrow afternoon. It’s Friday, so I definitely won’t keep
you past closing.” He waves a hand at me, chuckling like he’s made some
kind of joke, and his friend follows him out the door before they start
speaking again, careful to close it behind them.
It’s only by chance that I glance up a few seconds later to see his friend
looking at me, an expression of confusion on his face before they turn the
corner and end up out of sight on the street, leaving me confused as well.
It’s not like I know them, or I’ve done anything to upset them. In fact, I
was pretty damn nice considering I’m now late for a date with my cats and
my favorite teriyaki chicken in the city.
Really damn nice indeed.
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 Chapter

Eight

I miss the return of the polite, attractive man and his friend. But that’s
probably for the better, because by Friday I’m dragging, and my hair is
up in a ponytail even though I hate the way my face looks rounder with
it’s pulled back. But it can’t be helped. I’d barely had the energy to get out
of bed today without remembering every sad thing that’s ever happened or
thinking of all the ways my day could go to shit.
Frankly, after finding my last clean tee and denim shorts, brushing the
tangles out of my hair had felt impossible. I know what my therapist will
say. That I should make myself stick to a routine so it doesn’t feel so
insurmountable to get myself together when the worst of my depression
hits. But she’s not here, and I don’t have to tell her everything that goes on
during the week. If I did, I’d have to keep it all in a journal that I’d fill up
weekly.
I run my tongue over my teeth as I close up the shop, my mind barely
focusing on the easy, mundane tasks. At least I’d brushed my teeth at four
am when I hadn’t been able to go back to sleep. And when I shower after
work today, I’ll dump a bottle of conditioner in my hair and not worry
whether it’s properly washed out while I comb the knots loose. No matter
how agonizing that’ll be, I’m sure.
Letting out a breath, I rock back on my heels as I look around. Miss
Jenkins stands at the register, her thick glasses perched on her nose as she
counts cash and carefully puts it under the drawer for now. I know she takes
the money to the bank on Saturdays, and that’s my day off, thankfully.
Well, from here. Saturday and Sunday are when I normally pick up a
few dog walking jobs, and during the week, if my account is low, I do the
same. It’s obviously my fate that I’ll be scraping by for the rest of my life,
with no chance of ever saving up money at this rate.
After all, it’s not like my college degree is going to complete itself.
Eight credits more and I’d have my anthropology degree. Eight more and
I’d be done and be able to call my parents with some news that won’t
disappoint them.
But now, without the scholarship that had gotten me through the first
credits, I don’t have the money or the will to go back. So those eight, empty
credits are just going to sit there, unfulfilled, while my degree waves at me
from on high.
It brings tears to my eyes, almost. Though I know it’s mostly because of
how bad I already feel today.
“Do you need me for anything extra today?” I ask, seeing Miss Jenkins
glance up at my words. She turns to look at me, a kind smile curving over
her lips. I have no idea what she thinks of me, or my eight missing credits,
and I’m never going to ask.
“No, not that I can think of.” She always looks so kind that I have to
wonder if it’s pity… but I shove that to the side and watch her for a few
seconds, in case she does think of something.
“Okay,” I breathe at last, untying my green apron and hanging it on the
hook. “Have a good weekend, then. And I’ll see you on Monday.”
“You as well. Do something exciting for me, won’t you?” She winks,
delivering the same request as always as I let out a small, forced laugh.
“You’ve got it, Miss Jenkins.” If exciting means eating takeout,
watching reality tv, and snuggling cats, then I’ve got this in the bag.
Somehow, however, I don’t think it does.
My apartment is cool, just as I’ve left it, and I’m glad that even in this
older building in Akron, the air conditioner works well enough that I don’t
have any reason to complain. Without thinking, I walk through the kitchen,
berated by angry meows, as I dip the cats’ food bowl into the bag and set it
down for them in front of the sink on the designated mat. Next is their water
fountain, and I fill it up just as automatically before setting it back down
and re-plugging it in once more.
“You’re welcome, you heathens.” I yawn, scratching Shadow behind his
ears. The all black cat glares up at me, yellow eyes bright, and I lift my
hands in mock surrender. “Well, excuse me for thinking you might want a
bit of love, sir finicky,” I tease, giving my female tabby, Morticia, the same
attention before getting to my feet. At least she’s more grateful for it, and
moves to rub against my legs, purring.
“Love you too,” I tell her, smiling as I step around them and head for
the bathroom, only to stop, biting my lip lightly.
Am I forgetting something? I feel strange, like the hair on the back of
my neck is standing at attention, and I shift my weight from foot to foot as I
stand at the edge of my small kitchen. What’s wrong with me?
Slowly, hesitantly, I go to the door and relock it, just to make sure it’s
secure. It was already locked, so I don’t know why I feel like I need to do it
again, and I discover it doesn’t really give me any peace of mind.
But I’ve done it, and there’s nothing else I really can do right now, is
there? Well, not anything I can think of, at least. Shrugging, I walk to my
bathroom, stripping off my clothes and dumping them on the floor before
turning the knob and starting up my shower. In my cool apartment, my skin
immediately feels chilled, and I shiver before stepping into the shower,
leaving the bathroom door open so that it doesn’t fog up in here.
I despise when I get out of the shower only to feel like I’ve stepped into
a sauna, and it’s not like anyone else lives in my small, one-bedroom
apartment anyway. I sigh as the water cascades over me, warming me
almost instantly as I let my long, blonde hair get soaked. While I’d just
showered yesterday, I hadn’t had the mental energy to work on my hair, and
it’s led to a mess I really don’t want to deal with today.
But I’ve left it before, and I know if I go another day or two without
dealing with it, then I’ll really be in for it. My hands come up as I massage
shampoo into it, though I quickly wash that out and replace it with the deep
conditioner I practically buy in bulk. My fingers run through my hair and I
sigh, trying not to tug on the tangles and one unfortunate knot that I’ll need
to work on while I sit on the couch and zone out. Carefully, I coat as much
of my thick hair as I can, hoping that I can make this not quite as bad as it
could’ve been otherwise.
Last, I grab my detangling oil and dump that in my hair as well, doing
the same to work it into the spots that need it the most with a scowl on my
features. My brush is out in the living room, as it normally is, so I simply
comb my fingers through the untangled parts of my hair to make sure they
get just as much conditioner as the back of my head.
When I’ve deemed myself done and I feel like I’m choking on the hot
water, I dip my head under the spray and work out as much of the
conditioner as I can. I’m as thorough as I need to be, though I know the
detangling oil has an unfortunate side effect of causing parts of my hair to
feel oily until I wash it out again.
Not that it matters, since it’s Friday and the dogs I walk have never
expressed an actual care for what my hair looks or feels like. At last I step
out of the shower, the air of my apartment cold on my skin. I could’ve
circumvented that, obviously, if I’d just closed the door, but I’ll take the
cold over the wet steam room-heat any day.
Maybe I’ll take a nap once I’ve finished brushing my hair.
I dry off quickly, not looking at the fogged up mirror until I’ve changed
into my pj shorts and a loose, short tee that just barely skims the top of my
shorts. My towel goes to my hair, and I squeeze it dry as I walk out of the
bathroom, eyes searching for my brush on the living room table.
At first, I barely notice the flowers. Then I stop, blink, and look back to
my coffee table where the blue-tinged crystal vase full of orchids sits.
What? Is this some kind of mistake? Had someone gotten the wrong
address for delivery or… something?
But more than that, how in the world did anyone get in my locked
apartment to put these here? I know for a fact they weren’t here before my
shower, so that means someone was in here while I was naked, in the
bathroom, with the door open.
Slowly, I edge toward the coffee table, wondering if I should run. I drop
the towel to the floor, my wet hair falling to dampen my shirt. Not that it
matters, for all that it’s not very comfortable. I’m much more fixated on my
bare feet stepping closer to the coffee table, and the little card that I see
peeking out from the flowers.
My hand goes up and out, fingers outstretched, so I can pluck it from its
stand and pull the card up to my face.
But I already know what it says, because I’d read the message yesterday
at the flower shop, though back then it hadn’t made my heart nearly pound
out of my chest with fear.
Haven’t stopped thinking of you one bit.
Fuck. Oh, fuck, this definitely means someone has broken in and I don’t
know how or who, or if it’s the serial killer from the lake who I’ve been
wishing for all week, but that was just a fantasy, so—
“There you go thinking too hard again, little bunny,” a soft, un-muffled
voice says from over my shoulder, near the kitchen.
 I don’t move. My heart pounds in my chest, cutting off my air supply,
but I can’t fucking move.
“Well? Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

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 Chapter

Nine

I open my mouth just enough to lick my lips, still too afraid to move.
Sure, he hadn’t killed me in the woods. But these aren’t the woods, and
with him in my apartment, I’m petrified.
“Thank you,” I whisper finally, not turning around. I can’t. I’m too
afraid I’ll see the machete from before, or some smaller weapon he’s been
concealing before now. With my eyes on the card in my hand, it’s easy
enough to see my fingers trembling as I hear the sound of his footsteps
prowling toward me across the apartment.
“Aren’t you going to look at me?” He sounds amused, and I shake my
head at his words, leaning away from him slightly as his hand finds my
shoulder. His other hand is obviously holding a weapon, and he’s going to
kill me.
He’s going to fucking kill me.
I drop the card from numb fingers, my heart pounding a desperate
rhythm between my ribs. I don’t know what to do other than just stay here,
frozen, because he’s right behind me and I don’t have any form of escape.
When his other hand reaches up to cup the front of my throat, I sigh and
close my eyes, wondering if strangulation is really the way I’m going to go
out of this world.
“You can’t really think I’m going to kill you, little rabbit,” he remarks
dryly, and I pause.
“Aren’t you?”
“No. Why would I get you flowers if I were going to murder you?” He
makes an indignant sound in his throat, like I’ve offended him, and moves
away from me seconds before I hear the sofa protest as he sits down on it.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at nothing all night?”
“You know, I really might,” I reply, more lightly than I feel like I should
be able to. “I mean, you did break into my apartment while I was showering
to put flowers on my coffee table. And I’m pretty sure you aren’t wearing
your mask, are you?” I ask, half-terrified and half-suspicious.
“I’m not,” he agrees with a chuckle and leans forward enough that he
can skim his fingers up my bare leg. “You think I’m going to kill you
because my mask is off?”
“That’s how it works in the movies.”
“Well, it’s not always how it works in real life. Don’t you want to see
my face?” he goads, his nails teasing my thigh.
I bite my lip and say, finally, “I’ve already seen it, haven’t I?” If I have
to guess, this is the dark-haired, dark-eyed man from the flower shop. The
one who’d leaned in and been so familiar with me that I’d thought, at that
moment, I’d like to be the center of his attention.
I guess I got my wish.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “But when you act like that, it makes me think you
don’t like it. Don’t be so scared of me, Hazel. If I were going to kill you, I
would’ve done it in the woods.” He curls his fingers around my hips,
dragging me back toward him and away from the spot I’ve been frozen in
for the last couple of minutes. “I would’ve done it where it would’ve been
so easy to throw you in the lake. No one would’ve found you for weeks. So
don’t be like this now.”
Before I can say anything, I’m suddenly on his lap, facing him, and
nearly nose to nose with my serial killer from the woods and the man from
the flower shop. His hands are gripping my thighs firmly, so there’s
nowhere I can go.
He’s so gorgeous. That’s the first thought that goes through my head as I
inhale, his musky scent feeling my nose while my eyes widen.
“Wow,” I breathe, unable to help it.
His smile grows. “Yeah? What is it, baby?”
“You’re certainly the prettiest serial killer I’ve ever seen. Is your name
really Wren?”
“You remember.” He sounds delighted and reaches up to tuck my hair
behind my ear. His face is easy and open, his mouth made for smiling.
There are even smile lines at the sides of his eyes, and if I had to place his
age, I’d say he’s thirty or so.
But I just can’t get over how gorgeous he is. Lightly muscled arms, coal
black hair, and dark brown eyes I could drown in, hold my focus as I grip
his arms that are at my sides, wishing that I didn’t feel like I’m about to die.
“That’s really my name. And with a statement like that, I have to
wonder how many other serial killers you chase after in the woods,” Wren
teases, his hands moving up my thighs, so he’s basically cupping my ass. I
squirm, my heart beating in my throat, but he doesn’t let me go anywhere.
“I wasn’t going to show you my face like this,” he adds, ignoring my
wriggling on his lap like I want to get up. “But you deserve it. And I want
you to see me.”
“Because you’re… not going to kill me?” I breathe, my throat blocked
with fear.
“Because without the mask, it’s so much easier to see those cute little
looks you give me. Like this one. Though, I kind of prefer how you looked
when you were coming on that picnic table, with your thighs around my
waist and—”
“I get the picture,” I interrupt, feeling more than a little bit awkward. I
can feel the heat in my cheeks, and I don’t need to hear his stupid chuckle to
know that I’m blushing. “What do you want?”
“Don’t you enjoy the pleasure of my company?”
I give him a look, a frown touching my lips. “Apart from the obvious…
how would I know? I don’t know anything about your company. I didn’t
even know your name until just now, and the only experience I have in your
company is you forcing me into way too much cardio and then practicing
the misuse of machetes on a picnic table,” I explain sourly, lifting my hands
to rest lightly on his shoulders. This position is so awkward, and I rearrange
my legs to sit more comfortably on his lap, since it’s obvious now that he’s
not letting me go anywhere.
“Misuse of machetes?” he repeats, his brows climbing toward his bangs.
It only reminds me how much I loved his hair between my fingers, and the
reactions I got by tugging on it before. Would it get me the same reaction
now? I can’t help but wonder, and my fingers itch to tug on his black hair
roughly just to see.
“Yeah.”
“Way too much cardio?”
 “That’s another way to say running.” I hate the way the words leave my
lips. Like I’m full of bravado and sarcasm and not one bit afraid of him,
even though that isn’t the case and this is apparently my new defense
mechanism to avoid crying.
Which, quite frankly, is next. No matter what he says, I can’t help but be
terrified of this man. While he’s more than slightly attractive and enticing,
he’s still terrifying.
He’s still a serial killer.
“Sorry, then,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “Not about the misuse of
machetes, though. Just the cardio. I’d rather give you a workout in better
ways than wear you out with running.”
“Thanks.”
When he leans back against the sofa, it gives me a chance to really
study him. He looks tired, I find when I scrutinize his features as best I can.
He looks… exhausted, actually. There are dark circles under his eyes, and
his hair is tousled in a way that makes me think he’s been running his hands
through it in irritation or frustration.
“Why are you really here?” I ask, no longer trying to get off of his lap.
His hands have taken to kneading my ass lightly, nails dragging down my
thighs once in a while before heading right back up. “This is… strange,” I
add. “I’m not saying it’s bad—”
“Do you want me to go?”
“I don’t want to die.”
He opens his eyes, rolling them wearily. “I’ve never even threatened to
kill you, little bunny. You’re not going to die.”
“Maybe you’re just saying that because you’re sleep deprived.”
He sighs and sits up straight, leaning close again. “What makes you
think I’m sleep deprived, hmm?”
“Well, you made the mistake of picking the depressed girl who knows
what long-term exhaustion does to a face,” I say, back on my train of
sarcasm as I search his eyes for a reaction. “And it looks to me like you
need a nap.”
“I need an alibi.” His response is a shock and I lean away, confused. He
doesn’t let me go far, instead drags me closer to him until my inner thighs
are pressed against him. “No, you aren’t going anywhere. Because I need
you, so you’re going to help me.”
“I’m not a killer.”
 “I don’t need you to be. No, you’re my girlfriend. And we’ve been
dating for months, actually. You’re just the most perfect girl I’ve ever met…
and I’ve been watching after your apartment all summer while you were up
at that camp of yours. Haven’t I?”
I’m dumbfounded, and I can’t help the small note of disappointment I
feel. He didn’t really miss me. He just wants someone gullible and afraid of
him to help him not get arrested.
To be fair, I’d pick myself for that too.
“…Oh.” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice, and I sigh,
then open my mouth to ask him something else.
But I can’t.
He interrupts me with a chuckle, one hand snaking up to grip the back
of my neck. “Oh no, is that disappointment I hear? Did you think I came
back because I missed you? Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you?
Maybe because I can’t get enough of your little noises, your sarcasm, or the
way you feel when I’m inside you?”
My blush is back in full force, but I don’t like it nearly as much this
time. Not when he’s making fun of me like this.
“Stop. I don’t want—”
“Because all of that is perfectly true.” He leans forward and grabs
something from the coffee table, pressed against me for a moment before he
straightens. His hands come up, and a second later I feel the touch of my
brush against the side of my head, delicately dragging through my wet hair.
“The fact that you’re going to be my perfect, reliable girlfriend who can
provide the cops with a location for me anytime I need you to? That’s just a
fantastic bonus. Isn’t it?”
“What if I say no?”
He eyes me inscrutably, still brushing my hair. It’s… strange,
distracting, and weirdly domestic of him. It also means I’m leaning forward
against him, as he works the tangles free.
“What if you don’t?” he asks teasingly, voice soft. “What if you don’t
say no, and I like you so much for it, hmm? It’s not much to ask, is it? Just a
few weeks. A month at most. I’ll make it worth your while, my sweet little
bunny.”
“How?” I don’t know why I ask, because it’s probably not that hard to
figure out. He won’t kill me, first of all.
 I’m unprepared for his slow, dark grin. I’m unprepared for the heat in
his eyes when he drags me forward, his lips inches from mine when he
says, “Oh, I think we can figure something out. So many things, actually. I
bet there’s so much my little bunny likes that no one’s ever done to her…
and I’ll help you find each and every single one of them.” I don’t get to
reply. He kisses me harshly, like he’s devouring me, and the brush lies
forgotten at my side when he tangles his fingers in my hair to hold me in
place while he takes his time showing me that he means every single word
with his mouth alone.
“So will you help me?” he purrs finally, after pulling away so I can
breathe. “Please, Hazel?” He doesn’t sound worried. Is it really so
desperate, if he doesn’t sound the least bit concerned that I might say no?
And I’m absolutely going to say no.
“Yes,” I breathe against his mouth, eyes wide. “I… I’ll help you. I’ll be
your alibi, okay?”
“You’ll be my girlfriend,” he corrects, closing the distance once more
until his lips brush mine. “My perfect, gorgeous girlfriend who craves her
big, bad serial killer to pin her down and hunt her just like she deserves.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Ten

E ven though I’m not properly awake, I can’t tear my gaze away from
the television. Not when the news is reporting a murder, and I have a
terrifying suspicion of who did it. Though, I could always be wrong.
And God, I really hope I’m wrong.
Morticia hops up to stand on my stomach, one paw on my boob as she
rests, what feels like all of her weight, on that one paw. “Thank you so
much,” I wheeze, reaching up from under my fleece blanket to remove her
gently. “Really, I so appreciate that. I bet I’m even going to have a bruise.”
Maybe not really, but damn, did it hurt.
My phone vibrates from the coffee table and I sit up, completely
removing my cat from her new perch as I grab for it. Morticia, for her part,
looks appropriately irritated and stalks off with her tail up. She likely won’t
forgive me for an hour or so, since I wouldn’t let her use my boob as a
cushion for her dainty foot.
For a terrifying moment, I worry that it’s Wren. He’d put his number in
my phone before he left and told me to call him, which I had, so now he has
my number as well.
“For couples things,” he’d told me sweetly on his way out the door. “All
couples have each other’s numbers. Why would we be any different?”
I shudder at the memory of his words and glance at the name, surprised
to see that it’s Jenna calling, instead of my serial killer.
Thank God.
“Hello?” I ask with a sigh, burrowing down on my sofa under the
blankets again.
“Hey,” Jenna greets, sounding a little put out. “How are you?”
 How am I?
“I’m okay,” I lie, switching from the news to a cooking show. Of my
preferred binge worthy shows to go to sleep to or just zone out with,
cooking competitions are at the top of the list. Today’s season that I’m
marathoning doesn’t disappoint, and as Jenna goes on, my eyes are fixed on
a small brunette girl who won’t stop screaming at her six-foot teammate.
Classic.
“I’m… okay,” she agrees. “Hope you’re not busy? I just wanted to call
and see how you were and everything. After umm. You know.”
Yeah, I do know. “After seeing Brett get murdered and running from a
serial killer?” I ask, mostly serious. That’s obviously not all that went down,
but it’s all that Jenna needs to know happened. Thinking about it, though,
sends a bolt of heat down my spine that I can’t ignore. My thighs clench as
I force myself to focus on Jenna’s next words, though it’s difficult.
Especially when I’d barely been able to hide my disappointment two nights
ago, when Wren had just breezed out of here with only a few kisses and
growled promises.
God, how fucked up am I that I wish this much for a serial killer to fuck
me again?
“I want to apologize.” Her words take me by surprise, pushing out my
other thoughts as my mind reels in confusion.
“You do?” I ask, unsure of what she could be apologizing for. “Why?”
“For how I acted on the last day of camp. You were worried, and I
thought you were just being… you. Sorry. But I know how much you dislike
social stuff, and I shouldn’t have dragged you to the party. Especially since
Brett had been such an ass to you all summer. It wasn’t okay. And then I got
so drunk.” Her words get faster as she talks, and it’s a good thing I’m fluent
in flustered-Jenna speak.
“Hey, hey, whoa,” I say firmly, closing my eyes. “There’s literally
nothing to be sorry for. You definitely didn’t know there was a serial killer
in the woods. And the uh, Brett thing worked itself out.” The image of him
getting stabbed and falling to the ground while spurting blood pops up in
my mind, as does the feeling of his blood splattering my skin.
I should be grossed out about it, but I just… can’t seem to find it in me.
He was more than just a creep, and it’s terrifying to think how far he
might’ve pushed me if Wren hadn’t come along and ‘helped out.’
 “That’s an awful way of looking at it,” Jenna remarks dryly. “But I guess
you’re right. You’re really not mad at me?”
“No, I’m really not. Is that why you’ve been distant lately? Because you
thought I was mad?”
“Yeah, Hazel. I thought you were furious and I’ve been figuring out how
to apologize.” The relief is evident in her voice and she lets out a sigh.
“God, I’m glad you aren’t. By the way… have you seen the news today?”
I roll my eyes back to the television, forgetting that I’d just changed it.
“Just for a few minutes before you called. Is that what you’re talking
about?”
“Do you think it’s him?” The question rings in my ears, and my heart
sinks. Wren might’ve killed a man, and I’ve just agreed to be his alibi and
fake girlfriend. I should go to the police. I should tell them about him, about
what he’s done.
I should do something other than just go along with it.
I tilt my head back against the arm of the sofa before lunging to my feet.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s not like I know anything about him.” That’s
true enough. I’m sure there’s research to be done about Wren, but I’m not
going to be the one to do it. “Anyway, I have to go,” I lie, mostly just
wanting time to sort out my frenzied, complicated thoughts. I’m so tired
lately, though I don’t want to acknowledge that it could be because of
certain factors like my body being adamantly against producing that
delicious serotonin stuff that I hear so much about.
“What are you doing tonight? Do you want to go get dinner?” Jenna
asks, her voice hopeful. I hate to crush her dreams, but being social isn’t on
my list of things I’d like to do right now. At least, more social than walking
down the block to the coffee shop and placing my order there.
“I would, but I have a really bad headache,” I lie again. Though, with
the way my mood is going, a headache could be on the books for later; who
knows? Quickly, I turn off the television and get to my feet to find my shoes
and slide them on. “We can try later this week? If it’s okay?”
“Yeah,” she agrees, not sounding particularly offended or anything.
“Just let me know, okay?”
“No problem. And remember, I’m really not mad, okay? No matter if
you thought I was.”
“So long as you say so. But you’d tell me, right? If you were?”
 “In a heartbeat,” I assure Jenna, and hang up a second after her
goodbye. My conversation with her has made me want to move, and I shrug
on a lightweight, oversized hoodie before making my way to the door and
snatching my headphones and keys from the counter beside it. My steps are
quick as I head down the stairs instead of the elevator, and it takes only a
few seconds to shove in my earbuds and turn up my music loud enough that
I wouldn’t hear a tsunami if it was two steps behind me.
While I’m not sure when I started walking with my music up to
damaging levels to relax myself, I now do it every couple of days. I walk to
the flower shop as well, unless I feel lazy or tired enough to take the bus,
and I think this was the thing I missed the most while being a counselor at
summer camp.
I need this time for myself. And even though I’m in and out of the
coffee shop in less than twenty minutes, it still does more for me than most
other things do. My brain doesn’t feel as clouded or as foggy, and by the
time I’m back at my apartment with my iced oat milk macchiato half-
empty, I feel much better than I have since before Wren came to my
apartment yesterday.
Now, if I could just have the rest of the night to continue with this, I’ll
be fine. Dinner is easy, I think as my feet trudge up the stairs. It’s a bad
idea, and my knee that I shattered as a kid starts to protest about halfway
through. Still, I set my teeth against it, hating that once in a while it reminds
me that I’ll always have some trouble with pain flaring up at the worst
times.
I let out a sigh when I hit the landing on my floor, reaching down with
my free hand to massage my knee through my leggings. I’m still oblivious
to the world around me, though I do glance down the stairwell to see
someone else walk onto the landing of the floor below me, their dark coat
disappearing down the hallway where I can’t see them anymore.
Well, that’s embarrassing. Especially if they caught sight of me all but
limping up the last set of stairs while breathing loudly to alleviate some of
my frustration.
Oh well, I think, mentally shrugging as I make my way down the hall to
my apartment at the end. The pain in my knee is fading, though I’m still
careful not to put too much pressure on it. At this point, I’m glad it’s hurting
now instead of back at Camp Clearwater. Falling on my face after about
twenty steps would’ve been really embarrassing.
 With my hand on the door, it doesn’t occur to me until after it’s
swinging open that it was unlocked. I have time for my lips to part and my
heart clenches in fear before an arm wraps around my shoulders and forces
me to walk inside and my earbuds are gently pulled free.
“Hazel.” Wren’s voice is patronizing and if I knew him better, I’d say
he’s disappointed. I whirl in his grip as he tosses the earbuds to the counter
and frowns at me while looking me over. “I’m ashamed of you. Don’t you
know how dangerous it is to walk around like that when you can’t hear
anything? There was a murder on the other side of the city today, you know.
You should be more careful.”
My heart pounds in my chest as I look at him, and I have to tip my head
back slightly to see his face and the way his eyes glitter darkly.
“Was it you?” I whisper, gripping my keys and coffee tighter when he
starts to take them for me.
His eyes flick up to mine, narrowing before he smiles. “I brought you
dinner. Well, I brought us dinner. Wouldn’t you rather eat than ask me if I
killed someone today?”
“No.”
He snorts and pulls away, finally holding out a hand instead of trying to
pull my things from my hands. “Let me help you. Food’s getting cold since
I had to go track you down. I thought you’d turn around, or see me, or
something. I even called your name. But you never did.”
“I was listening to music,” I respond hotly, slapping my keys into his
hand. If he’s not going to kill me, then I’m going to have to stop nearly
fainting every time he shows up. “And how the hell did you get into my
apartment?”
“I broke in again.”
“Well, stop.”
He looks at me for a moment, searching my face as he puts my keys
with my earbuds. “Someone’s feeling brave today,” he murmurs, closing the
distance between us so that his body brushes mine. My breath catches in my
chest, but I refuse to let this false bravado go to waste.
“Why can’t you just ask me to come in, Wren? You could, I don’t know.
Call me or text or something. Then you wouldn’t have to bitch about my
music or my habits you don’t like.” Under his raised-brow look, my new
confidence is fading, and I grip my coffee cup hard enough that the ice
crunches under my grip.
 He doesn’t miss it, of course. His eyes drop down to the cup, and when I
shake my head, he only sighs. He’s not getting my coffee. For all I know,
he’ll toss it out the window just to prove a point.
“I was just going to set it down for you while I get the food out,” Wren
tells me, stepping around to head toward the table. I turn to watch, absently
massaging my knee and setting my teeth against the discomfort of it.
“Besides, shouldn’t you go sit? Maybe with an ice pack? I thought I was
going to have to carry you up those last few stairs, little bunny,” Wren goes
on breezily, and my stomach sinks in embarrassment.
“Can you not?” I ask quietly, but he only leans forward to press his lips
against my forehead. His lips are warm, and possibly a little chapped, but
it’s impossible not to step into him with his arm around my waist and my
coffee nearly crushed between us as he lets out a soft breath.
In minutes I’m sitting at my small kitchen table, the cats watching from
the hall as I take the lid off of my favorite teriyaki chicken and rice. It
should shock me, because I’ve definitely never told this man what I like,
but instead of asking about it, I pick up my chopsticks and stir the chicken
and rice together.
There’s an icepack on my knee that Wren had thrown my way as well,
and I glance at him as he sits across from me, a takeout box of steak and
brown rice in front of him. “I get why you like this place,” he says, opening
the container and picking up his own chopsticks. “But there’s a place on the
northside that I think is a little better. Not by much, but you’d probably like
it. You have to actually eat there, though. Instead of doing takeout.”
“They don’t do takeout?” I ask, bemused by the fact I’m discussing
chicken teriyaki with a serial killer. “That’s weird.”
“No, I just mean the restaurant is so nice that it would be a shame not to
eat there.”
“Oh. Sounds like it’s out of my price range if it’s that fancy,” I remark,
taking a bite.
Wren hums a neutral reply, taking a bite as well. I can’t help but watch
him eating slowly, though he seems completely absorbed in his own meal.
Finally, however, he sets down his chopsticks and a grin curls over his
lips. “Is there something else you want to ask me, little bunny?” he
murmurs, looking up at me from across the table with shrewd, narrowed
eyes. “Or are you just staring at me because I’m so pretty?”
 “You’re, uh, certainly not modest, are you?” I joke lamely, wishing I
could lighten the mood to the point where I don’t feel like the air inside my
apartment is choking me.
“Not really.”
“Okay then.” I take a breath and lay my chopsticks by my food, meeting
his gaze before I speak. “How did you know I like to eat here?”
He takes another bite and replies, without hesitating, “Because I’ve
been following you.”
“Stalking me, you mean.”
“If that’s what you want to hear, then yes, Hazel. I’ve been stalking you
for weeks now.” He’s just so… unbothered by the confession, and it throws
me off guard when I realize I have no idea how to react to that. “Now, what
else?”
“Do you have a job? You seem to spend an awful lot of time stalking me
if you work full time.”
“I do. Actually, I have a really good job. I work with an environmental
awareness organization here in the city. You might have heard of it,
actually.”
I stop to think about that and then my brows shoot up. “You work for
GreenCo? No way. What do you do?”
His grin is sly, and he tilts his head to the side ever so slightly. “You
could just look me up,” he points out. “In fact, I’m not going to spoil it.
Look it up, little bunny.” God, I hate when he acts like this.
“Did you kill that man on the news?” I don’t quite mean to ask it, but I
can’t stop myself. I need to know, and already I’ve found myself stupidly
searching his hands for blood or any evidence that he did it. Even if he did,
I know I won’t find anything.
Wren doesn’t answer immediately. He takes another bite of his steak
and then gets to his feet, nearly towering over me while I’m sitting instead
of standing. I consider getting up, but I don’t have time to do more than
push my chair back before he’s in front of me, taking up the cleared space
between my knees and the table as he leans against it, arms folded.
“Will it hurt your feelings if I tell you I did? Or will you be
disappointed if I didn’t?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. I want to reach
out and hook my fingers in the belt loop of his snug jeans, if only to pull
him down to my level.
 “I won’t care either way,” I say quickly, feeling like the air has been
stolen from my lungs as I do. “I’m just asking—”
“Do you know how he died?”
“… No,” I say, remembering that I hadn’t gotten that far on the news, if
they’d ever said it at all. I twist my hands in my lap as I look up at his face,
half-wishing I wouldn’t have said a damn thing. “Do you?”
“Andrew Thomas, age forty-two, died in his apartment this morning at
four-oh-seven,” Wren recites, his eyes never leaving mine. “Officers say he
was stabbed seven times with a blade, though one of those was actually two
wounds instead of one like they think.”
He totally did it.
“Police also say he was alive for a long time, as no vital organs were hit,
right up until his throat was slit with a large blade that is yet to be
identified. Though they think it may have been a sword. Isn’t that stupid?”
he scoffs, eyes glittering. “A fucking sword?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “How stupid of them. But can you blame them? I
doubt any of them have ever had to bushwhack their way through a jungle
with a machete.”
His grin spreads suddenly, eyes lighting up at my response. “Maybe
you’re right,” he concedes. “How do you think we can enlighten them on
their error, little prey of mine?”
We? There is no we here.
“Maybe you should leave them a note,” I say, eyes never leaving his.
“You could draw it, or take a picture? Or just write machete on it? You
know. Whatever you’re feeling at the time.” I can’t believe I’m here having
this conversation. He’s close enough for me to touch again, and I’m so, so
tempted to do it.
“So I think that answers your question, doesn’t it?” He walks forward,
legs bracketing my knees as he leans down to tilt my face up with his
fingers under my chin. “But what do you think, Hazel? Do you think I
killed Mr. Andrew Thomas, age forty-two, of Glaucester Drive in Akron,
Ohio?”
He’s teasing me. He wants me to say it, and I can see the gleam of
amusement in his eyes that sparks the urge in me to do what he doesn’t
want. After all, it’s obvious what he expects. It’s obvious that he thinks I
might break down crying and beg him, again, not to kill me.
Hell, at this point, I think he might get off on that.
 Forcibly, I grip my fear and push it down as I swallow, my own eyes
narrowing slightly. “No,” I say, and look away as much as I can with his
fingers against my skin. “This feels like everything I could hear on a news
channel, actually. Give me something better, or I’ll just have to think you’re
taking credit for someone else’s work.”
Wren doesn’t speak for a moment. In fact, I expect him to get up, pack
up, and leave. I’ve said something other than what he expects, and hasn’t he
always been so interested in knowing what I’m going to do while luring me
into his snare?
But this time, I’m not letting him, and it’s sure to piss him off.
Breaking my thoughts, Wren fucking laughs. He straightens and leans
back on the table, giving a full-throated laugh, like I’ve just said the
funniest thing in the world. “You’re right, aren’t you? You’re so fucking
right. I haven’t given you anything at all. So why would you think I killed
him? I bet I’ve offended you.”
Is he… joking? I blink up at him, trying not to let him see my concern
and confusion. “What?”
“I need a shower,” he announces unexpectedly. “I won’t be long, Hazel,
I promise. And when I’m done, I’ll tell you all about what I did.” There’s a
terrifying, mad gleam in his eye that shouldn’t be as alluring as it is, but
here I am.
“You don’t have to,” I assure him, but already he’s leaning down and
crushing his lips to mine. Instinctively I melt into him, unable to stop loving
how good of a kisser he is.
But it’s short, and he pulls away, an anticipatory grin on his face. “You
sure?” he teases. “If you want, I’ll tell you all of it. I’ll show you exactly
where I cut him…” His hand drifts down to press against my collarbone. “I
stabbed him here—”
“Stop.”
Shockingly… he does. Wren stands there, brows raised, and watches me
as my heart tries to pound its way out of my ribcage. “My bad,” he drawls,
and it hits me that this is a game to him, and he’s just upped the ante. “I
thought you wanted to hear all about it. But I’ll stop…”
I don’t want him to win.
“Stop, because you really do need a shower, and I want to finish eating,”
I lie, not looking away. “You can tell me after I’m done.”
 He stops and just looks at me. His gaze narrowed, his lips quirked into a
half-grin. Finally, he chuckles and reaches out to tousle my hair teasingly
before pushing away from me and walking past. “You’ve got it, little
bunny,” he assures me, and disappears into my bathroom with a quick,
playful salute.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Eleven

H e takes longer showers than me. By the time I’m done eating and
I’ve been getting more and more nervous about what he wants to tell
me about Mr. Andrew Thomas, age forty-two, he’s still in my
bathroom, the door cracked, and I can hear the shower on full blast.
I can’t keep standing against my kitchen counter like I’m going to bolt
when he gets back out here. That’s not realistic at all, and I sigh as I force
my shoulders to climb down from my neck to a more rested, comfortable
position where they’re supposed to be.
Letting out a careful breath, I grab my headphones and head to my
bedroom, figuring that I’ll hear him when he’s out of the shower. Especially
without my music being too loud. For a moment I even consider burrowing
myself under my blankets like he’s the boogeyman, but instead, I groan and
flop onto the mattress, gazing up at my ceiling as I place the earbuds in my
ears and hit play on one of them. My phone, which is now on my bedside
table, lights up briefly as I turn down the volume, intent on hearing Wren
come out of the bathroom when he’s done, even though my eyes are closed.
Naturally, I’m not that lucky.
The bed dips on either side of me and my eyes snap open, gaze meeting
Wren grins as he kneels on the bed above me with his knees on either side
of my waist. “Hi,” he purrs, and before I can move, he lunges down to grip
both of my arms in one hand, throwing them over my head. “Tell me, is this
intentional?”
“Is what intentional?” I demand hotly, writhing in his grip as I look up
into his grin. God, is he always amused about something? It seems unreal
that he can be, but he’s always fucking smiling or grinning or looks like
he’s ready to laugh.
Like he’s crazy.
“This. You. Here. Little bunny, if you wanted me to fuck you again, all
you had to do was ask. Is that what you want?” He leans down to nuzzle my
throat, and I suck in a breath as I start to tell him absolutely not.
But is that really so true? Have I not been wishing he would come back
ever since I came home from Camp Clearwater?
Haven’t I been dreaming about situations just like this?
“Maybe,” I say finally, trying to keep some aloofness to my voice. Not
that it works, because he looks at me with those gorgeous, dark eyes that
tell me he barely believes a word I say. “But if you wanted to, you would’ve
done it by now. You’ve been here twice.”
“I’ve been here four times,” Wren corrects cheerfully. “Once while you
were out, and once while you were asleep. Then you know the other two
times.”
“Fuck,” I say frankly, because I don’t know what else there is other than
that. “You’re taking this stalker thing way too seriously.”
“It’s a bit of a hobby of mine,” he admits, drawing back but still holding
my hands. He gently pulls my earbuds free and frowns for the first time
tonight. “Seriously, Hazel? Again? One day, it’s going to be someone other
than me to sneak up on you, and then I’ll have to do something terrible.”
“Like you did to Brett?” I can’t help but ask, my voice soft.
He sits up on his knees, his weight coming to settle on my hips just
enough that I can’t get up. “You’re still thinking about Prince Charming?”
he asks, his hands no longer holding mine. Instead, he pushes up the hem of
my tee, his hands splayed on my stomach as I suck in a breath.
“Jenna called me today. She’s my best friend and a counselor from
Camp Clearwater. You know, one of the people you were going to massacre
and all that.”
“Sure,” he agrees, digging his thumbs into my hips lightly. “I remember.
Go on.”
“She brought up what happened, and Brett, and was sorry for letting me
go out alone. She thought I was mad at her, actually.” I laugh ruefully. “And
—”
“You should be,” Wren interrupts lightly, his words blunt. “You should
be fucking furious with your ‘best friend.’”
 “What?” I can’t believe I’ve heard him right, and when I try to sit up, he
pushes me right back down, still holding me with his weight and his hands.
“She’s my best friend. Of course I’m not mad—”
“I could’ve killed you. I could’ve cut you to bits in those woods if I’d
wanted to. If it hadn’t been you, I would’ve killed them. You were the only
one in that whole fucking camp I cared about living, Hazel. Haven’t you
figured that out yet? Or is it just that you don’t believe me?”
“I don’t believe you,” I breathe, stunned. “Why me? I mean, Jenna’s so
much prettier than me. Some of the other counselors were just better at—”
“Because they aren’t you.”
“But I’m nothing—”
“You’re mine, aren’t you? That means you’re not ‘nothing.’”
I don’t know how to reply to that. It does things to my insides that don’t
make sense, and I lift my hand, fingers outstretched, wishing I could reach
his shoulders or his hair. Instead, I settle for his shirt, and I grip it tightly in
my fingers to tug him down to me. “That’s a really nice thing to say,” I
murmur finally. “It’s kind of flattering, actually, and—”
“Little bunny…” Wren chuckles and lets me pull him down until he’s
braced on his elbows on either side of me. “It’s not flattery. Or just sweet
words to make you go along with what I need you for. It’s the truth. And if
I’d gotten there a few minutes later, if your shitty prince charming had
touched you… do you know what I would’ve done?” He kisses me again
before rolling onto his side on the bed so he can be that much closer to my
lips.
“Killed him?” I ask, half joking, since that’s what he’d done already.
“Well, yes,” Wren admits, his hand coming up to tickle my ribs. I
squirm at the unexpected touch and then gasp when he suddenly pulls me
up against him on my side so that my back is against his front. With his arm
around my shoulders, I don’t have many places to go unless I’m willing to
all-out try to buck him off, but that barely crosses my mind as his other
hand splays against my stomach.
“But I would’ve taken my time. I was so nice to him, don’t you think? I
gave him a relatively quick death when I could’ve made it last.” He drags
his nails up my stomach, causing me to squirm and kick back at him
instinctively. “Don’t be shy. Make some noises for me. I want to hear you
when I do this.” He does it again, his nails leaving a stinging line of fire
across my skin as I open my mouth and gasp at the feeling. “I could’ve cut
off his hands for touching you.” He moves to slide his nails up my side,
surprising a giggle mixed with some kind of yelp from my lips. “I could’ve
broken them before I cut them off, because I wanted to. I could’ve chopped
him up piece by piece… and I wouldn’t have batted an eye. Would you
have?”
I don’t realize it’s a real question until he grips my throat with the hand
holding me against him, the pressure harsh enough that I gasp and take
notice, but not enough to hurt. “What?” I ask, still focusing on the burning
from his nails.
“Would you have minded if I took Prince Charming apart in front of
you so you could watch? Would you have objected to me doing what he
deserved for how he treated you? I saw him a few times when I was
watching you. He wasn’t very nice, was he Hazel?”
“N-no,” I agree, shivering under his nails. “And I wouldn’t have
objected. I mean—” I scramble to backtrack, aware of how fucked up that
sounds.
But he doesn’t give me the chance. Instead, his fingers press tighter on
either side of my neck and his other hand trails downward until he can slip
it under my denim shorts. “I know you wouldn’t have. Do you still want to
hear about Andrew Thomas?” he asks teasingly, his fingers stroking my slit.
“You mean aged-forty-two who lived on Glaucester Drive?” I ask,
unable to help the arrogant tone of my words.
He snickers. “Yeah, that Andrew Thomas.”
“I mean…” I swallow hard and turn as much as I can, my face close to
his. “If you want to tell me?”
“I’d rather fuck you. And choke you. And watch you gasp as you come
when I finally let you breathe,” Wren admits, catching me off guard and
causing my stomach to twist in both fear and anticipation.
“You would?” I don’t know why the words make my voice falter. Nor
do I know why I’m not expecting them. But he hasn’t fucked me properly
since the woods, and I worry that it was a one off, like he didn’t like it as
much as he’d said.
“You sound surprised.” His hand on my throat loosens. “Want to tell me
why?”
“I just thought…” I clear my throat. “Well, since you hadn’t done it
again since summer camp”—he snorts at the phrase—“maybe you did’t
want to.”
 His hand on my stomach stills, and for a long, terrifying moment, I’m
afraid I’ve said something wrong. In fact, I’m sure of it. Why else is he so
still, so quiet, and doing his best impression of a statue at my back?
“Well, that’s just untrue,” he says, and in a movement that’s almost too
fast for me to register, Wren is sitting up and flips me onto my stomach on
the bed, his hand urging my hips up into the air for him. “I would love for
you to explain to me what other signs I might’ve given you to reach that
conclusion, little bunny,” he adds wickedly, stuffing a pillow under my hips.
My breath catches in my throat, nerves on edge. “Umm. I mean, it’s
just… that?” I admit, starting to move, but finding his hand splayed over
my spine, pressing me down.
“Don’t get up,” he suggests sweetly, tugging off my shorts and tossing
them somewhere. “We’re having a conversation, Hazel. Why would you get
up and walk away?” He knows what he’s doing. It’s in the dangerous,
velvety tone of voice that he uses as I hear him unzip his jeans. A shudder
runs up my spine, under his fingers, and I wonder if he can feel it.
“I was just going to look at you so I’m not talking to a pillow,” I point
out, unable to sound anything but nervous with him behind me, holding me
in this position. “I was only–”
“You were only giving me more and more excuses. Hazel, you were
only going to roll over and give me those sweet, sad eyes. You play the part
of a bunny so well, it’s an apt name for you. Maybe I’ll get you a cute little
tail to match.” His free hand comes to rest on the swell of my ass, causing
me to shudder as I remember the last time he’d had his hand there like this.
“Are you remembering the night we met? The night I spanked you? You
deserved it, you know. But I didn’t think you’d like it so much.” He’s
enjoying this. That’s evident in his voice, especially when he digs his
fingers into my flesh and kneads it harshly enough for me to hiss out a
sound of not-quite-protest.
“Does that hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Poor baby. Poor little thing.” He does it again, pulling a gasp from me,
then his hand leaves, only to come back down with force. It’s only his other
hand on my back that keeps me from moving, and his chuckle is nearly lost
in my yelp. Wren moves again, his hand on my back disappearing so he can
drag his nails down my sides, once again targeting the places I’m ticklish
and drawing a surprised howl from me that has me nearly bolting upright.
 Or I would, if his hand isn’t back while my serial killer snickers with
joy. “You like that, don’t you, little rabbit?”
“It hurts,” I hiss, still feeling the echoes of the burn.
“Yeah, and you fucking like it. You don’t need to lie to me. I love that
you like it. So good for me, so good that you take everything I want to give
you. I bet you’d love it if I marked up that soft skin of yours with my teeth.”
His fingers slide between my thighs again, and for a moment I hope he
won’t comment on how wet I am just from his violence.
But then again, this is Wren.
He laughs darkly and presses two fingers into my body without a word.
“If it hurt so bad, if you were so miserable, why the fuck are you dripping
for me?”
“Fuck,” is my empathetic, well thought out reply as he fingers me. My
hips lift off the bed, arching into him, but his hand on my lower back is a
heavy, forceful weight that keeps me in place easily.
“If this is what you wanted, or what it took to make you accept how
much I want you, I would’ve done this days ago,” Wren promises, mouth
close to my ear as he leans over me. “You think a day goes by I’m not
coming in bed thinking of this sweet, tight little cunt of yours? You think I
waste any single dream not imagining all the things I want to do to you?”
“There can’t be that many,” I whisper, fingers gripping the pillow.
“You don’t think so?” He’s almost conversational as he removes his
fingers, but before I can get nervous, I feel his length at my entrance.
“You’d better be ready for me, baby,” he says, and it’s all the warning I get
before he thrusts into me completely, so his hips are pressed to my ass.
A satisfied, growling groan leaves him, reverberating through his chest
as he leans over me to blanket me with his body. “I want to hunt you,” he
whispers in my ear, a hand encircling my throat. “I want to set you loose in
the woods and give you a head start.”
“You want me to run?” I ask, barely able to focus on anything but the
slide of him inside me. Why is he so good at this?
“I want you to run as hard as you can until you collapse in the dirt
again. Then I want to hunt you down and ruin you so completely that you’ll
never be able to stand being without me. I’ll find all the ways to make you
mine that there could ever be, and invent a few of my own.”
I open my mouth to speak, but when his fingers tighten on my throat, I
gasp before fighting out, “That feels like overkill, Wren.”
 “Feels like not enough to me. Stop talking, Hazel. You’re using up all of
your air. Don’t want you passing out on me now.” He’s gleeful as he says it,
and when his fingers dig into my throat, my head spins. I whimper, grasping
at his arm, but he only brings the other one up that I immediately latch on
to.
Wren laughs. “Are you light-headed? Dizzy? Poor little prey. Am I too
much for you?” He fucks me like he’s trying to make a point. A dramatic
one.
And my head continues to spin.
Impulsively, I bite his forearm that’s on the pillow beside my face, teeth
sinking into his skin as he takes a breath.
“Oh, what a good fucking bunny you are. That’s it. Bite me. Bite my
arms. Fight me, Hazel. Let me feel you fight me for it.”
Somehow, terror isn’t forefront in my mind. Especially when he lets go
of my neck enough for me to suck in a breath and for me to bite him like I’d
already threatened. My teeth sink into his skin, and I’m sure I feel him
shudder behind me.
“Keep going,” he urges, though I’m not sure if he’s talking to himself or
me. With his movements unsteady and his hand shaking, I have a pretty
good idea he’s about to come.
But so am I.
I grab at his arm and bite him again, but that’s as far as I get before I cry
out in ecstasy, my gaze whiting out as he squeezes just a touch more tightly.
If there’s a heaven, I hope this is what it looks and feels like. He fucks
me to his own completion as I all but black out, nearly losing myself in his
gentling grip and the way my teeth are locked in his arm.
It’s only when he rolls me onto my side, and eventually my back with
him staring down at me, that I come back to reality with an unhappy sigh.
But then again, I do get to see Wren’s lazy, pleased grin. And I get to
feel the tickling of his finger as he strokes my bottom lip, not taking his
eyes off of me for one moment.
“I must’ve killed the right person to get rewarded with you,” he says
simply, drawing me into his hold as I nip his finger petulantly. “You’re
perfect, little bunny. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“No, they haven’t,” I tell him hoarsely, unsurprised to feel that I’m
shaking when he presses his knee between my thighs. “Maybe you should
make up for it?” It’s a joke, but the way he looks at me is anything but.
“I’d be glad to.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Twelve

I t’s just one night, little bunny.

Then you’re free from me, I promise.
The words ring in my head over and over again, going between
brain cells like a ping-pong ball that never goes off the table. Not that
there’s anything I can do about it, as I stand in front of my mirror with my
head tilted to the side, eyes wide as I stare at myself.
I look way better than normal. Even I can see that. Of course, it helped
that Wren had given me a flat seven hundred for his ‘favor.’ Otherwise, I
never could’ve gone out and afforded this.
Is this what he’s looking for? I’m not sure when it started mattering so
much what a serial killer thinks of me, and I let out a breath. Maybe he’ll
hate it and go away and I won’t have to face my greatest fear in the world.
A social event. Even worse, a fancy social event full of fancy people. At
his needling, I had looked up Wren on the GreenCo website, and I’d nearly
spewed ginger ale from my nose when I’d seen a picture of him arm in arm
with the CEO of the company.
He’s important. My brain has a hard time getting around that, too. He’s
important and a fucking serial killer who works at a damn environmental
company. Maybe he kills lobbyists who pollute.
Maybe Andrew Thomas, age forty-two, was a rampant pollution fan
who went from forest to forest undoing Smokey the Bear’s work. It’s the
only option I’m willing to accept tonight, since I’m going to a dinner held
by GreenCo for their employees at some banquet hall downtown.
Even that is a mystery to me. All I can think of as I straighten my new,
mid-thigh length black dress is that it’ll be like a wedding where the tables
are covered with cheap white cloth and the chairs are vinyl and crunchy.
Maybe there will be a buffet, or at most catered meals with a choice of
chicken or beef.
The knock on my door is a surprise, but only because Wren has never
knocked before and I’m not sure why he is now. It doesn’t feel like a very
stalker move, and I don’t answer it right away.
Not when insecurity and nerves sink into my skin like rain. I look better
than normal, sure, but I’m never very nice about my own appearance.
Especially to myself. My long, light blonde hair hangs in waves to my
chest, and the dress I’d found is black, sequined, and more comfortable than
it has any right to be. The sheer sleeves are comfortable instead of itchy and
are loose enough until the tighter fitting cuffs that I feel like a pirate. My
ankle boots are simple, black suede and propel me four inches higher into
the night, not that it matters when Wren is six foot and I’m barely five-foot-
five. I’m not normally one for jewelry, but tonight I’ve made the exception
for a black choker and the Tiffany-key necklace my mom got me as a high
school graduation present.
What if Wren thinks I look like shit?
When he knocks again, I sigh, my fingers clenching at my sides. There’s
only one way to find out, and that’s by answering the door. The walk there
seems to take longer than normal, and by the time he knocks for a third
time, my hand is on the knob and I pull it open, frowning. “You could give
me a minute,” I tell him, knowing he gave me longer than that. “And since
when do you knock?”
“I would say that I always knock when I look this good,” Wren begins,
his dark eyes on me. They stick to my face for a few moments before
traveling down until I’m sure he’s scanned every inch of me and can
probably draw an accurate picture of the scars my right knee is decorated
with. “But how can I compliment myself when you’re standing there
looking like that?” His voice is rough and low. He’s unreadable as he looks
me over again, and I frown.
“So it’s okay?” I ask finally, lifting my hands like I’m on a game show
and trying to sell some product to the contestant. Instead of a meaningful
gesture, however, I just let them flop at the wrist, worried that he’s going to
tell me he doesn’t like some aspect of all of this.
“You’re worried it’s not? Little bunny…” He sighs and walks forward
until I have to step back into my apartment. I’m only a few inches shorter
than him in my heels, and when he leans down to brush his lips lightly to
mine, a tingle goes through my body. “I’m just sad I won’t get to tear it off
you.”
“I mean, if you hate it, I guess you can,” I tease. “But that would mean I
can’t go be your, uh, alibi tonight.”
“Girlfriend,” he corrects automatically, and pulls away. “You’re not my
alibi, Hazel. You’re my girlfriend.” He looks around my apartment and
stops when he sees my phone and keys on the table. “Are you ready to go?
Do you need anything else?”
“No, just those. Do I need any money?” I ask lamely, like this is a date
and we’re going halfsies. “Though if we’re going in an Uber, I’m not
paying half. I refuse.”
He smirks and lays a hand gently on my waist like he might mess up my
dress. “We’re not taking an Uber or a bus or whatever else you think. I
drove over here, and I’ll drive us there. Also, you don’t need any money.
Why in the world would I make you pay to help me with this?”
“Because you like seeing me in metaphysical and emotional pain at
spending money?” I ask sweetly, garnering a snort from my serial killer.
“Because you’re willing to drop me off at Waffle House on the way home
so I can get emotional support, chocolate chip waffles?”
“There will be food there, you know,” he reminds me as I gather up my
things and follow him out the door. “Since it’s a dinner and all.”
“Yeah, but will they have waffles?” I ease Morticia away from the door
before closing it, only to hear her screaming protests as I lock the door.
“Did you know she’s the first to welcome me to your apartment when I
break in?” Wren asks conversationally as he leads me down the hallway. “I
love your cats.”
“That’s weird of you.”
“Why? They love me. They never made noise when I broke in that first
time.” He hits the button for the elevator and I walk in beside him, arms
curled around myself as it jolts into motion. “We hung out when you were
taking a shower, actually.”
“Not Shadow,” I deny, side-eyeing him. “There’s no way he likes you.
He barely likes me.”
His grin is painful in its brilliance. “The black one? He slept on my
chest and purred.”
 “I hate you,” I tell him, as he snags me into his grip and yanks me to
him so hard that I stumble on the slick floor.
It’s only thanks to him that I don’t fall, and for a terrifying moment, I’m
off balance as he chuckles against my ear. “Do you? Do you really? I don’t
think you do, little bunny. Not one bit and certainly not like you should.
Hell, I don’t even think you have a healthy amount of fear of me. And I like
that.”
“Why do you care if I like you, anyway?” I ask, pulling myself back
upright. “You’re done with me after tonight, right? Out of my life, out of
my mind, and all the things you’ve said to me?” I don’t know how to feel
about it, but I hate the way my stomach twists and hurts at the thought. It’s
not a rational reaction. It’s not right for me to care that he doesn’t want to
see me again after tonight.
But it can’t be helped, and I can’t exactly argue with him.
I’m so wrapped up in my thoughts that it takes me a few seconds to
realize Wren never replied. By the time I try to say something, however, the
elevator door opens, and he breezes out into the lobby with me behind him.
As he walks past my landlord’s office, she looks up, glasses dangling at the
end of her nose, and smiles warmly at me.
“Have a great night, Hazel!” she calls, looking pointedly at Wren.
Honestly, I’d look at him that way, too. He’s gorgeous, he’s all smiles and
friendliness… he’s everything that a girl would want if she didn’t know
what his hobby is.
But I do, and somehow, that’s not as much of a turnoff as it should be.
As I follow him to his car, I can’t help the way my eyebrows jerk up in
appreciation, but I also don’t miss the way Wren glances back at me to see
my reaction to his car.
“Maybe your google search results are true,” I admit, opening the door
of his sleek, black Camaro before he can do it for me. I’m not helpless,
damn it. “Though I guess you could just be renting this.” I slide into the
passenger seat as he gets in as well, a chuckle ready on his lips.
“I’m not renting it,” he assures me.
“Must be difficult to fit bodies in here if you’re like, carrying them
away or something.” I regret saying it when he doesn’t answer right away
and worry suddenly that he’s upset. Wren instead turns on the engine and
puts the car in gear, then pulls away from the curb smoothly.
 “I have an SUV for that,” he says finally, sounding amused. “Who in the
world would transport bodies in a sports car, Hazel?” I sigh, thankful he’s
not upset, and settle back in my seat to pick at my sleeve. Gently I deposit
my keys in the console, but I keep my phone in my free hand. If I’m
clutching it like a lifeline, Wren is kind enough not to say anything as we
drive.
When he pulls up in front of the museum, all I can do is stare. There’s
valet service, for one, and Wren gestures for me to get out of the car so that
he can hand the keys off and loop his arm around mine.
Grudgingly, I walk, letting him drag me up the few stairs to the large,
glass-doored entrance of the Natural History Museum without tripping over
myself. “I don’t know if I can do this. I thought being your alibi just meant
saying you were at my apartment instead of murdering people,” I whisper,
leaning close so no one hears.
He chuckles, teeth flashing in a bright smile. In his blazer and well-
fitting trousers, he looks so different from the Wren I’m used to. “It’s not a
big deal, Hazel,” he purrs, lips close to my ear. “You won’t have to do
anything except look pretty.”
“That sounds too complicated.”
“Well, you’re already doing it,” he points out sweetly, but I shake my
head.
“I feel sick. I think I’m allergic.”
That startles a laugh from him and he pulls me closer, like I’m a flight
risk who’s going to book it back to the valeted car and wait there until this
is over. Then again, now that I think about it, I might. “This is all I need
from you, all right?” he asks, kissing my temple as we walk through the
door and into the grand lobby.
Wren doesn’t stop, however. He keeps walking, greeting a few people,
but only when we’re in a room labeled with ‘banquet hall’ does he slow
down and let me take in our surroundings.
“So I guess we aren’t going on an actual museum tour, huh?” I ask,
looking around the huge room with its high, arched ceilings. The talk in the
room is a bit like white noise to me, especially as it echoes off the walls and
bounces back into itself, and I don’t bother trying to listen. Wren’s hand
slips down my arm until he can grip my fingers, and I glance up at him with
surprise as he squeezes my hand comfortingly.
 “Not this time. But if you want to go, I’m sure we can make it happen,”
he says. Before he can continue, however, I hear his name echoing off of
the walls nearest us, and he looks up to see a brown-haired, dark-eyed man
with a wide grin coming his way with his hand outstretched.
Wren releases my fingers, making me feel suddenly alone, to shake the
man’s hand. Beaming, I try to look like I belong here, with him, instead of
under my blankets at home. I can do this. I agreed to do this, didn’t I? It
would be rude of me to break a promise I’d made.
Even if it was to a serial killer.
But it’s Wren. This weird, problematic man with a charming grin is so
weirdly alluring and charming that I always want him coming back for
more. Not that I’ll say that out loud.
He doesn’t want to stick around, after all. And I certainly can’t make it
seem like I want him to. Right?
“This is my girlfriend I was telling you about.” The words jar me out of
my thoughts and I smile up at the man who’s an inch or so taller than Wren
himself. I do everything I can to make myself look like I’m supposed to be
here.
Like I’m supposed to be with Wren.
“Hey,” I greet, grasping the offered hand lightly as he shakes it. His
palm is warm and calloused, and the man looks me over with a hint of
surprise.
“I thought you said your girlfriend was a redhead,” he says, turning his
gaze back on Wren.
Before he can answer, however, I do. “It’s because I was a redhead
when we met. I’d been dyeing my hair for a while, and I’m pretty sure you
thought it was natural.” I grin at Wren, who smiles wickedly in return.
The man says a few more polite things to Wren that I tune out, then
walks away to talk to someone else. Wren watches him go, as do I, then
turns to me with a brow raised. “I wouldn’t put you on the spot, you know,”
he assures me. “Don’t think you have to cover for my mistakes if you don’t
feel comfortable with it.”
My heart sinks. “Did you not want me to say anything? I just thought
—”
“You’re perfect,” he interrupts. “Especially that sweet little uncertain
look you get where your nose scrunches up and you gaze up at me like
that.” He starts to lean in, then sighs and looks up. “No, that’s not what I
meant at all. I mean, I’m not trying to ask the world of you. If something
happens that you don’t know how to answer, don’t stress over it. I’ll take
care of most things. I just need you to be you.”
“I have no idea what that means,” I admit, his hand slipping back into
mine as he leads me further into the room with round, cloth-covered tables
and waiters walking around to offer food and drinks.
Wren takes two glasses of champagne and hands one to me. “It means
that you’re perfect like you are, and you don’t need to pretend to be
anything for me or them,” he explains with a shrug, watching to see if I like
what he’s given me before taking a drink of his own.
It’s not until after dinner is served, which I eat almost nothing of
because I’m worried about being rude and self-conscious all around, that I
feel worried. The head of GreenCo, Jonah, who I recognize from his
pictures, is making his way over to Wren with a woman whom my serial
killer informs me is his wife.
Jonah lunges forward to hug Wren, drawing him away from me as his
wife closes in, her eyes gleaming with interest. “We can just let them be,”
she confides, her hand on my wrist. “Jonah likes to get a little tipsy at these
and this is the first time Wren hasn’t been around to catch him constantly.”
Her fingers on my arm are tipped in ruby-red nails shaped like claws, and I
let her walk me away from them, trying to look like I don’t mind.
The brunette woman certainly doesn’t notice when I look back at Wren,
who throws me a quick glance, and tugs me instead to a table on the
outskirts of the party where another woman and man sit.
“I hope we’re all enjoying ourselves?” she asks, sitting down and
gesturing for me to do so as well. “You know, Jonah wanted to hold this at
the botanical gardens, but I didn’t think it was proper enough. Oh…” She
looks at me, suddenly realizing something. “You’re Wren’s guest, but I
don’t know your name.”
I smile, my heart thumping hard in my chest. “Hazel,” I tell her. “And
I’m really sorry, but I don’t really know any of your names either.” I look
around the table, trying to appear apologetic as my body tries to melt into
the floor.
“Arianna,” the woman who’d dragged me over introduces. “Jonah’s my
husband, so I’ve known Wren for years. This is Michael Adamson and his
wife, Heather.”
 The blonde, a woman in her mid-fifties, smiles kindly. “It’s a pleasure to
meet you, Hazel. We’ve all been saying for a while that Wren needs
someone in his life. He’s always so… lonely. And he’s never brought
anyone before.”
“Have you known him for long?” Arianna asks, jumping on the
question. “He’s been rather close-lipped about your relationship, so I’m
sorry if it feels like we’re prying.”
“We’ve been together since spring,” I lie, hoping that he hasn’t told
them differently. Maybe this is something we should’ve gone over, but I
can’t do anything about that now. “And he’s hinted at me coming with him
for a while, but if I’m honest?” I lean in, my smile turning a bit nervous.
“I’ve been a little afraid to. It’s kind of intimidating that he’s so important
here. I was worried about what everyone would think of me.”
The admission softens Holly’s face, and Michael takes a drink of his
water before asking, “What is it that you do, Hazel? Do you work in
environmental affairs as well?”
“No,” I deny, my heart slamming against my ribs. I know it doesn’t
matter, that this isn’t real, but the possibility of their disdain is terrifying all
the same. “I’m finishing up my anthropology degree right now, actually.
And I work as a florist’s assistant.” It’s not at all prestigious or important
like their jobs, and I’m almost too afraid to look up at them.
But I do anyway, and before any of them can say something
disparaging, I add, “I had to take some time off, unfortunately. I had some
health issues that put me back a year and a half, and this is the first full year
I’ve been back to one hundred percent.” It’s not a blatant lie. Before this
year, I hadn’t had a therapist or been on a proper medication regimen. But
I’m nowhere near one hundred percent.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Holly says instantly, face lined with worry. “But I’m
glad you’re back to being able to do things. Where did you meet Wren, if
you don’t mind me asking?”
I’ve had this planned out all night, but it’s still scary to put the plan into
motion. “So, with my anthropology work, I like to study generational
cultural influences in children,” I say, proud that it’s barely a lie. “Before I
got sick, I’d gone to Malta to look at the Knights of Saint John, the Moors,
and the Romans so I could see how their influence was passed onto the
children of this generation. I wanted to do more, but obviously, that was put
on hold. Anyway, this year a friend of mine asked if I’d help her in the
spring and summer with some children’s programs. I modified my study to
make it fit, only using the children of this generation in Akron instead of
Malta, and helped out as much as I could. It was a great experience and
really influenced my thesis. I met Wren at a lake up north. I was out getting
coffee and kind of spilled it on him. Frankly, I was surprised he didn’t
shriek at me, let alone ask me what my name was.” I snort at my own false
tale, and Michael chuckles.
Even Arianna looks amused, and all of them seem to believe it easily
enough that I can feel the tension slowly easing out of my shoulders.
“I bet an anthropology student has a lot of interest in a museum like
this,” Michael remarks, his wife nodding. “Have you been here before?”
“Only when I was in seventh grade,” I admit, barely noticing Jonah
approaching to sit next to his wife.
Wren sinks into the chair on my other side, his arm wrapping around my
shoulders as he leans into the conversation. “I felt left out,” he admits,
grinning. “What are we talking about?”
“I was about to ask your girlfriend about Malta,” Arianna replies. “You
didn’t tell us you have a budding anthropologist as your partner, Wren.”
He gazes at me, and I can tell he’s trying to work out the lie.
Unfortunately for him, the only part of my story that isn’t true is how we
met, and that’s still pretty on point, save the murder and the picnic table
mishandling of machetes.
“I got kind of long-winded,” I admit, catching his gaze. “It felt weird
just saying ‘we met at a kid’s spring and summer camp.’ So I explained my
anthropology work in Malta last year versus my studies closer to home this
year.” I hope it’s enough for him to pick up on, and when his smile widens,
I realize that, of course, it is.
“We’re planning another trip,” he admits, the lie flowing smoothly from
his lips. “To Malta. She talks highly about it, and I’d really like to see it.”
“Only because I won’t stop talking about the Knights of St. John,” I
snort. “And he thinks half of what I say is a lie.”
“Have you thought about what you’ll do when you graduate?” Holly
asks, her question catching me off guard.
I haven’t, because at this rate it feels like I never will.
“Umm, I’m not sure,” I admit, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I enjoy
what I’ve studied for my thesis, but I’d like to do something else as well. I
love to study different cultures and their histories, and my college offers
quite a few graduate programs, depending on my course of study.”
“Where do you go?” Jonah asks, curious.
“Baltianic University,” I reply, naming one of the better colleges in
Ohio.
“Do let me know when you guys are done monopolizing my girlfriend,”
Wren adds casually, his voice a drawl. “I’d like her back when it’s
convenient for you.”
“You can’t blame us,” Arianna accuses. “You’re the one that’s been so
secretive about your budding anthropologist.”
Wren shrugs, his boyish, playful grin wide on his face as he changes the
topic to something that doesn’t involve my past or what I’m doing with my
life right now.

C ollapsing into the passenger seat with a sigh, my head flops back against
the seat. “I’m sleeping for six days,” I inform my serial killer as he gets in
as well, oddly quiet. “I’m only getting up to eat pizza and feed the cats.”
“Why Malta?” he asks as if he hadn’t heard me. “How’d you come up
with all of that?”
I open my eyes and look at him as he shifts into gear and pulls out onto
the museum’s side road. “What?” I ask, momentarily confused. “What do
you mean?”
“I was nervous,” he admits. “That was a pretty elaborate story to
remember all the details of.”
It hits me, suddenly, that Wren barely knows me at all. Part of me feels
like I’ve known him forever, even though it’s been only a few weeks.
“It wasn’t a lie,” I say carefully, fingers gripping my phone in my lap.
“All of that was true, except for how we met. And, well, that I’m finishing
my degree.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m eight credits out and not enrolled anymore,” I shrug, pretending it
isn’t important. “But I really did go to Malta, and I really was an
anthropology major.”
He’s quiet for a few minutes that feels like hours. Finally, he says, “That
was amazing of you, Hazel. I knew I made the right choice all along, but
that was just brilliant. Do you know how much they liked you?”
 “Did they?” I ask, looking over at him in surprise. “I kind of felt like
they thought I wasn’t good enough for you.”
“Not a chance,” Wren denies quickly. “Not a chance in hell.”
Minutes later, he pulls up to my apartment building, but I don’t get out
of his car. I don’t want to, I find, even though I definitely need to. “Guess
you don’t need me anymore,” I sigh, leaning back. “Though, I thought
‘alibi’ meant more ‘talk to the police’ and less ‘pretend to be your girlfriend
at a banquet.’”
Wren doesn’t reply for a moment, but when I reach for my keys, he
slips his fingers over mine. “Me too,” he admits with a crooked grin.
“Guess I’m better at staying under the radar than I thought I was. Hazel?” I
look at him and he leans across the console to pull me in for a kiss.
When he withdraws, his lips still close to mine, I’m gasping in the air I
need, even though he seems completely unaffected. “Don’t follow any more
serial killers into the woods,” Wren purrs, his eyes glittering. “I don’t think
it would go well for a little bunny like you.”

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 Chapter

Thirteen

H e’s gone.
With my arms propped up on the counter while Miss Jenkins
works on an arrangement for someone’s fancy dinner, I stare at the
door with a small frown on my lips. He’s really, actually gone. For three
days I’d held my breath, thinking he’d come out of nowhere and tell me that
it was all a joke, that he needed me for something else.
That I’d have to help him more with his alibi, like we’d both thought I
would.
But he just… doesn’t. My life rights itself to how it was before he
showed up in the flower shop; but even so, things feel off. It’s stupid, and I
know that. No one should want a serial killer to show back up. What if he’d
gotten angry or bored? What if I’d said something he didn’t like? Wren kills
people. What’s to say he wouldn’t kill me too?
The phone rings and I answer it automatically to take the person’s order.
I barely have to think about it, or much of anything else, as I write down the
details for Miss Jenkins. She’s still busy with her experimental dinner piece,
humming lightly and stuck in her own head for however long it takes. Not
that I can complain. All I have to do is man the counter for the next hour.
With it being Friday, I doubt there will be any kind of real rush.
That is, until the door opens and four people walk in, the three women
here to sample bouquets and whisper to each other as they pick up vases
and then sit them back down in ways they weren’t displayed before.
I can’t help the sigh that leaves me. Now I’ll have to rearrange shit
before I leave, unless I want to do it on Monday before the shop opens,
which would require me to wake up a whole five minutes early. There’s no
way I want to suffer such a fate, so I watch and note which things are
moved that I’ll have to put back before focusing on the older man in the
shop.
He’s not with them, I don’t think. At least, he doesn’t acknowledge the
three loud women or look over at them. Instead. he peeks through the
greeting cards and straightens a stuffed animal on the shelf, looking like he
just stumbled in here to browse.
Except that he doesn’t look like Miss Jenkins’ regular customers.
Maybe I’m paranoid, but he’s just too… unhappy. His face is too set. He’s
too stern. The only thing I can think of is that he’s buying flowers for a
failing marriage, or for a mistress that he’s trying to buy off. It’s happened
before, and I always have to try extremely hard not to make my feelings
known or break out into nervous, high-pitched giggles.
When I think about it, though, I can’t help but remember the time it did
happen and I couldn’t hold back the nervous, unhappy laughter. I’m not
sure who was more embarrassed back then. Me or the guy who’d been
cheating on his wife with a pair of identical twins, that also apparently
didn’t know about each other.
I blink, realizing that the women are at the counter, still talking, and
wait as they finally get through their conversation to look at me.
“We’re wanting to order arrangements for a party,” the one in front
informs me, like I should be excited about a party I’m not invited to.
But like a good little retail worker, I slap a smile on my face and lean
my elbows on the glass counter, the catalog and my notepad on the surface
as I try to mirror even a tenth of her excitement. “Do you have any idea
what you want?” I ask, regretting every word as she happily informs me
that she doesn’t, which is why she wants me to help her pick out three
unique and, in her words, ‘outrageous’ statement pieces.
Trying to force my jaw to unclench at the way she talks and the
enthusiasm that has her spitting on me, I open the catalog and nod along
with what she says, pointing out our popular options and directing her
toward the more expensive flowers that we have. “Oh, everyone would love
that,” I assure her when she asks about dipping the tips of roses in gold
paint to make them look jeweled. I know Miss Jenkins has done it before,
rather unhappily, but it drives up the price so much that I doubt this woman
can pay for it.
 Finally she decides, and I’ve just talked her out of adding on a zebra-
print bow as the man comes up to the counter, his hands empty and looking
thoughtful. From the corner of my eye, I scrutinize his expression, still
willing to bet that he’s either lost or looking for an apology gift like so
many men before him.
“Hi,” he greets, resting his hands on the glass as he frowns at me. He’s
balding, with only a little grey hair left to cover the sides of his head. Some
of it is combed over in a poor attempt to hide the fact that he really is about
to go bald. “I was hoping you could help me.”
“Yeah, okay,” I agree, barely paying attention as I slide the notes for the
last order toward Miss Jenkins’ pile. “Give me just a sec. Umm, do you
know the details about what you’re wanting? An event, maybe, or the
occasion?”
“Oh, I don’t want flowers,” the man assures me hurriedly. “I’m looking
for a friend of mine, and I think he was in here a few days ago.”
I glance up at him blankly, tilting my head to the side. “I doubt I’d
remember,” I admit. “And I’m not here all the time.” I am, but it feels weird
admitting that right now.
“Could you try to remember for me? I think he’s pretty unique. He
would’ve been here alone, probably. Black hair, dark eyes. He’s such a
friendly guy.” The man laughs, though it doesn’t reach his face. “No idea
what he ordered, though. Maybe something for a girlfriend?”
Could he be talking about Wren? Part of the description lines up. Such
as him being here, his hair color, and his eye color. But he wasn’t alone, and
he wasn’t really ordering something for his girlfriend. Not only that, but
why would this man be asking about Wren? They certainly don’t look like
friends.
“I’m really sorry,” I say, biting my lip as I try to think of anyone else
that matches the description. I barely pay attention to the customers, and it’s
normally the women that come in here who are memorable in some way.
Most guys my age don’t come in here to buy flowers for a girlfriend. “I
honestly don’t think I know of any customers that have come in recently
with that description.” I don’t mean to be obtuse, and I hope he doesn’t
think I’m lying.
But this really feels like a shot in the dark, and this guy just missed.
“All right. I could be wrong,” the man assures me, moving his hands to
shove them in his pockets. As he does, his jacket is swept back, and the
bright gleam of something catches my eye.
A badge. It clicks in my head that it’s a badge, and I’m sure he’s seen
me look. If I hide that I know, then he’s going to think it’s suspicious.
Especially when it feels like there’s more of a chance he is here for Wren.
I glance up at him again, eyebrows lifting. “You’re a cop? We give
discounts to law enforcement and veterans, but I’m sure you’re not
interested, huh?” My half-smile is rueful and earnest, and he chuckles.
“No, ma’am. I see she’s busy…” he trails off, looking over at the still-
humming Miss Jenkins. “But would you ask your boss for me when she’s
done if she’s seen my friend? For some reason, I just can’t get in touch with
him, and I’m worried.”
“Yeah, absolutely,” I promise, knowing that I won’t. “And I’m really
sorry I couldn’t help you. I would if I could, but there aren’t many guys that
come in here, and the last five or so had grey hair. Sorry,” I say again like
I’m really put out about it. “I’ll keep an eye out for someone like that,
though. If you want to drop by again.”
It works, I hope. He nods, barely listening to me, and reaches out to
push his card onto the counter. “That would be helpful,” the officer agrees.
“Call that number and let me know if you see him. Though, I don’t think
you should tell him I was in here looking if he does show up.” He hesitates
and frowns. “I don’t think he will,” the officer confides, looking like he’d
rather be anywhere but here. “Between us, I don’t think it’s his kind of
place.”
“I get that,” I agree, pocketing the card. “Well, hey, if you need
anything, you know where we are. I hope you find your friend.”
“Thanks again.” He nods respectfully and pushes back out the door,
heading to the craft store across the street. Was Wren wrong? I wonder as I
begin closing up and fix everything that got shoved around in the
showroom. Maybe there’s someone looking for him and he doesn’t know it,
or somehow doesn’t know that the cops are looking in his direction.
Though I guess it could be someone else the officer is looking for, even
if it does fit Wren’s appearance and fake reason for coming in perfectly. It
hits me that I still have his number in my phone, though I’d half-forgotten it
was there after days of not using it. Then again, it’s not like I’d ever called
or texted him. It had been the other way around.
Maybe I should tell him, just in case.
“O kay , okay ,” I hiss, massaging my knee as I walk into the kitchen where
the cats’ food bowl is. Shadow meows at me again, escorting me to the food
bag and back as I set down their kibble on the mat near the sink. “You
know, it’s not like you’re starving. What, has it been empty for twenty
minutes?” I still feel half asleep, and mostly out of it, so I’m surprised when
I make it to the table and sit down without breaking my leg tripping over a
cat.
I could go back to sleep, I know. But feeding the cats has made me
hungry, and it dawns on me that I haven’t eaten since this morning. I’d had
a bagel and what seemed like a gallon of coffee, which I refuse to accept is
not a food group of its own.
Teriyaki chicken doesn’t sound good tonight, and I definitely don’t want
to get up and cook. I’m way too lazy for it, and it would require more effort
than I’m willing to put in. Unless I throw a box of potato skins in the oven,
which is a completely viable option that my bank account would enjoy
more than my taste buds.
“Fuck it,” I murmur, levering myself to my feet. It’s the weekend, and to
celebrate, I’ve changed into just an oversized, lightweight hoodie, PJ shorts,
and socks. That’s another reason I don’t plan on going anywhere, because
real clothes sound awful right about now. “Must you?” I sigh, as Shadow
attacks my tapping foot with vigor. He doesn’t do any real damage, but it’s
still irritating to have to shake him off on my way to the freezer.
The sound of knocking, however, makes me freeze in my tracks. For
one terrifying moment, I’m sure it’s that officer from the flower shop, and I
stay where I am, unsure of what to do. Maybe if I pretend I’m not here—
The knocking sounds again and I bite my lip, concerned about who’s on
the other side of my door. It could be my landlord. That wouldn’t be
unheard of, even at this hour. Or it could be that cop wanting to interrogate
me about Wren.
Either way, if I go to the door dressed like this, they’re going to know
it’s a bad time, and that’s what I’m going for. “Just a second,” I call,
walking quickly to the door and gripping the handle. “Hey, I’m really
sorry,” I say before it’s open. “But I was actually about to go to… bed.” I
trail off, my face dropping in surprise as I see who’s standing there and
dangling a bag in his hand labeled the Waffle Hut.
“Wren?” I gasp, eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”
 “Well, I tried to stay away,” he admits, with amusement on his face as
he looks me over before stepping into the small apartment. “Promise, I did.
But…”
“But?” I ask, heart pounding in my throat. “But what?”
“But then I thought… ‘what does my little bunny need today?’”
“Waffles?” I assume, using context clues.
“Me in her apartment, telling her I’ve decided to never let her out of my
snare.”

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 Chapter

Fourteen

I have no idea what to say to that. Especially with him so close. I watch
as he rests the bag of food on the table, his eyes on mine when he’s
done.
“I bet you thought you were rid of me,” he purrs, tilting my head up
with a hand under my chin. “That you were going to celebrate without me.”
“I wasn’t,” I assert, letting him back me up to the kitchen table. He slots
a knee between both of mine, keeping me there and off balance, and his
smirk widens.
“You weren’t?” he teases. “Did you want me to come back, little
bunny? Little prey?” His voice is goading, more so than I’ve heard since I
first met him as a masked killer in the woods. It causes my stomach to flip
and my insides to clench.
I’m terrified, and turned on, and nearly breathless as he leans down so
our lips almost touch. “You could’ve called me, or texted me,” he whispers.
“If you wanted me back, I would’ve been here the morning after our date. I
waited for you.” He pulls back, accusing.
“…What?” I ask, still confused as hell. “Waited for me?”
“To text me. I thought I’d stay away unless you did. Because I didn’t
want to force you, little bunny. I didn’t want to do anything you don’t want
me to do. But then you didn’t. And I realized that maybe my little Hazel is
just too afraid of the big bad wolf to invite him back into her straw house.
Afraid I’ll blow everything down?” His eyes glitter as he taunts me, and the
hand on my chin twists so he’s gripping my throat instead.
It’s the first time he’s been so much like he was in the forest… and with
a jolt, I realize I kind of missed it.
 What the fuck does that say about me?
“I thought you were gone,” I whisper, eyes on his. “You didn’t act like
you wanted to stay. You didn’t say anything—”
“Not killing you was me saying something,” Wren interrupts. “If that
wasn’t clear enough, fucking you on a picnic table was me saying
something. Coming to your apartment with food was me saying
something.”
In retrospect, I suppose the signs were pretty clear, but I still shake my
head at his words. “But you didn’t say something,” I protest, heart pounding
in my chest. “You know, with words. I need words. And you don’t even
know me. I just thought—”
“I know everything I need to.”
“Do you know my last name?”
He thinks about it, then shrugs. “It’s not the point, Hazel. I don’t need to
know the little details about you.”
“So you don’t know it,” I accuse with a small frown.
Wren rolls his eyes. “Teague,” he replies flatly. “Your last name is
Teague. You’re twenty-three. Despite working at a camp this summer, you
don’t like kids very much and you’d rather lie under the fairy lights in the
trees and stare at them. You’re left-handed, obviously, because the first time
you tried to hit me with a rock was with your right hand and you missed
dreadfully. You’re ticklish more on your right side than your left.”
I just stare at him, not knowing what to say. “Okay,” I agree, eyes
narrowed. “But you don’t know me.”
“I know that you are my little bunny, and that I’m not going anywhere.”
He flashes a grin. “And that you haven’t eaten.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s Friday and I don’t see any takeout boxes. I brought you
food, but I don’t know if I trust you to eat it properly. It seems like every
time we have dinner together, you’re too nervous and don’t eat enough. So,
I’m here to fix that.”
“By leaving?” I assume dryly, and he snorts.
“No. Go sit.” He points toward my couch and steps back, deftly
avoiding Shadow, who’s arrived to twine about his ankles like the
treacherous creature he is. I shake my head and go, though. There’s not
much else I can do with my mind racing as it is, so I sink down on my sofa
and listen to him unbox whatever he’s brought.
 It doesn’t take long. Minutes later Wren appears, a box of food in one
hand and two bottles of water in the other. He shoves the coffee table back
with his foot, which I watch with confusion, and sits down beside me on the
sofa, looking… eager?
Eager and smug, and there’s a glow in his dark eyes that I don’t
understand. He reaches out to brush my hair back from my face, his hand
ending up on my throat again. “Get on the floor for me,” he murmurs
sweetly, his eyes dark.
I tense, suddenly nervous. “Yeah?” I ask, grinning like he’s joking. “On
the floor, Wren?”
“On the floor, little bunny. Don’t you trust me? Don’t you know by now
that I won’t hurt you too badly? At least… not more than you enjoy. Though
if you don’t get on your knees for me, I’m sure I can put you over my lap
instead.”
“Okay,” I mutter, dropping to my knees gently on the hard floor. Seeing
my grimace, Wren shoves a pillow off the couch, dropping it between his
knees as he crooks his finger at me.
“Come here,” he murmurs, drawing me onto the pillow between his
thighs. “Right there. Just like that.”
My insides still twist nervously as I gaze up at him, watching as he
opens the box. It is, indeed, my favorite waffles, but I’ve certainly never
eaten them on my knees on the floor before. I don’t reach for the box,
because I’m sure that’ll end with my hand slapped or something else that’s
just as humiliating. Instead, I sit there, my face burning when he brandishes
a fork with a piece of waffle on it.
“You’re joking,” I deny, meeting his eyes with raised brows. “You’re
absolutely joking. I’m not a pet. I’m not going to beg for table scraps.”
“Of course you aren’t.” He sits back and pops the bite of waffle into his
own mouth, barely paying attention to me. “You can do whatever you want,
Hazel.”
God, I hate when he’s like this. That’s what I tell myself, anyway, as he
lifts the fork up teasingly, just out of reach. “C’mon,” he purrs, holding it
right above my head. “Just sit up a little for me. All I’m doing is making
sure you eat enough. Is that so mean of me?”
“Yes.”
He laughs and lowers it enough that I can take it off the fork, my hand
coming up to rest nervously on his thigh. Wren murmurs his approval and
repeats the process, even though it’s clear I’m squirming with
embarrassment each time he gives me the fork again. My fingers curl in the
denim of his jeans, and by the time the food’s gone, I realize I’m half lying
over his lap.
“You look so tempting,” he tells me, surprising me by suddenly pulling
me up off the floor and across his thighs. My knees fall open so I can
straddle him, my hand pressed against his chest as I look at him in
confusion. “I should’ve fed you with my fingers so you can lick them
clean.”
“Not on your life,” I assure him enthusiastically. “Not on my life, even.”
“Oh, no? Really?” He loops an arm around my waist and pulls me in for
a harsh kiss that makes me wonder if he’s trying to find the taste of
chocolate chip waffles in my mouth as his tongue presses against mine. “Do
you think maybe now would be a good time to talk about how you’re
dressed, Hazel?” he asks out of nowhere, his hands sliding down my hips
until he can grip my ass hard.
I yelp against his lips at the sudden roughness, pitching forward as he
jerks my thighs wider apart over his.
“What if it hadn’t been me? What if someone else had seen you like
this? Do you know what my first thought was when I walked in, little
bunny?” His mouth is close to my ear, and I shake my head against his
shoulder. “Just how easy it would be to fuck you. I don’t even have to
undress you, do I?” One of his hands disappears, only to shove my PJ shorts
to the side so his fingers can stroke my slit. “Maybe you didn’t know. Is that
the case? Did you just not know?” He sounds goading as he speaks, and I
reach up with one hand to tangle it in his hair, my face still on his shoulder.
“No one else would’ve thought it,” I assure him, keeping my voice level
as his fingers tease me. “No one else would’ve even considered it—” I
break off with a gasp as he plunges two fingers into me, his grin wolfish.
“Well I did,” he reminds me sweetly, casually fingering me as I turn my
face to his for a kiss that he enthusiastically returns. “I think about it all the
time. I think about all the ways I want to claim you as mine, and how I want
to make sure no one else ever gets the chance.”
“Ever?” I murmur, only half thinking about the word as he scratches
lightly up my side.
“Ever. I hope you don’t think you’re getting rid of me, little bunny.
Besides, it feels cruel to let you go. If I let you out of my trap, you’ll fall
into someone else’s. You’ll get hurt. You’ll find someone who doesn’t know
how to treat precious prey like you. Can you take a third finger for me?”
He’s not really asking, because he presses a third into me before I can reply.
“I’m not really prey,” I point out, gripping his hair tighter. My other
hand comes up to his neck, and I press my palm gently to the side of his
throat so that I can feel his pulse under my fingers. Unconsciously, I dig my
fingers in lightly, which draws a hiss from the man under me.
“Maybe,” Wren replies teasingly, his fingers becoming more insistent.
“But I don’t know. You certainly aren’t a predator like me.” I bite him
without thinking, my teeth sinking into his shoulder, and he groans. A
shudder goes through him, along with a murmured ‘fuck,’ and I feel his
hand leave my hip for a few seconds before coming back up to grip it hard.
“Bite me again,” he urges, even though my teeth are still lightly against his
skin. “Come on, Hazel. Sink your teeth into me like I want to do to you.”
I do, barely thinking about it as I bite the juncture of his neck and
shoulder and I feel him unbuckling his jeans. His fingers slide free of me,
only to grab my hip as I feel him slide against my entrance.
“Good little bunny,” he purrs, and pulls me down, his length sliding into
me as I gasp and release his throat from my teeth. It’s too much at once, yet
so perfect in the way that the stretch burns when he’s seated inside me and
my hips are pressed to his.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my head spinning. “Wren—”
“You asked for it,” he laughs darkly, a growl in his voice. He doesn’t
wait to move, instead holds me against him as he rocks into me. “You and
your fucking mouth. You really bit me. Do you know how much of a turn
on that is?” One of his hands wanders up my spine until he can grip the
back of my neck over my shirt. “You asked for this. And you fucking love
it. Don’t think I can’t tell how wet you are. How ready you’ve been for me.
Did I even need to fuck you on my fingers? Or could I have just pinned you
down and taken what’s mine when I first walked in the door?”
His grip tightens as he fucks me, and my fingers scrape his scalp as my
other hand presses to his shoulder where I can twist at the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m glad you came back,” I gasp, eyes closed against his shoulder as I
focus on the feel of him. “I didn’t think you wanted to, I just—”
“Shhh,” he orders, hand tangling in my hair. “I know, baby. You don’t
have to tell me. Actually, you’re doing an excellent job of showing me.”
 I whine as he thrusts harder into me, and his movements become more
deliberate as he holds me against him so tightly I can’t do much except
wiggle.
“You’re showing me so well how much you want to be mine. You’re so
good for me, and you’re all mine, Hazel.” He moves my hips just enough
that on his next thrust, I see stars, and before I can say anything to the
contrary, I’m coming. My thighs clamp against his and he chuckles against
my hair. “You’re all for me, and just mine. And I will never, ever let you
go.”

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 Chapter

Fifteen

I don’t need to open my eyes to know that Wren isn’t gone. I can feel
him above me, his knees over my hips as his lips brush mine. So I
don’t open my eyes. Instead, I tilt my head up just a little, just enough
that I can chase his lips in a proper kiss as my heart races.
“Ah, ah—” He pulls away, teasingly, and I frown. “You’re supposed to
be asleep. I like watching you sleep, I’ve discovered. It’s a new hobby for
me.”
“It’s creepy,” I breathe, starting to move my hands, only for him to pin
them over my head. “It’s something a stalker would do.”
“It’s something your very devoted stalker does,” he corrects, shifting his
grip on my wrists to one of his large hands so the other is free to curl
around my throat. “Is this okay?” he asks, even though my head is tilted
back so he can do what he wants. “Is it okay that I hold you this way so I
can feel your every breath?”
“Seems a little intense,” I admit, opening my eyes anyway to stare into
his dark gaze. I wonder if he can feel my pulse under his fingers. I wonder
if he can feel how it speeds up when I gaze up at him.
My serial killer, who could’ve killed me a million times over by now,
but just… hasn’t. “I didn’t expect you to still be here,” I admit, as his grip
tightens just enough to be felt. “I thought you would’ve gone home.”
“Did you want me to go?” he asks, unbothered by my supposition.
“That’s not the point,” I dismiss, swallowing under his hand. His nails
scrape lightly at the skin of my throat when I do, and he moves so his
thumb is under my jaw, just at my pulse point.
 “It is the point. I’d be content with never going home, little bunny.
Maybe that’s not clear to you right now, but I’ll make it clearer, I promise.”
His assurances are strange. Especially when he pulls his hands off of me
only to jerk my knee up over his shoulder.
He’d jerked off my PJ shorts last night before crawling into bed with me
for round two, but I hadn’t thought much about it until now. The air of my
apartment is cold on my bare flesh, and when he slides two fingers
teasingly along my slit, I shudder.
“I need to talk to you,” I tell him, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he moves
so that he’s leaning over me, his mouth just over my body as his eyes find
mine again. “Go right ahead,” he invites, dipping down to kiss just under
my navel. “I’m not stopping you from talking, Hazel.” He kisses downward
until his breath is hot against my entrance and I can’t stop the shiver that
travels up my spine.
“It’s important,” I insist, voice breathy in anticipation. I can’t tear my
eyes away from him, and he shrugs as his hot breath teases me once more.
“I’m sure it is. So tell me.” He’s so inviting, like his mouth isn’t four
inches above my clit, that I just stare at him while my heart pounds against
my ribs. “I’m listening,” he goads, and as soon as I open my mouth to
speak, he dips down suddenly to press his mouth against me, tongue
flicking against my clit and causing me to gasp.
“I’m serious,” I say, my hand flying down to tangle in his hair. It
doesn’t do anything to subdue him, and then he licks up my slit, tongue
teasing my entrance, before finding my clit once more and teasing it with
quick, pointed strokes. His eyes flick up to mine, eyebrows raised, and I can
tell he’s once again inviting me to speak.
Like it’s so easy with him like this, between my thighs, and working me
up with his mouth.
“Tell me,” he orders, wrapping his arms around my hips. “Tell me,
Hazel. It’s important, right? So tell me.” He doesn’t hesitate, and I can’t
pull away as he goes back to his ‘task’ of tasting as much of me as he can.
“Yesterday, before you came over, I was at work,” I begin, unable to
tear my eyes from him. He doesn’t even look up at me this time, as if he’s
dedicated to what he’s doing. His tongue plunges into me, and my thighs
tense, but he doesn’t let me go anywhere at all.
“That’s so interesting,” he says, pulling away just enough to hum the
words with false enthusiasm. “Go on.”
 I roll my eyes at the attitude, but keep going. “This guy came in and he
was acting kind of weird.” I can feel his attention more on my words now,
by the way his movements become less insistent. “I just assumed he was
cheating on his wife and wanted to get her flowers to fix their relationship.”
My fingers tighten against his scalp, my thighs going slack when he finds
my clit with his teeth and tongue once more. “I-I get that a lot in there.
Some guy comes in and wants to try to buy off his wife’s anger.” I know
I’ve gone off on a tangent, but it’s hard not to right now.
Wren sighs and pulls away again. “I take it this isn’t the important
part?” he hints, moving his hand off of my inner thigh so that he can spread
me with his fingers. His tongue teases me, not going deep enough or to my
clit like I want, but it makes me shudder just the same.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not. Umm. So he came to me and asked about his
‘friend.’ Said he was looking for a friend of his, and that he was sure he’d
been in the shop a couple of days ago. Wren, he described you perfectly—”
With the hand no longer wrapped around my thigh, he presses two fingers
into me and scissors them, a hum sounding from behind his smirk.
“Tall? Gorgeous? Mysterious?” he teases as he opens me on his fingers.
“That does sound like me.”
“Can you be serious? He was a cop.”
“I figured. You know, since I doubt you’d be telling me if he wasn’t.”
“You’re being an ass,” I tell him boldly, and Wren rolls his eyes at me.
“Am I?” he asks, releasing my hips so he can suddenly scratch down
my thighs, then back up. I squeak in surprise at the new angle of attack and
try to sit up, but all I do is make it easier for him to flip me onto my knees
under him.
“There we go. That’s exactly where I want you. Go on, little prey. You
were saying?” He’s goading me, taunting me, and he sounds so smug that I
want to bite him. As if he can sense that, however, he pins me under him
with his weight, not allowing me to do anything other than turn my face out
of the pillow to sneer at him.
“This guy was looking for you! Tried to get me to admit you’d shown
up. He wanted me to help him find you.” I bite my lip when I feel him at
my entrance, and he chuckles.
“Good girl,” Wren says simply, before sliding into me. He doesn’t stop
until our hips are pressed flush together and I suck in a breath at how it
feels with him behind me. His hands cup my ass, then scratch back down
my hips again. “What did you tell him?”
“I acted like I’d never seen you in my life. I told him I’d keep an eye
out and ask my boss. But she wasn’t there anyway, so it wasn’t like she’d
know—” I break off with a choked gasp as he pulls out, only to thrust back
in hard enough that I’m worried about smacking my head against the wall.
As if he worries about it too, his hand comes down to pin me in place,
fingers on the back of my neck. “I bet I know who it was,” Wren says
conversationally as he fucks me. “There’s a really dedicated detective. Well,
he wasn’t always. But I thought he’d come sniffing for me sooner than this.
Lift your hips a little. Rock back into me, little bunny.”
I do as he says, my mind spinning with his words and the way he makes
me feel. “Just like that. You’re perfect, Hazel. And you feel so good around
my cock. Maybe I just won’t let you get out of bed today. How does that
sound?”
“It sounds like you aren’t worried about being caught,” I snap back, my
heart pounding in my chest as an ache builds in my body.
“I’m not. Because I have friends, and I have you. I haven’t been caught
yet, and I’ve been doing this for a while. Or… is it that you’re willing to be
my alibi for a little longer? Is that it? Are you asking to help me out of this
mess?”
“Not anymore, I’m not,” I snap, my fingers tangling in the sheets. “Get
caught for all I care.”
“But Hazel,” he purrs against my ear. “If I get caught, who’s going to
fuck you like this? Are you bored with me? Do you want more? I was going
to take things slow… I thought maybe you needed to get used to me first
before I take you all the ways I want to take you.”
I shiver against the words, and bite my lip when he nips along my spine.
“This is going slow? You cutting my clothes off in the forest is slow?”
“Yeah,” he says darkly. “It is. I’ve been really nice, actually. All I’ve
done is fuck this pretty little cunt and I’ve let you up afterward every single
time.”
Excitement builds in my chest, though I take a breath to push it back as
I ask, “What’s not nice and slow, then?” I’m close to coming, but he’s
slowed down in the past minute to the point where I feel like he’s edging
me.
 “I could take you home and keep you there. Maybe tie you up so you
can’t leave my room. I could make you my little pet bunny, instead of
letting you run around like a wild rabbit who lets me come back for more. I
want to use all of your holes, Hazel. Not just your pussy, though I’m
definitely addicted to how it feels when you come around my cock. You’re
going to, aren’t you? You want to so bad. Am I teasing you, baby?” He’s
taunting me again, and he pushes my hair back from my face so he can kiss
me. “Let me help you.” He snakes a hand around me and teases my clit, his
thrusts picking up once more. “Come on, Hazel. Come for me, baby. I want
to feel you.”
I want to, and even if I didn’t, I’m trapped under him, against him, and
with him inside me. It’s perfect, and too much, and everything I never knew
I wanted as I come with his fingers on my clit and his cock buried in my
pussy. “Perfect,” he purrs, still fucking me. “Always so fucking perfect for
me.” He only lasts a few more seconds before he murmurs a soft curse
against my ear and buries himself inside me as well.
“You promise you won’t get caught?” I ask, letting him roll me onto my
side so he can wrap his arms around me. “I don’t want you to, you know.”
“I know,” he chuckles, nipping my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Hazel.
You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life. I’m not going anywhere, not
anymore. Not now that you’ve let me in.”
“Yeah?” I ask drowsily, half-asleep again. “That a promise?”
“An unbreakable one.”

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 Chapter

Sixteen

“I ’ll see you later, little bunny.” I feel his lips ghost against my cheek
as Wren sits up, and when I open my eyes, it’s to see that he’s across
the room, in front of the open bedroom door, and looking back at me
with an inscrutable look on his face.
“Where are you going?” I ask, sitting up and crossing my legs under
me. “Seems a little early for murder, doesn’t it?” My voice is dry and
humorous, but at this point, I won’t put it past him that murder is on the
agenda again.
“It is,” he agrees. “But I have to go into my office today, and I’d like to
go back to my place and change. If you’ll let me, that is?”
Shrugging, I watch him. “I can’t tell you what to do,” I remind my serial
killer, gaze never leaving his as I watch the grin spread across his lips.
“No,” he agrees thoughtfully. “I guess you can’t. But I’ll be back later.
I’ll bring you dinner, too. Can’t have you forgetting to eat.”
“I never forget to eat, Wren. Because I’m not a child.” I especially don’t
like being treated like one, or as though I can’t take care of myself. If he’s
going to stay, it’s something I want him to know.
The smile falls, just slightly, and he tilts his head as he watches me. “I
know,” Wren assures me in a quiet tone. “Trust me, I know that. But I enjoy
taking care of you, Hazel. Won’t you let me indulge myself?” Thankfully,
before I can respond, he’s out the door and striding across the kitchen. I
hear him greet the cats, and the door closing behind him a few seconds later
as I get up to look around for my clothes.
Quickly, it becomes obvious that laundry should be on my list today. At
long last I find a pair of leggings stuffed into my closet that are probably
clean, an old tee, and put them on with a grimace. The tee is coarse, having
lost its softness in its hundredth wash cycle, but I can’t bring myself to care
enough to jam my clothes in the laundry basket and take them downstairs to
wash them. It’s not like I’m going anywhere important enough to do
laundry today, anyway.
Especially when I’d rather stare endlessly into the abyss and dwell on
all the things Wren says to me that make my heart twist and my lungs tight
with anticipation. I like him, I’ve come to realize. More than I ever thought
I would, but there’s a nagging worry in my heart at the same time.
The obvious one, of course.
He’s a fucking murderer.
My phone rings just as I grab it off the nightstand, and I bring it to my
ear, half expecting it to be him. “Hello?” I ask, toeing on my sneakers.
“Are you busy today?” Jenna’s voice is friendly and hopeful. It’s
impossible to say no to whatever she’s going to ask me to do when she talks
like that. Not that I would today, probably. I could use the distraction that
hanging out with her would provide. And I wouldn’t mind talking to her
about my worries in a way that doesn’t tip her off to what’s really going on.
“I’m not,” I reply as I swipe the cat’s food bowl off of the floor. Shadow
yowls his disapproval of it not having been done before, and I fight the urge
to trap him on a cat tree in the middle of the lake.
Not that I would, of course. I love him, probably. Somewhere so deep,
deep down in my heart that even I have trouble locating when he screams at
me and smacks at my feet like I’m possessed. “Here,” I mutter, putting
down the food bowl so he can smash his face into the kibble like he hasn’t
eaten in weeks. On the other hand, Morticia is much more polite and waits a
few steps away, sitting with her tail curled over her cute, dainty paws.
“Would you want to go get lunch with me? I could be at your apartment
in a few minutes? I thought we’d go get sushi.” Her voice cracks a little bit,
and I can tell I’m on speaker in her car.
“I would love sushi,” I agree. “And I just got dressed and fed the cats. I
can be outside in just a second.” Sushi was not on my mental plan for the
day, and while it isn’t my absolute favorite food in the world, going with
her to our favorite little inexpensive sushi place on this side of town sounds
amazing.
And way better than anything I currently have in my freezer.
 Seconds after I drop into the passenger seat of her white sedan with a
sigh and close the door, Jenna pulls away from the curb and rejoins traffic.
“I have no idea why I’m tired,” I admit, flopping my head back against the
seat. “I’ve only been up for an hour, so you’d think I’d feel as refreshed as
hell.”
“Maybe you slept too long?” Jenna is always helpful when she thinks
she can be and gives a shrug as she swerves onto a side street that will have
us at our destination in ten minutes or less. “I do that sometimes. Especially
when I was really tired the day before.”
“I don’t know,” I shrug, glancing up at her. “I’ve missed you, by the
way. It feels like it’s been months. Years, even, since we did something
together.”
A smile curls her lips. “Like we didn’t spend the entire summer together
or something.”
“When it’s full of screaming, accident-prone kids, it doesn’t count.”
“And murderers.”
The car goes quiet and guilt hits me full force about what I’m doing.
What would Jenna say? Or do? Would she tell the cops if I explained to her
about Wren, or would she just try to commit me straight away?
It doesn’t seem rational after all. Maybe she wouldn’t believe me, and
she’d check me into a residential treatment facility for sudden, spontaneous
madness. It would be a fair assumption of her if she did. After all, who in
their right mind would do what I’m doing? Or admit it?
“What?” I ask, realizing she’s talking to me and I haven’t heard a word
of it. She repeats herself with a glance at me, and I fall into easy
conversation with her until we pull into the parking lot of The Mermaid’s
Fin.
“Okay, but we haven’t been here in forever,” I point out as I get to my
feet in the parking lot and close her car door behind me. “Since May. It’s
too long, and I’m offended for us, actually.”
“I’m offended for them,” Jenna replies. “Can you imagine how they
must feel since we’ve been depriving them of the pleasure of our
company?” She walks inside and I follow her, waving at the familiar,
round-faced waitress who beams as we show up. From what I know, she’s
one of the owner’s daughters, and the one next in line for the throne of
owning this place.
 According to her, anyway. Though since I haven’t met the other
daughters also vying for the kingdom, I don’t really know how true it is.
She could just be trying to seek unlikely alliances in the event that
succession becomes an all-out civil war among the Mermaid Fin family.
In such a case, I can only hope their sushi quality doesn’t suffer.
“Finally!” Our hostess, whose name I can’t remember, beckons us over
to a table near the bar that looks into the kitchen. “We thought you two must
have died during your summer camp excursion, since you haven’t been
back in so long.”
I almost wince at the words. She means them as a joke, but
unfortunately, she’s close to what could’ve happened.
Well, not to me, I guess. That was never in the cards for me, and I have
to shove the thoughts of machetes and picnic tables out of my head before
they can get me in trouble here. It’s definitely not the time or place for
those, after all.
“It’s definitely been a while,” Jenna agrees smoothly, covering for my
awkwardness as she sits and slides into her side of the booth. I do as well,
hating that I feel like my boobs are sitting on the table instead of behind it,
like Jenna’s so clearly are. It’s always an unhappy reminder that these tables
are made for people thinner than me, and with less chest radius.
But it’s not like me bitching about it is going to change anything, so I
fold my arms in front of me and try to pretend it isn’t as awkward as it is.
Besides, once she’s gone, we can maneuver and wiggle a little so that it’s
not this bad. The tables are always a little off here and it just takes a second
to fix that for me.
“Do you want a menu?” She’s already placing one down, and beams at
me as I slide it closer. “And you both want black tea, right? Iced? I’ll get
the sugar for you,” she adds at Jenna.
“You know us so well it’s like we never left,” I say, not wanting to be
rude. I’m antisocial, sure, but not an asshole. I like this place just as much
as Jenna and I’d prefer them to be under the right impression that I enjoy it
here, not that Jenna just drags me around for scowling dog privilege, or
something.
She laughs and walks away, and I lay the menu down so Jenna can pick
it up to scan its contents. “I’ll split the Mermaid Fin with you?” I offer,
naming their signature roll. “And I’ll get soup and dumplings, too.”
 “I think I’ll do the same,” Jenna agrees, and when our waitress comes
back, we’re quick to give her our order. She leaves again a few seconds
later, and I watch Jenna open two packets of sugar and stir them into her tea
absently.
“I’m seeing someone.” I say the words without meaning to, and without
thinking about it. Jenna’s brows raise, but she doesn’t stop stirring. The
clinking of ice is a small distraction, but I talk over it as I explain. “I think
we’re seeing each other… anyway. That’s definitely how I’m going to
describe it. He’s a little older. Like thirty. I really like him.” I’ll leave out
the part that he’s a serial killer, obviously.
I really don’t want to know what she’d think if I tell her who he really
is.
“No shit?” Her brows shoot up. “That’s awesome. I’m really happy for
you, Hazel.” Her grin spreads across her lips, turning them up
mischievously. “What’s his name?”
“Wren.”
“Where does he work?”
“GreenCo. He’s in advertising.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s nice, and—”
“No, I don’t mean like that. I mean, what’s he like?” She wiggles her
eyebrows suggestively at me and I snort, some of the tension leaving my
body.
“He’s umm…” I press my lips together, but I can’t contain the smile
that finds them, anyway. “He’s really good. And he’s into a lot of stuff. A
lot. Honestly, I’m into it too. I’m into him. He gets a little bit…” I try to
explain his attitude and his desire to ‘take care’ of me. “I don’t know. It’s
weird, I guess. Like, he says he enjoys caring for me, and making sure I’m
okay. Sometimes it feels condescending, but I like it. I think.”
“I’m jealous. And if you find you don’t like it, feel free to send him my
way.”
I don’t think she’d like him, though; mostly because of what he is.
“Hey, by the way. I don’t want to dampen the mood or anything, but did
you hear about Brett’s father?” The change of subject catches me off guard
and twists my stomach into a knot.
“No. What happened?”
 “He’s selling the camp. He says that he can’t stand to keep it anymore,
since his son, you know. Died there.” She frowns, her eyes narrowing in
sympathy.
Unfortunately, all I feel is interest in the news and a slight sadness for
his dad. But only a little, because someone had to raise Brett to be a
predator and I have a good idea it was probably his dad.
Still, I can’t bring myself to be sad for my fellow camp counselor.
He deserved what he got.
The viciousness of the thought surprises me, and I miss part of Jenna’s
words about the specifics of the funeral and the sale. Finally, when I’m able
to zone back in, Jenna has launched into talking about next year’s camp,
and which programs she hopes to work in, if they still exist.
“I don’t think I’ll go with you next year,” I admit, smiling at our
waitress as our soups arrive in small, white bowls. “Thank you,” I say, and
she nods before leaving again. “No offense or anything, Jenna. But I’ve had
enough of Camp Clearwater.”
“Yeah, I get that. Sometimes it feels like part of it followed us home.
Does that make sense? Do you know what I mean?” she asks, her elbows
thumping onto the table.
“Oh, yeah,” I agree, picking up my spoon. “I definitely know what you
mean, Jenna. I absolutely feel like something from Camp Clearwater
followed me back to the city.”
She glances up at me, surprised at my words or the enthusiasm behind
them, but then just shrugs. “Well, you have better shit to think about, don’t
you?” she asks with a laugh. “What’s Wren do at GreenCo? Can he get me a
job?”
“You want one there?”
Jenna thinks about it, then shakes her head. “I don’t know what I want
to do, honestly. Except that I don’t want to work at my mom’s office for the
rest of my life. What about you?”
“I want to finish my degree,” I admit, meaning it more than I have for a
while. “And maybe go back to Malta sometime.”
The startled look on Jenna’s face isn’t lost on me, but I don’t reply as I
sip my soup. Instead, I meet her eyes, waiting for her to say something.
She smiles, picking up her spoon to do the same. “Maybe I’ll sneak
along in your suitcase?” she asks, eyebrows wiggling. “I wanted to go last
time, so clearly this time I’ll have to take drastic measures.”
 “Maybe I’ll win some kind of grant contest and get us all first-class
tickets there,” I suggest instead.
“All of us?”
“You, me, and my papers.”
It isn’t the answer she expects, and Jenna cackles, surprising someone at
the next table over into looking up before going back to their food.

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 Chapter

Seventeen

W hen I open the door to see Wren’s predatory, amused smile, it

takes me a minute to look up from his black tee to his face. I drag
my gaze up to his, however, and I watch him scrutinize my
expression and mentally catalog what he finds there.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks, not moving from my doorframe.
I step back and make a dramatic, sweeping bow that has him snorting as
he comes into my apartment and collapses onto the sofa with a groan. “So
kind of you to let me in.”
“I always let you in,” I point out, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa.
He lunges, grabbing my legs so he can drag them into his lap, hand across
my calves as I stare up at the ceiling in stunned surprise. When I try to sit
up, he doesn’t let me. Instead, he tosses me a pillow that I put under my
head to be a little more comfortable.
“Well, half the time I break in,” he reminds me. “The other half of the
time you’re usually pretty surprised, or I’ve been stalking you for a few
streets. I haven’t been today, in case you’re curious.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to, unless you were going to hide in
Jenna’s trunk,” I accuse, and realize that, for him, it’s not that far of a
stretch. “Anyway. I went to lunch with Jenna today.”
“And?” he prods curiously, circling my ankle with his fingers. He
moves up slowly, kneading my muscles with warm fingers and nearly
sending my brain offline right there.
“We were talking about everything. I told her I was dating someone.
Though, at the last second, I decided not to tell her you’re the serial killer
who terrorized us at Camp Clearwater.”
“Terrorized feels like a strong word.”
“I don’t know. I felt pretty full of terror when you got Brett’s blood on
me.” He snorts, and I go on. “She brought you up, anyway. The serial killer
version of you, not the boyfriend version.” It’s strange to say boyfriend, but
before I can correct it or apologize, Wren cuts me off.
“The boyfriend version of me and the serial killer version of me are the
same person. You understand that, right Hazel?” His hand has stopped on
my calf, and I can’t even hear him breathe, he’s so still.
As though our relationship hinges on what I’m going to say.
“I get that. You get that. Jenna doesn’t need to get that. Unless you want
her to commit me, at best.”
“I won’t let her,” he promises lightly. “I’d run away with you first. Or
buy the place she commits you and have you secretly released into my
custody.”
“That feels very villainous of you,” I point out, voice dry.
“I am a villain, so that tracks.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at the ceiling, a frown on my lips.
“Anyway. It’s just… I don’t know. It’s not a big deal.” I start to pull my leg
out of his grip, but he holds onto it harshly.
“It is a big deal,” Wren argues, only yanking me further into his lap so
my ass is against his thigh and I really can’t sit up. “To you. And that means
something to me.”
“You barely know me,” I point out, not for the first time.
“So?”
“So, why is it that much of a deal to you?”
“Oh, I see.” Before I can stop him, he pulls me upright and into his lap,
forcing me to straddle his thighs as my eyes find his sweet, easy smile.
“We’re back to this. I figured we would be soon, based on what Virgil told
me.”
Who the hell is Virgil?
“Let’s address your friend first, all right? I don’t think you should tell
her how you met me, truth be told. I don’t think you should tell her what I
am. Not because I’m ashamed, but because I’d rather not have to kill the
cops that come to arrest me.” He pushes my bangs out of my face and I
fight the urge to kiss his hand. “But I would, if it came to that. I just don’t
want to. You can feel conflicted about me. You probably should, being the
questionably mentally healthy, not-so-well-adjusted individual you are.”
“That’s rude.” But not exactly wrong.
“I can even understand why you’d think it’s too soon, or I’m crazy for
feeling this strongly for you. Maybe you even think I’m lying. But Hazel, if
I could let you into my sociopathic brain or even give my heart to you so
you could see just how I feel, you’d see I’m not lying.”
“What if you stop feeling that way? What if you get bored?” I whisper,
unable to help myself.
He cracks a grin, eyes dark. “That’s like asking me if I’ll get bored of
breathing. As long as I’m alive, I’ll always want you. Maybe I love you.”
My heart flutters at the words. “Maybe it’s obsession. Hell, I kind of think
it’s both. I’m fucking obsessed with you, Hazel. I will always be obsessed
with you.”
I want to have some witty, sarcastic comeback to offset the tension. I
want to find a way for him not to look at me with a soul-searching gaze that
breaks right through my defenses, because the way he looks at me like that
terrifies me.
“I don’t know if I can believe you,” I admit, and I don’t expect the
chuckle that travels up his chest to ring in my ears.
“And that’s okay. Because I have the rest of my life to convince you of
it. So.” He stands up, setting me on my feet as he does. “Before you decided
to get so serious, I was going to ask if you wanted to go out with me. A
couple of my friends really want to meet you.”
“You have friends outside of GreenCo?” I ask, unable to keep the shock
out of my voice. “Like, friends who know what you are?”
“I do. And you’ve seen one of them,” Wren assures me. “They’ll like
you.”
“In the murder way?”
“No. In the friend way. And since you don’t believe me, I’m prepared to
throw you over my shoulder, take you out this door, and carry you all the
way to the restaurant.”
I can’t help it. In my head, I visualize what that would even look like,
and I can’t imagine he’d really do it. I’m so caught up that I barely notice
the wolfish look on his face, or the way Wren sidles closer to me.
“Don’t think I will?” he hums, and I ignore the alarm bells going off in
my head.
 “No,” I tell him frankly, because that sounds ridiculous. “That’s—” I
don’t get to finish my answer. Not when Wren swoops down and picks me
up, throwing me over his shoulder so his hand is on my ass and he can just
stride to the door unobstructed while I stare at his gorgeous behind.
“Put me down!” I gasp breathlessly, hands scrabbling for purchase.
“Holy shit, Wren! Put me—”
“Nope,” he says cheerfully, closing my door with his foot and locking it
while still holding me like this. His hand comes back to steady my thigh,
and he literally whistles as he walks to the elevator at the end of the hall.
“Shame none of your neighbors are out,” he tells me, stepping into the
metal box and letting the doors close in front of my face.
“You’re insane!” I punch his thigh lightly and he laughs, finally letting
me slide to the floor.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “I should be put away for life and all that. Anyway,
do you like Cajun food? And live music?”
“Who doesn’t like live music?”

A restaurant with its patio shoved right up against the rocky shore of
Summit Lake isn’t where I expect to end up as the sun sets. I look around as
I get out of Wren’s car, mouth open in surprise as I take in the building and
the even larger side patio with fairy lights wrapped around the columns and
a live band playing on the side nearest the restaurant.
It isn’t packed, but it isn’t empty, either. Wren comes around the car to
grab my hand, smile ready, and I reach out to twine my fingers with his in a
move that’s more me than him. His smile turns surprised, then warm, and
he pulls me against him and presses a kiss against my temple that has me
wanting to swoon.
“I would point out that I’ve never been here,” I say, glad that in my
leggings and tee, I’m not underdressed for the crowd or for him. “But I go
to places that specialize in carry out. So, it’s probably pretty obvious.”
“Very obvious,” Wren assures me, pausing at the hostess stand that’s
outside the patio and fixing a friendly grin on his features. “My friends are
here already,” he says, gesturing to the patio that’s framed by waist-high
rails with decorative lattice work.
She smiles and nods us on, and Wren takes the invitation to pull me
through the tables until we’re on the side closest to the river. The music is
quieter here, being farther from the building, and all I have to do to see the
churning water is tilt my head slightly to the side and look over the light-
wrapped railing.
“Finally.” The voice is lighter than Wren’s, and familiar, so when I look
up I’m less than surprised to see the man that had been with Wren that day
in the flower shop. He smiles when he sees me and lets the front two legs of
his chair fall back onto the floor. His companion, a leaner, slighter blond
with hair that’s probably eternally tousled, sits at the chair closest to the
railing and only looks up at me after a moment of gazing out over the river.
“No Virgil?” Wren asks, not sounding very put out about it.
“Nah, he says he’s ditching you for a date of his own. It’s the last night
of the week Sloane spends at his house,” Cass says in a reproachful tone
like Wren should’ve known. “And he thanks you to remember his ever
important schedule. Also, he’d like me to remind you that he has the dogs
eating organic treats, not the rawhide crap you tried to buy for them.”
“It wasn’t rawhide,” Wren groans, pulling out a chair for me and
looking like he might toss me lightly into it if I don’t do it myself. “It just
wasn’t up to his new pet food standards. Have either of you had the balls to
ask Sloane to chill him the fuck out?”
“Not on my life,” the blond admits, a small smile on his face. “If you
want to die, Wren, that’s all on you. But leave us out of it.”
“Please,” Wren scoffs, his voice casual, but lowering as he adds, “He
hasn’t killed anyone in months, anyway. I bet he’s rusty.”
It shocks me that he’s so open about it, and the blond’s gaze darts to
mine before he asks, softly, “You’re Hazel, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying for a smile as my heart tries to pound out of my
chest. “You’re… Wren’s friend?”
“I’m Jed,” he says, with the hint of a southern drawl. “‘Friend’ is an
understatement. He picked me up at the side of the road and never let me
leave.”
I glance at Wren in surprise as he snickers and shakes his head. “Sad
part is, he isn’t lying. We found Jed hitchhiking up from Texas. But you
make it sound so malicious.”
“It was malicious,” Jed promises, his face empty of humor.
“I’m Cass.” The man from my shop’s introduction is friendly, and he
sends a light smile my way. “Wren did not kidnap me from a street corner,
though his ability to make friends is pretty awful.”
 The waitress comes to take our drink orders and smiles brightly at me as
she hands me a menu. “Never thought they’d let anyone into their boys’
club ‘til Sloane started showing up. It’s nice to know she’s not a fluke.” She
glares at Cass like he’s offended her personally and leaves, not bothering to
give him a menu.
“I think she hates me,” Cass admits, leaning back with a sigh. “She used
to like me. She used to flirt with me, actually.”
“What happened?” Wren teases. “Did she sleep with you?”
Cass rolls his eyes and looks at me pointedly, making me feel like I
don’t belong.
“Better she knows now that you’re a problem,” Wren points out sweetly.
“Who’s Sloane?” I ask, instead of commenting on that. “Is she another
of your friends?”
“Sort of. Well, yes. She is our friend,” Wren explains. “She’s the other
half of the fourth member of our ‘boys’ club.” He sneers the words, clearly
not liking them. “He met her last year and now they’re inseparable. But she
won’t move in with him, so she only spends five nights a week at his house,
instead of all seven. I forgot, that’s my bad, that tonight is that night of the
week and he always makes a point to spend all day with her.
“She’s really nice,” Jed admits, leaning onto his elbow so I can hear his
quiet voice over the music. “If you stick with him, you’ll get to meet her.
We’re normally together a lot, and she’s usually here too. How did you
meet Wren?”
“He… killed a man and got blood on me,” I reply in a whisper, leaning
close as well. No reason not to tell him, right? Since he already knows
everything. “Then chased me through the woods and took my phone.”
Jed’s gaze slides to Wren, who stops his arguing with Cass to look over
in surprise. “What?”
“You… killed someone and got blood on her?”
“He was bothering her.”
“You took her phone?”
“She was calling someone for help.”
Even Cass looks at him, perplexed, and Wren scoffs. “Neither of you
were there, and she’s obviously fine.”
“Are you fine? You could be not fine with this, if you don’t want to be,”
Jed assures me, soft, friendly eyes back on me.
 “I’m fine,” I promise, unable to stop my smile. “As bad as it sounds,
I’m really fine. Except that it was my favorite jacket and I don’t have it
anymore,” I say, loud enough for Wren to hear.
He pauses again, looking at me in surprise. “Really?”
“Uh, yeah.” I sit back in my chair, somewhat relaxing, even though all
of this feels so strange. Is it possible to feel awkward around Jed? I wonder.
He’s just so sweet and with the kindest smile… He’s disarming by nature, I
decide, and if he’s a killer, too, I bet he’s a pretty efficient one.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrug one shoulder, surprised at the words. “What were you going to
do? Go steal it back for me? It’s okay, Wren. I have more jackets. And I’d
rather have you than it, anyway.”
He still just… looks at me. And I can’t decide whether he thinks I’m
lying, or he’s just that surprised at the admission that I’d rather have him
than my soft, warm, comfortable hoodie.
Which I will miss until the day I die.
“Wren says you’re an anthropologist and that you’ve been to Malta,”
Cass says lightly, breaking the silence. He and Jed both seem quieter, and I
wonder if Virgil is the same, or if he’s louder and more social than these
two. Otherwise, I can’t help but imagine that it’s Wren who does most of
the talking.
“Yeah,” I agree, sitting up in my chair at the prospect of having
something easier to talk about. “I am. Kind of, even though I’ve never
finished my degree. And I went to Malta a couple of years ago for a
research trip.”
“Why don’t you finish your degree?” Jed asks, voice just as soft as ever.
I don’t respond right away, frowning down at my glass and raking my
finger over it to clean up a drop of condensation on the glass. “Things just
happen,” I shrug, not wanting to lie. “But it’ll happen, eventually.”
Probably. Maybe.
Maybe not.
Wren drags the conversation away from me instantly and effortlessly,
though thankfully the other two don’t say anything to the contrary as he
complains once again about Virgil and his newfound love of all things
holistic for dogs. I think it’s adorable, and I’m pretty sure Jed does as well,
but I say nothing about it when Wren complains.
 Instead, I admire the way he makes sure everyone is a part of the
conversation and allow myself to be pulled into the tide of it. Surprised to
feel like these people are my friends, even though I’ve never met two of
them and I have a feeling they’re just as bad as Wren in their own ways.
But at the end of the day, I’m feeling like that might not be so bad, as
far as I’m concerned.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Eighteen

I don’t realize I’ve dozed off until the car comes to a stop and Wren
reaches out to gently drag his fingers through my hair. I sigh, leaning
into him, and I hear his soft huffed chuckle as he turns off the engine.
“Are you awake? I thought we’d do something fun before I took you home,
but if you’re too tired, we can skip it.”
“I’m not tired,” I yawn, forcing myself awake. My eyes open, and when
I look up, expecting us to be in the city, I pause.
This definitely isn’t any part of the city I know. All I can see are trees,
and the dully glinting metal of a swing set near the parking lot we’re
currently sitting in.
Anxiety rises in my chest, and I look at Wren with confused snark ready
on my lips. But his smile draws me up short, so I give him a bemused half-
grin. “Where are we?” I ask, pulling my hoodie around myself and zipping
it up just in case we’re going out for some kind of midnight hike.
“We’re in Rawls,” Wren answers, and it takes me a minute of searching
my brain to figure out where, exactly, that is.
“It’s outside of Akron, right? There’s a country club here and I think not
much else?” I’ve certainly never come to this small, exclusive town for rich
people, so I don’t know what in the world Wren wants to do here.
“Yeah,” Wren chuckles. “They have an awesome park. There are hiking
trails, there’s a pond. A shitty pond, but still a pond. Some campsites,
though none of them are booked right now. It’s a popular place during the
day, but I’ve never seen another person here at night.”
My heart pounds in my chest as I look at him, more anxious with him
than I’ve been in a long time. Or at least, what feels like a long time to me.
As always, it’s a surprise that I’ve only known him for a few weeks, and not
at least a few years.
“What are we doing here?” I ask carefully, nervous that he wants me to
help him do something that will ‘bond us forever’ or something just as
cryptic.
Like murder.
Yeah, murder is definitely the thing that keeps lighting up my brain in
all the worst ways, and I hope, suddenly, that there’s not someone tied up
and drugged in the trunk.
At the look on my face, Wren suddenly snorts. “Why are you looking at
me like that?” he asks, unbuckling his seatbelt and settling back. “What did
I do?”
“Are you going to ask me to help you kill someone?” I ask, heart
pounding in my chest. My voice is softer than I mean it to be, and the words
hang in the air between us for a second, turning his small grin into a full
smile.
Wren laughs, the sound harsh and genuine, and he tilts his head back as
his shoulders shake. “Little bunny, do you really think I’d make you kill
someone? Or that I’d even ask? Why in the world would that even occur to
you?”
“I don’t know! You brought me to the woods, by a pond, kind of like
where we first met! I thought you were going to tell me that, like, I have to
prove my loyalty or have some skin in the game so that I can never rat you
out. Like the mafia or something!” I explain, my voice high with both
nerves and embarrassment.
Now that I say it out loud, it feels… stupid.
“You already have a stake in this,” Wren points out. “You’ve already
helped me not get caught. Please, little rabbit. I’d never want you to do that.
I wouldn’t ask you, that’s for sure. You’re not a murderer, or anything like
that.”
“Maybe you’re trying to change me, to make me into your little protégé,
or something,” I mutter, recalling one of my favorite true-crime series
where the plotline between the two men was just that. Of course, I barely
remember much of the plot, truth be told. I was just reading it for the really
hot, imaginative sex.
“I would never try to change you.”
 The words drag me out of my thoughts and I look up at him, a smile
curling over my lips. “That’s a nice thing to hear. Though I kind of suck.”
“You don’t suck.”
“I mean…”
He reaches out to press a finger to my lips, telling me without words to
hush. “We can argue about your finer qualities some other time. Or never,
since I’ll never agree that you’re anything less than perfect.”
My heart twists at the words, and I fight the urge to bite his finger just
for fun. Just to see what he would do.
“But I remember how much you enjoyed what we did when I first met
you, little bunny.”
I do too, even though it still makes heat claw its way up my face when I
think about it.
“So I thought we’d do something like it again.”
My eyes flick up to his, holding his gaze as he drops his hand and just
looks at me with that smirk on his face.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“But I’m not running from you. You’re not chasing me?” I ask, not sure
how him taking me to a park to fuck has much to do with how we first met.
Except for nature, of course.
“Maybe you should start before I am.” His words ring in the small space
of the warm car, and he doesn’t move except to drum his fingers on the
console.
“Are you serious?” I ask, excitement warring with the fear catching in
my chest. “You really want me to—”
“Or I can drag you out of the car and fuck you in the parking lot. It
would be a shame if someone were to show up, though. Since there’s no
way they wouldn’t see you.” That savagely teasing tone from the first night
we met creeps into his voice, making my heart beat all the faster.
My lips curl into a smile, and I press them together to hide it, though
Wren’s already seen the expression, I’m sure. “Anywhere I shouldn’t go?
What if you can’t find me?” I ask softly, my heart so loud I’m surprised he
can’t hear it.
“Just don’t leave the park,” he chuckles. “That feels like it would be out
of bounds, and I don’t want anyone else to find you or think that you’re
really in danger.”
 That’s a fair point.
“Are you going to just start chasing me? I haven’t practiced for this.
You’ll probably catch me as soon as I’m out of the car,” I point out, flexing
my fingers in my lap before putting one hand on the door handle.
“No. I’m going to count to twenty,” he assures me, looking as relaxed as
he possibly could.
“Eighty.”
“Sixty.”
“Eighty?” I try again.
“Sixty,” he replies firmly. “Argue some more, and we’ll make it ten.”
When I hold his eyes, his smile turns less friendly. “I’m already counting,
little prey. Don’t you think you should, I don’t know… run?”
His words are enough to force me out of the car and I stand beside the
still-open door, feeling like a frozen rabbit as I wish I’d found something
better than my tee, hoodie, and leggings to wear tonight.
Though I suppose battle harnesses, black face paint, and all black suits
to blend into the night aren’t in fashion this time of year, so I never had a
chance to pick one up. What a shame.
“Are you going, or not?” He tries to sound casual, but I’m not fooled. I
can hear the undercurrent of excitement in his voice. The soft tone of
anticipation that has me actually preparing to run and looking at the park to
plan my escape.
“What if you can’t find me?” I ask, hesitating.
He tilts his head to look up at me, eyes glittering. “Do you really think I
won’t, little bunny?”
My breath catches in my chest at the sly, predatory look. I know he will,
but I don’t say it.
“If you don’t, then I get your car,” I reply, trying to sound as bold as I
can manage without it feeling like a lie. Though, it feels like a lie anyway, if
I’m being honest with myself.
“Whatever you want, Hazel,” he chuckles. “Now run.”
I do.
I turn, slamming the door before I bolt into the woods and immediately
veer off in another direction. I don’t understand how he’ll find me, unless
he’s just going to yell my name or pretend to need help. The park seems big
already, and I barely know anything about it.
 But I keep running until finally I come out near the dock on the shore of
the pond he’d mentioned. The trees are thick, though missing the fairy
lights from the campground. I slow, looking around, and I hear only the
sounds of the breeze through trees and the water at my left.
Will he even come this way? Can I sit here until morning, or whenever
he decrees that he can’t find me? I guess he’ll call me if or when he gets
frustrated, and—
A heavy weight knocks me off my feet and I gasp, landing on my hands
and knees in the soft, damp grass by the dock. Wren chuckles against my
ear, then nips it in reprimand. “I told you to run,” he purrs, one hand
snaking up to catch my throat. “What in the world are you doing, little
rabbit?”
“I didn’t think you’d find me so fast—” I break off with a soft cry as he
bites down on my ear, harder this time, as if in warning.
“Try again,” he invites, letting me up. “Come on, Hazel, you can do it.
Don’t let me catch you so easily.” His words are taunting, dark, and a
warning all in one. I turn to look at him, unsurprised to see that he’d
abandoned his jacket in the car. Dressed only in his tee and jeans, he’s just
as gorgeous as I’ve ever seen him.
And the look on his face? The one with a hunter’s intent and dark
delight? It has my stomach curling in the best and worst of ways.
I run again, taking off back into the trees as he turns to look at the lake
and count once more. Not that I get to ask him how long he’s giving me this
time.
And this time, I don’t stop running. I keep going until my legs burn and
I find myself starting to stumble over roots and branches. Once more I slow,
though this time I hide behind a couple of huge trees, well off the hiking
trail and obscured on three sides by bushes and debris in the woods.
This time, I don’t see how I won’t hear him coming.
That is, until I close my eyes and lean my head back against the tree,
only for Wren to grip my legs and jerk me out of my hiding place. He
laughs, enjoyment plain on his face as he hovers over me, braced on one
arm and his knees.
“You’re cheating,” I accuse, panting harshly. “There’s no way you’re
actually finding me so fast.”
“I’m not cheating,” Wren assures me, not sounding upset about the
accusation. He reaches out with his free hand and grips the base of my
throat, tilting my face up to his. “You’re just very, very loud. And somewhat
predictable. Would you like to try again?”
“Why? So the next time you find me, I’ll be collapsed on the ground in
exhaustion?”
“Exactly.”
I search his face, then let my lips curl into a semblance of the smile he
wears. My best attempt, anyway, though I doubt that’s saying much. “No,” I
tell him, more curious to see what he’ll do than anything. If he really wants
me to, I’ll run again. I figure it’ll throw him off his game if I refuse, even
for a moment. He wants to chase me, so—
“Good.” His voice is a low hum that has me stopping in my mental
tracks.
“What?”
“Good, little bunny. I’d rather you have some energy to fight me,
anyway.”
Oh. Well, then.
I can’t say I’m disappointed, either. I stare up at him, watching as he
scrutinizes my face and lunge upward toward him, grabbing his hair and
trying to roll him onto his side in the dirt.
Not that I succeed, and I can’t really say I’m surprised.
He laughs as I do it, ducking his head and gripping my throat hard. His
weight comes down on my hips, free hand immediately jerking down the
zipper of my hoodie so he can fist a hand in the fabric of my t-shirt.
“Good girl,” he teases, the praise sounding more like a taunt than
anything else. “Come on. Fight me.”
I don’t say that I’m trying, because I don’t want to feel more pathetic
than I already do. My other hand comes up, though he takes the moment to
shove my shirt and bra up and over my head, along with my hoodie, in a
movement that I’m too slow to even comprehend, let alone do anything
about.
“You were so close,” he taunts, pushing me down against my hoodie
that’s still under me. “So close to escaping me, little bunny. So fucking
close, weren’t you?”
I have a feeling I wasn’t that close at all.
“Won’t you lie there and let me look at you?”
“No,” I reply sweetly, still writhing as his hand tightens on my throat,
putting enough pressure on both sides of my neck that I see stars. He’s
careful. I can feel that in his movements, but I’m still dizzy enough after a
few seconds that I don’t have a choice except to collapse back on the
ground and breathe in whatever air he’ll let me.
“Such sweet little prey,” he purrs, one hand coming up to skim over my
stomach. He presses slightly; his nails prick against my skin as he drags
them up and up, then kneads my breasts lightly. “I love looking at you,” he
admits, letting go of my neck so he can cup my breasts in both hands.
I open my mouth to say something, but he doesn’t give me the chance.
Wren drags his nails down my sides sharply, and I all but shriek at the sharp
pain before he does it again, causing me to repeat the noise.
“So loud,” he teases, lightly gripping my throat once more when I try to
sit up. He tickles my ribs, just over where he’d scratched, and I can’t help
the gasping plea that leaves my lips as my brain nearly short circuits from
the feeling. “Did I hurt you?”
“Yes,” I tell him, eyes wide as I look at him.
“And you liked it so much, little bunny. So much more than you should,
you know. Tell you what…” He hums, tilting his head to the side. “I won’t
blindfold you this time. Isn’t that nice of me? To let you see the whole
time?”
“Doesn’t feel like it’s nice.” My voice is low, and he grips my jaw in
warning, like it could be my throat.
“It is, though. It’s generous, that’s for sure. All you have to do is beg for
me.”
“To not blindfold me?”
“For me to fuck you like you obviously deserve.” He sits up to pull off
his t-shirt, and I don’t even think about what I’m doing before I do it. I roll
onto my knees, kicking out from under him, and lunge forward in the grass,
trying to get to my feet.
Instantly, Wren grabs my ankle and drags me back to him with a low
sound of both surprise and amusement. “Oh no, little bunny. Oh no, you
fucking don’t.” He hooks his fingers in my leggings, and I realize I’ve
given him the perfect opportunity to do anything he wants now that I’m on
my stomach in the grass.
I attempt to fight him off again, but it only helps him drag the rest of my
clothes down my body before he tackles me once more, holding me under
him with his body pressed against mine.
 “Let me go!” I snap, though my heart beats in exhilaration. He won’t,
and I don’t want him to. But that’s part of the game. Some part of me does
want to run, because I can. Because I want to prove that I can get out of his
grasp.
But most of me wants him to stop me at every turn, and he isn’t one to
disappoint.
Wren snarls in my ear, his teeth finding the side of my throat as he
forces me back onto my stomach, nails dragging down my sides and
causing me to scream.
“Never,” he says, dragging his hips against mine. “I’ll never let you get
away from me, little bunny. You’re all mine. What did you think you were
doing, exactly, hmm? What did you think you’d accomplish with your little
stunt? Were you really trying to run, or…” He pulls away just enough to
shove his jeans down his thighs, so that when his hips find mine once more,
I feel his hardness against my ass.
“Did you just want to show me how much you want me? Are you on
your knees for me so I’ll breed you like a needy bitch?”
I shake my head, letting him press me downward until my spine is
arched and my face is against the grass.
“Then why are you dripping for me, Hazel?”
“I’m not. It’s not—” I try to lie, I try to deny that it’s that when we both
know it isn’t true.
“Yes, it is. It’s all for me. You want me to fill you up, little bunny? Make
sure no one else can ever come along and claim you for theirs? I’ll be so
thorough that you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”
I whimper, and let out a soft sound as his teeth graze my shoulder before
he nips along it.
“Beg.”
I shake my head, and he sneers against my jaw. “Beg, or I’ll keep you
here like this all night. You know you’re mine, so say it.” When I don’t
instantly reply, he slaps my thigh, sending hot, sharp pain rippling through
me.
And it feels just as good as it had the night we met.
“You’re caught, little prey,” Wren warns. “There’s nowhere for you to
go. You can’t even move if I don’t want you to. You’re caught, and you
want me to fuck you. You think it’s not obvious? Do you think I can’t feel
how much you want me buried in your cunt?”
 “Maybe I don’t,” I lie, peeking out from between my arms just enough
to see his face. “Maybe you’re just imagining things.”
He grins, catching my eye, and reaches back to shove three fingers into
my entrance, drawing a cry of surprise from my lips. “Oh yeah,” he agrees
mockingly, fucking me with them. “Maybe I’m imagining how needy your
cunt is, huh? That it, Hazel? I’m imagining this?”
I nod, and he pulls his fingers away just to bring them to my face. “Then
open your fucking mouth so I can show you just how little I’m imagining
things.” He doesn’t give me a chance to reply. He presses his fingers against
my lips, forcing them against my tongue so I have no choice but to taste my
wetness on his skin.
“Does that taste like I made it up to you?” He’s quick to rip them from
between my teeth just as I bite down, and as if in retaliation, he wipes them
against my face before grabbing my throat once more. “Enough pretending.
Enough lying, little bunny. Game’s over. You’re done. All that’s left is for
you to accept your fate and take it.” He rolls his hips against me once more,
and I can’t help the shudder that works its way through me. “So beg.”
His fingers around my throat loosen enough that I can take a deep
breath, and I lick my lips as I close my eyes hard. “Please,” I whisper, not
surprised when he makes a noise of disapproval.
“Do better. Be explicit. Stop making me wait.”
“Please fuck me like I deserve. Please, Wren, I need you—”
“I know you need me.” He slides against my folds, dragging a gasp
from me. “But that’s still not good enough.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll do better. Because I need you to fuck me. I want you
to…”
“That’s so vague. So timid. Tell me where, and how, and why you want
me to fuck you.”
I feel my face burning, but he won’t let me pull away. He won’t let me
move, and when I try to push away from the ground, he presses his hand
between my shoulder blades to keep me in place.
“Fuck my pussy, please,” I beg finally, writhing against his grip. “I want
you to–I need you to fill me up. I want you to absolutely wreck me, Wren.
Ruin me for anyone else, because I don’t want anyone else. Ever.”
“Want me to breed you?” he taunts, moving so his tip slides against my
entrance. “You look like you need it after all.”
“Yes.”
 “Say it again.”
“Yes, please—” I break off when he slides into me, not stopping until I
can feel his hips pressed to mine. He’s so big that without him stretching me
with his fingers for a while, it’s almost painful. But that makes it even more
worth it. I gasp, collapsing into his hand on my throat as he lets me lie back
down under him, my hips still up and pressed to his.
“Good girl,” he praises, his strokes slow for only a few seconds before
he’s speeding up, slamming into me and making me dizzy. “Such a good
fucking girl for me. You always are, aren’t you?” He drags his nails up my
sides and I can’t help it. I scream and clench around him, which only causes
him to drape his body against mine to keep me in place in the dirt under
him.
“You take me like you were made for me,” he purrs in my ear. “So tight
for me. You like being full of my cock? You like how it feels when I fuck
you like this?”
“Yes,” I sob, arching against him when he nips my ear. I drag one hand
free from the dirt and reach back to grip his hair, twisting my fingers in the
inky black strands while he fucks me. “Please, Wren—”
“You don’t need me to stop,” he promises. “You don’t need me to be
gentle with you, either. Little bunny, you never fucking did. You’re so
perfect when you’re taking me like this. It’s where you belong. Say it with
me. This is where you fucking belong.”
I repeat the words, stumbling over them a few times as he continues to
wreck my body. It’s not just the way he thrusts into me like he’ll never see
me again, or the way he scratches my sides and hisses against the tearing
grip I have in his hair.
It’s the way he nips at my skin, and the way he reminds me with such
arousing accuracy that I’m his.
“Fuck,” he hisses, tone changing as his voice hitches against my ear.
“I’m going to come. You’re close, but I can’t hold out this time. Not when
your pussy is just so greedy, little bunny.” I whimper and I can feel his
resulting shudder. He slams into me once, twice, then buries himself so
deep that I see stars while he rides out his release inside of me.
“Come for me,” he pants, still inside me. His hands wrap around my
body, jerking me up against him so my weight is on my knees. One hand
snakes around me, his fingers finding my clit unerringly so he can stroke
me ruthlessly with one hand and hold me against him with the other.
 “Right now, while I’m buried deep in your pussy. Come for me, Hazel.
If you try to hold out, then you’re going to be in trouble.”
“H-how?” I ask, barely holding on as it is.
“Because I’ll take it as a challenge.”
I want to hold out. Somehow I want to prove I’m more in control than I
seem. But I can’t. With a sob I come, my orgasm hitting me like a fist as my
muscles clench around him and my body nearly gives out to slam my face
back into the dirt.
He strokes my clit through it, drawing my orgasm out with a few gentle,
rocking thrusts and his fingers until finally I’m a panting, sobbing mess and
he lays us back on the ground so he can ease out of me without me moving
one damn bit.
“You’re going to have to carry me back,” I complain as he reaches up to
stroke my back, fingers skimming my body up to my neck. He does it
again, going the opposite way, and I shiver at the sharp teasing of his nails
against me.
“Roll over for me, darling,” Wren purrs, sounding so sweet that I do as
he pulls me into his lap.
“Did you hear me?” I ask, laying my head back against his shoulder as
he drags me up against him.
“Yeah, I did.” He hooks my knees over his and suddenly presses two
fingers into me again.
I suck in a breath, eyes open, but before I can move to stop him, my
wrists are in his other hand and he’s adding a third finger as he gently
fingers my pussy.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, unable to do much more than turn to look
at him.
“I just love touching you,” he admits. “And well, let’s be honest, Hazel.
We haven’t been here nearly long enough to justify the drive… don’t you
think?” His smile is wicked, and I moan at the overstimulating feel of his
fingers.
“I just came,” I remind him, my knees tense.
“I know,” he teases, in the same voice as my whining plea. “So come
again. I’ll help you, little bunny.”
“I’ve never—”
“That’s okay, shh. Shhh…” He brushes his lips against my temple,
thumb finding my clit. “I’ll make you.”
 He’s good on his word, and my eyes close hard as my second orgasm
tears through me, more desperate than the first. It takes him long enough
that I can feel him against my lower back, ready to go again, and when he
helps me turn in his lap, a smile on his face, I can barely believe we’re
really doing this.
“What?” he asks, teasing in every inch of his expression as he pushes
me down against his lap until he’s inside me once more. “I told you I was
going to breed your sweet cunt, little bunny. Did you think I meant I’d only
fuck you once?”
“Yes,” I admit, knees falling open when he moves to push me onto my
back.
“Poor thing.” His smile is dark and teasing and his eyes dance with
enjoyment. He pauses, though, one hand against my stomach as he looks at
me. “You know you can tell me to stop, and if you mean it, I will. We’ve
always been clear on that, right, Hazel?”
The way he checks in, and how serious he looks, makes my heart twist
in my chest. I reach up and drag him down to me, mouth seeking his for a
kiss that he accepts and deepens. “Of course I do,” I tell him, a slow grin
finding my lips. “But I also mean it, and you’re carrying me back to your
car, Wren.”
“So long as I get to ruin you first, that is absolutely okay with me.” He
groans, hands on my hips as he rocks his hips into me and pulls a cry from
my lips. “Good girl, Hazel. You can take it. I bet you can come a few more
times for me, don’t you think?”
I shake my head, throwing my hand over my face, and I hear him
chuckle.
“That’s okay. I believe in you, even if you don’t. And I’m such a
supportive boyfriend that I won’t stop until I’ve shown you that I’m right.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Nineteen

I feel like someone is following me.

Maybe it’s because Wren has been following me around for nearly
a month. Or just because I’m jumpier lately and feeling like something,
anything, could go wrong at the drop of a hat and I’ll wake up from
whatever this is.
God, I don’t want to wake up.
I blink, wishing I had eyes in the back of my head so I could see who’s
walking behind me closely enough that I can smell their cologne. That was
my first tip-off, I think. I’ve been smelling the same cologne for twenty
minutes and it isn’t Wren’s. That would barely make sense, as I’d just
washed these clothes, but it would be more believable than a stranger’s
strongly scented body spray permeating my nose.
So I keep walking. I don’t want to stop just yet, when I’m here in the
middle of a crowd of people. I don’t like this part of town, and more
importantly, I haven’t finished my coffee.
Absently, I take a sip, getting just as much whipped cream as I do
caffeine, and pointedly turn away from my apartment. If someone is
following me, I don’t want to lead them back home.
And besides, maybe it’s just a coincidence.
So I walk on, and cross another street. And still, that cologne stays in
my nose and every time I can unobtrusively glance behind me, I think I see
the same man in sunglasses and a black leather coat close behind.
This sucks, quite frankly. I’m afraid to pull my phone out and text
Wren. I’m afraid to go home, and I don’t know what in the world I’m going
to do if this man catches up to me or I make a wrong move.
 I clasp my coffee cup tighter and take another drink, belatedly realizing
I’m sucking on nothing but ice and the dredges of my coffee. Shit. Now I
don’t have a lot of reason to still be walking around here, and I’m not sure
where I’m going now that I’ve come this far.
I turn onto another street, still unsure of things, and my heart sinks when
I realize it’s more residential than business, and that means there aren’t as
many people. But I can’t just stop and turn around, or act like I’ve gone the
wrong way. That’ll tip off my stalker that something is wrong, and then I’ll
be in trouble.
Not knowing what else to do, I fumble for my phone and type a
message to Wren while I walk. Hoping that above all else, I look like I
don’t know someone is following me, and like I don’t have reason to know
or suspect that I’m not alone.
Apparently, it doesn’t work. Not if the hand closing around my upper
arm has anything to say about it. I only barely manage to put my phone
back into lock mode as I’m jerked off of the main sidewalk and into a yard
sheltered by two cars and a large, brick archway.
I gasp and fight the man, my empty coffee cup falling to the ground,
causing the lid to fly off on impact. Ice spills on my shoes, and his, as I look
up into the face of the detective from the flower shop. He whips off his
sunglasses with his free hand, eyes narrowed as he glares at me with red
veins popping in the whites of his eyes.
“What the hell?” I gasp, pulling away from him finally as he looks
down at his feet in disgust. “What do you want? Why did you just grab
me?!”
“You’ve been lying to me,” the man growls in a low, agitated voice.
“You lied to me at the flower shop about your ‘friend,’ didn’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Seriously?” He gives me a flat look and pulls out his phone, turning it
to show me a picture.
It’s me.
But more importantly, it’s me with Wren. We’re walking down the street
and he’s laughing, arm clasped with mine, while I just drink coffee and grin
in the picture.
It’s also pretty damning evidence that I was, in fact, lying.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say again. “That’s your
friend from the flower shop you were looking for?” I’m going to play dumb
until it’s exhausted. “How was I supposed to know you meant my
boyfriend?” Maybe if I admit to that much, he’ll think I’m not lying about
the rest. Though, by the look he gives me, that’s not very likely.
Indeed, the cop looks at me with irritation in his dark eyes. Like I’m
lying, or trying to just piss him off. His grip on my arm tightens, and I
wince. If I’m not mistaken, he’s pressing close to the bruises left by Wren at
the park, and it makes me uncomfortable in more ways than one.
“Let go,” I request, voice softer than I mean it to be.
“You lied to me,” he repeats. “So tell me what you know about him.”
“He’s my boyfriend, not whatever you’re looking for,” I protest, trying
to jerk out of his hold. “What’s wrong with you? Aren’t you law
enforcement? What have I done to you that warrants me this kind of
attention?” Again, I try to jerk out of his hold, and his fingers tighten until I
gasp in pain.
“I was,” he agrees in a sneer. “Up until recently. Which I think your
boyfriend has something to do with as well, you stupid bitch.”
What in the world is wrong with this man? His hand, still gripping me
like claws, shakes, and I grit my teeth at the constant burn of his grip.
“All because I couldn’t find him, and my chief said I was acting
obsessed.”
I, for one, agree with his chief. Not that I plan on saying it.
“I don’t know what you want from me, but you’ve clearly lost it,” I say
quietly, my words slow and precise. “Please let go of me.”
“Why? So you can run back to him and tell him that I’m looking for
him? So he can kill me too?” His eyes widen with every word, and it occurs
to me that he might be on something. Surely, no normal person acts like this
of their own volition.
A growl cuts him off, and before I can say anything else he lets go,
reeling back, as a dark, furred shape lunges past me, hits the end of a leash,
and comes back to the ground on all four paws. The dog, a large German
Shepherd, barks and snarls, teeth bared, as the ex-cop trips over the
discarded cup and nearly falls to his ass on the sidewalk.
“She asked you to let her go.” The smooth, velvety voice is not Wren’s,
but I can’t help finding that there’s something similar in the sound. “Didn’t
you hear her? Or have you really lost it for good, Detective?” The man who
steps into the brick arch to stand beside me is tall, with curly, dark brown
hair and dancing eyes full of wicked amusement. The dog, a huge German
Shepherd, hits the end of the leash again, snarling, and the man doesn’t call
him back. “Doesn’t seem like Vulcan likes you very much,” the man adds,
not bothering to force the dog to stop his threats. “It would be a shame if
my grip on his leash slipped. He might kill you.”
“I’d shoot him first,” the detective, or former detective, growls, groping
for a gun that isn’t there. The man at my side watches, unimpressed.
“I’m sure you would. But why don’t you leave her alone? Or you’ll
have bigger problems than my girlfriend’s dog shredding you to bits, I
promise.”
The detective hesitates. “I’ll make you pay for this,” he promises, tight-
lipped and panicking, but that seems to be his last line of defense. The
detective flees, walking so fast it’s basically a trot as he shoves his
trembling hands back into his pockets and pretends to look like he’s not
terrified of the dog and the man beside me.
I know I am.
The dog calms down when the detective is gone, however, and turns to
sniff my hands. He gives a quick tail wag, as if deciding I’m okay, and
wanders back to sit beside the man instead, eyes on him only.
“Let me take a guess,” he sighs, eyes still on the receding shape of the
detective. “You must be Hazel.”
I bristle internally at the words and take a step away from him,
wondering if he’s someone else who hates Wren. The man notices, and tears
his lazy glare from the man to look at me, head tilted to the side. “You don’t
need to do that. I know who you are because Wren is my best friend, and
he’s told me so much about you that I could probably guess your favorite
color by now.”
“Oh, yeah?” I challenge uncertainly. “What is it?”
He rolls his eyes. “I mean that as a joke.” He glances back up, a frown
evident on his features, and adds, “I don’t like that he knows so much about
Wren. Or that he’s trailing him so much. Detective Hartmann got fired from
his department, like he said. But I think that’s only made him more insistent
to find my friend. You don’t live far from here, right?”
“Right,” I agree, hoping that he’s telling me the truth. “Maybe.”
He looks at me again, lips quirked in a frown. “I’m Virgil,” he
introduces finally, and something unwinds inside me as my ribs feel like
they’re unclenching from my lungs. “By that look, you’ve heard my name
before.”
 “Wren mentioned you were supposed to come to dinner with us the
other night,” I admit, hands tightening into fists at my sides. “But you didn’t
because of your girlfriend.”
“You’d like her, and I’d prefer that she were here,” he admits quietly,
looking away. “It’s nothing personal, Hazel. I’m just not a people person.”
No, but… My eyes drop to the dog that stares up at him with happy
eyes and a slowly wagging tail. Apparently he’s a dog person. From what
I’d heard, this might be one of his girlfriend’s dogs. Did he ‘adopt’ them
when they started dating?
Is he just like Wren? And more to the point, I can’t help but wonder
what his girlfriend thinks of that.
“Let’s go back to your apartment. I’m texting Wren, so I’m sure he’ll
meet us there. Hazel, I won’t hurt you. I promise.” He flashes me a quick,
friendly smile that doesn’t feel at all genuine, but I return it with a sardonic
half grin of my own that makes him snort.
“I really hope you aren’t lying to me,” I admit, taking off back down the
street so I can find out how far we are exactly from my place. “Otherwise
Wren is going to kill me, if you haven’t done it already by the time we’re
back.”
“Oh, he’d kill me for it,” Virgil assures me. “Best friend or not. If he
feels the same way for you as I do for Sloane, then he’d tear me into little
bits and feed me to the dogs.”
“Cute,” I reply, and look for the street sign to lead me home.
As soon as I open my door, Wren is there to sweep me up into a hug.
The dog, Vulcan, meanders into the apartment alongside Virgil, and my cats
stare at it with horrified curiosity.
“Are you all right?” He pulls me away to hold me at arm’s length,
searching my face. “He didn’t hurt you?”
“He spilled coffee and ice on my shoes,” I reply, heart pounding in my
throat once more. Wren opens his mouth to say something, but I grab his
hand that’s on my arm and add. “He had a picture of you. And me. But
you’re the important thing right now, yeah? He shouldn’t have a picture of
you, or know who you are, and I think it might be my fault—” My words
are becoming hysterical as I talk, but before I can continue, he crushes me
against his chest once more.
“Thanks,” I hear him say to Virgil. “I’m happy you ran into her. I owe
you one, Virgil.”
 “You so do,” he agrees in that lazy tone he’s had since I’d met him.
“Come by my apartment later. We should figure out what we’re going to
do.”
“Tomorrow,” Wren insists, still holding onto me.
“She’s fine, Wren,” Virgil promises. “She’s not hurt. You don’t need to
check her over for invisible wounds, I promise. Tomorrow morning. But we
need to figure out what to do about your new friend.” He doesn’t say
anything else, but I hear the sound of him leaving with Vulcan at his side,
and their steps moving down the hallway after the door closes.
“He’s right,” I say into the material of Wren’s shirt. “I am fine. But I’m
worried. What if he knows who you are, Wren? What if—”
Wren only pulls me away enough to kiss me hard. “He doesn’t know
enough to find me,” he promises, dragging me backward, further into my
apartment. “And he doesn’t know where you live, I don’t think. He doesn’t
know that much. Eventually he will, but not right now. Are you sure you’re
okay?”
“Yes, mother hen, I’m fine.” I grab his hand on my shoulder, voice still
too-loud and too-high. “I’m sorry. If I messed up, or got caught somehow or
—”
“I’m a serial killer, Hazel,” he reminds me, finally pulling me down
onto his lap on the couch. “You know what that means. People are always
looking for me. Sometimes they’re stupid and they get too close.” He kisses
me hard, his hands finding the hem of my tee.
“Doesn’t that make them smart?” I point out when I’m finally able to
break away. With wide eyes, I see the rueful, unfriendly grin curl on his
lips, and the way his eyes darken with excitement as he says, “Oh no, no no,
my little bunny. It doesn’t make them smart at all. Because not only has he
earned himself death from me and my friends, he’s touched what’s mine.
My little prey. My Hazel. Virgil told me he had his hands on you.”
“Only for a minute,” I reply, breathless, as he strokes his fingers up my
arms.
“That’s sixty seconds too long. I’ll make it up to you, though. I’ll cut off
his fingers and make you a necklace. Then I’ll remove his palms and make
you a plate.
“That’s fucked up.”
“Then I’ll just have to settle for ripping out his heart and putting it on
your coffee table for your new centerpiece.”
OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Twenty

W hen I see him at the end of a street corner, I hesitate.

With his sunglasses and leather jacket that stands out in the
August heat, it’s easy to tell the detective apart from anyone else.
My stomach does a quick flip, and I’m almost glad that Wren isn’t here for
him to see.
He can’t hurt me in a crowd. Probably. I haven’t done anything, in my
opinion, to warrant being shot or arrested for. But then again, according to
Wren and Virgil, he’s off his rocker and doesn’t have a badge anymore. I’m
sure that makes him more dangerous, and I bite my lip as he stares at me
from across the street.
Thankfully, the traffic whizzing by separates us, and the light won’t be
changing for a few seconds. There’s really nothing he can do except scowl,
which he’s obviously perfected if the look on his face is anything to go by.
His presence makes my stomach curl with nausea and brings sweat to
my palms, but I refuse to let him see it on my face. Instead, I force myself
to think about something else. Anything else. Like the fact I need to stock
up on toothpaste.
I turn away from him, sniffing in distaste, to face the street that I’ve
ended up on thanks to the bus. I don’t know this side of town well. It’s too
expensive for me, first of all. And second, I don’t know anyone here.
Well, didn’t know anyone here. Wren lives here, as per the address he’s
given me, and so does Virgil. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. When I’d
asked if Jed lives here too, both of them had shaken their heads and told me
that he lives somewhere in a suburb in a nice house with a nice mailbox and
no one else to bother him.
Seems like a lonely time to me, but what do I know? I live on my own
as well, with two howling cats who rarely shut up and clearly like Wren
more than me.
I keep walking down the street, passing on by Wren’s duplex instead of
stopping and knocking. I fish out my phone as I go, and turn the corner at
the end of the street like this place wasn’t my destination at all. Casually, I
pull up my text conversation with Wren.
He’s following me again. I don’t want to lead him to you.
My heart pounds at the idea, at the very suggestion, of leading him to
my boyfriend, and my shaking fingers tighten on my phone as I watch the
delivered status change to read.
The text bubble pops up a second later.
Okay.
Then, after a few seconds, I get another message.
Do another loop around. A friend of mine is going to meet you outside.
She’ll act like the place is hers, and he won’t know that it’s mine. Unless he
does already. It’s okay, little bunny. You’re fine.
Good, I send back, glancing up so I don’t walk off the sidewalk and into
the road. I was scared I’d have to do something drastic.
He reacts to my message with a laughing emoji.
Like what? Hop in another direction? It’s fine, I promise.
I take his word for it and shove the phone back into my pocket as I
make my way around the block again. I hadn’t been considering running
and hiding or hopping the other way.
I’d meant something less legal.
The thought, and the conviction of it, surprises me. Is Wren rubbing off
on me? Surely I’m not a violent person like him. One who’s okay with
doing something bloody or painful to help someone who’s broken the law.
I’m not a monster like Wren, though that pill gets easier to swallow
every day.
He’s a serial killer.
I take a few steps and glance back over my shoulder, scanning for him
once more.
Wren is a monster, but more importantly, he’s mine. My serial killer, my
monster.
 My boyfriend who killed someone in front of me and got their blood all
over my face. And if I’m starting to feel like I’d help him do it to someone
who deserved it, then that’s a problem for another day. I can’t be in love
with him. That’s some folie à deux shit right there that I refuse to look into
or give into.
Especially not today, as my feet carry me back around the block and I
catch sight of the black leather jacket that pegs him as different in the
crowd.
A bark catches my attention, and my eyes land on the dog that Virgil
had been walking before. Only this time, there’s a girl walking him, maybe
a year or so older than me, and when she meets my gaze, she grins and
waves at me like we’re old friends.
“Hazel!” the brunette calls, her voice warm. “I told you that you missed
it. I’m sorry you had to walk around the block again.”
This must be Wren’s friend. More accurately, I wonder if this is Sloane,
who I’ve heard a few things about.
“Hey!” I greet, jogging the rest of the way to her. She nods down at
Vulcan and I reach out, letting him sniff my hand like I’ve done this a
thousand times before.
At least this time he isn’t barking or growling his head off like he wants
to eat someone. That’s promising. I pet him, stroking his dark ears as I grin
up at my ‘friend.’ “I can’t believe I missed it,” I say, catching sight of the
black leather from the corner of my eye. Sloane does too, and I notice for
the first time that her eyes are different colors, with one of them being a
light brown and the other medium blue. It’s pretty, if a little jarring.
“Vulcan missed you,” she adds, when the detective loiters and finds any
excuse to stop walking. “I’ve missed you too. I can’t believe you haven’t
come by to see my new place.”
“I’ve been busy,” I remind her, like it’s true. As though we aren’t just
doing this to put on a show for the man not ten feet away. “Want to go in?”
There’s no point in pretending I don’t know he’s there. I can be as
uncomfortable as I want, because that’s not an act and he wouldn’t believe
otherwise. “I’m starving.”
“I ordered food,” Sloane promises, and gestures for me to follow her
back into the small, well-manicured courtyard of the first duplex.
Altogether, there are four units split between two buildings, and I look
around with interest while walking right behind Sloane.
 It’s only in the moments before the door closes behind me that I turn
around to look at the detective, who’s shrugging his coat further onto his
shoulders and turning to stomp away.
Both of us pause, and I watch him through the thick, wavy glass of the
window.
“He’s leaving,” Sloane promises lightly, though her voice is a little
unsure, like she’s not quite certain. “It’s okay. Wren says there’s no way he
knows that he lives here.”
“How? Can’t the cops just find out that his name is on the lease?” I ask,
following her further into the open living room.
“My name’s not on it,” Wren says, padding into the room with a wry
grin. “Or else he probably would. Thanks, Sloane.” He wraps an arm
around her in a quick hug, sealing my suspicions about her identity.
She grimaces at him. “Just remember this the next time you want to
insult the dogs,” she says, poking at his side. Another dog, a German
Shepherd like Vulcan, gets up and stretches, walking to Sloane and scenting
her leg like there’s something to find while she unclips the other from the
leash.
“I’m Sloane,” she introduces, turning to me with a rueful smile.
“Though I guess you already know that. And you’re Hazel. Who is
somehow crazy enough to want to put up with Mr. Camper.” She throws a
quick, pointed look at Wren, who smiles sweetly in return.
“You love camping with me,” he points out. Virgil walks into the room
and lounges on the large, plush sofa as he adds, “Since your boyfriend only
wants to go glamping.”
“It’s not glamping,” Virgil complains. “It’s in a fucking cabin. And I’m
sorry I’m not a wilderness junkie like the two of you. Well, three of you, I
guess?” he looks at me and I shake my head.
“No, oh God no. I would never sleep in a tent or out in the open. Sorry,”
I apologize, hoping that’s not offensive to the brunette.
“Not even if it’s with me?” Wren asks, eyes wide.
“Especially not with you.”
Sloane snorts as she falls onto the sofa with Virgil, and I look over as
she leans up against him, letting his arm fall over her shoulders so he can
pull her close. As he does, something seems to melt out of her. Some fear or
tension that I hadn’t noticed until now. I can’t help but wonder if she’s okay,
or if something about me being here or so near her is a problem.
 Does she not like me? Or maybe I just smell. Nervously, I reach my
hand up to finger comb my hair in the safety-spots that are always mostly
tangle free. Wren steps forward to hug me, his chin on my head as he pulls
me into a recliner.
“So… what am I doing here?” I ask, though I feel like it’s probably
rude, so I add, “Not that I’m upset about it. I just thought it didn’t feel like
you were inviting me here to hang out.”
“We didn’t,” Virgil assures me in that off-handed way that he seems to
have for everyone other than Sloane. For her it’s all soft glances, and even
when he talks about her it’s sweet, unless he’s telling Wren to keep his
words to himself.
Does he love her?
More importantly, does he love her like Wren loves me? If so, I’d love
to sit down and talk to her about it. About how she met him, or how she
feels about what he does. Is she upset about the fact that he kills people?
Does she help?
I take in a breath as Wren drags me back to him, breaking my
concentration and making me realize that they’re talking.
“We’re planning on how to get your boyfriend out of trouble,” Virgil
explains, eyes on mine. “He fucked up, Hazel. And now someone’s looking
for him. Rule number one of being a serial killer.” Sloane snorts at his
honey-sweet tone. “Don’t be a spree killer.”
“I thought it would’ve been don’t get caught,” I point out, glancing back
at Wren.
“Well, it probably should be,” my stalker admits. “But that’s a lot easier
to do if you aren’t on a spree.”
“Are… you?”
“I was,” he says after a moment, and it’s so nonchalant that it feels like
he isn’t bothered by that at all.
“What stopped you?”
“You have to ask?” he murmurs, as he adjusts his grip. “I kill people for
fun. More than our other friends combined, probably. I’m not afraid to
admit that to you, or tell you that out of all of us, I’m always the most likely
to get caught. I get bored, and some people are just…” His gaze goes
dreamy and distant. “Just my type, I guess.”
“But not anymore?”
“No.”
 “Because…?” I wish he’d get to the point, the reason, or whatever.
“Because, Hazel. Now I have you. And you’re so much more interesting
than taking people apart could ever be.”

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Twenty-One

W hen I tear my gaze away from Wren, my eyes land on Virgil,

who’s grinning with open amusement that brings heat to my face
and the undeniable urge to squirm. “Don’t say shit like that in
front of other people,” I mutter, like I’m not too late to save face.
Not that Wren cares. He chuckles, amusement plain on his gorgeous
face, and settles forward to lean against my back. “I think we can admit I’m
not a spree killer,” he protests, as the doorknob turns on the other side of the
room, making me tense.
Vulcan, the more agitated and moody of the two dogs it would seem,
gives a bark to alert the room as the door opens, revealing Cass and Jed.
“Did you know there’s a cop circling around?” Cass asks, closing the
door behind Jed, who remains quiet. The blond-haired, shy man walks over
to sit on the floor in front of Vulcan, and for a brief moment, I worry the
dog is going to eat him, or at the very least, bark at him.
But seconds later, Vulcan is rolling on the floor, Jed’s fingers expertly
scratching his chest as his tail thumps on the floor.
“Ex-cop,” Virgil clarifies, eyeing Jed lazily. Is it because he’s so close to
Sloane? In a lot of ways, he does remind me of Wren. They all do, to a
certain extent. “And yeah, he’s pretty sure he’s caught up with Wren and
thinks he’s responsible for the murders this year.”
“Are you responsible for all of them?” I ask, turning to look at him in
surprise as I move to sit on the arm of the chair instead of his thigh.
Wren smiles up at me sweetly. “I sure am.”
 “How many have there been?” The question should bother me more, but
it doesn’t. Instead, I find that I’m just curious to know, rather than upset or
frightened. Besides, I doubt it’s more than three or four bodies, not
including Brett.
“Uh, seven,” he says, a little bit unhappily.
“Seven?!” I have no idea how he hasn’t been caught already. That feels
like a lot, though it’s not like I have any kind of experience with murder.
Murder. He’s a fucking murderer.
“Yeah. I got a little carried away after the new year,” he admits.
“Why?” I can’t help but ask, but he just looks at Jed, an eyebrow raised.
“That dog is going to eat you one day,” he informs his friend, who
snorts and shakes his head. “And won’t that be poetic for you?”
“Ironic,” Jed muses, not looking up. “Not really poetic, I wouldn’t
think. But then again, how would you know? You were never into poetry,
anyway.”
“So Wren’s a spree killer now,” Cass adds, dragging in a chair from the
dining room. It makes a dreadful noise on the hardwood floor that has Wren
looking less than thrilled, but he doesn’t verbally protest when Cass falls
into it and sighs, rucking a hand through his hair. “If Kat were here, she’d
end you,” he points out, brows raising as he looks Wren over. “You should
be happy she’s not.”
Who the hell is Kat?
“Whatever.” I’ve never seen Wren act like a petulant child who’s getting
scolded, but that’s what it feels like. Especially right now, when it seems
like he’s shut down and doesn’t want to talk about whatever it is they’re
implying, other than his impending death. “Look. Hartmann isn’t the only
problem. He’s the main issue, sure, but he has friends. They’re still in the
department, and they’re starting to talk. If it’s more than just him, maybe I
would have some kind of issue.” Not that he sounds particularly bothered
by it.
“But you can’t kill him,” Virgil points out, drawing Sloane closer to
him. “That’s just asking for it. From what I hear, the others in his former
department know why he left, and that he’s obsessed with you. If he dies
because he was looking into his leads, then…” He doesn’t finish, but he
doesn’t need to.
“What if one of you did it?” Sloane suggests, like the idea is obvious.
“Make it look like he got tangled up with something he shouldn’t have, but
give Wren an honest alibi.”
“It’s a better option,” Cass admits dubiously. “But it still gives all of us
more attention than we’d like. Still, if we can’t think of anything else, then
I’ll do it.”
“Let me.” Jed’s voice is light and sudden, and he looks up with a sweet,
rueful grin. “No one looks at me like they do the rest of you. I haven’t killed
anyone in years, and never around here.” His pale blue eyes seem to lighten
as he talks, until they’re ghostly and creepy. “Besides. All of you dispose of
bodies in the obvious ways. You’re creative, somewhat. But predictable.
They’ll never find him if I do it. Not like they would from you.”
The way he talks sends shudders up my spine. I thought he seemed too
nice to kill anyone… until now. Now, it feels like I’m looking at someone
else.
“But I’ll need a chainsaw,” he points out. “And a hammer. But I could
—”
“No,” Wren and Virgil cut him off together, and Wren frowns with
concern as he shakes his head and trades a look with Sloane’s boyfriend.
“No,” Virgil says again, worry etched in his face. “I don’t think that’s a
good idea.”
“I don’t either,” Wren agrees. “I appreciate it, Jed. But I think we’d all
be safer if you didn’t.”
Jed only shrugs, the scary light fading from his eyes as he goes back to
giving the dog belly rubs. From the sofa, the other dog watches, but doesn’t
leave his place there with his paws on Sloane’s lap.
“What if none of you did?” I ask, trying to put a few stray thoughts
together. “What if none of you killed him, so there was no way to think you
were involved at all?”
“But that’s the problem here, Hazel,” Virgil reminds me, not unkindly.
“They already believe your boyfriend is a homicidal maniac with a
tendency to chop people up with a machete. And sooner or later, even an
idiot can be right. Currently, Hartmann is the idiot, and he’s running out of
chances to be wrong. The odds aren’t quite in our favor this time, I don’t
think.”
“Not in my favor, you mean,” Wren points out with a sigh. “But he’s
right. It’s do or die. For either of us.”
“Yeah, I’m not arguing with that. But I just meant what if none of you
kill him? If it’s clear as day that none of you did it, and the department
knows it too, then wouldn’t that be it? None of them are dogging you like
him, so…” I shrug, glancing back at an unsure, almost worried Wren.
“What?”
“Hazel…” he trails off, worry creasing his features. “I’m not letting you
kill someone for me. Or go to jail for me.”
My mouth quirks into a frown. “I’m not offering to. Contrary to what
you’re thinking, I’d like to stay out of jail or a grave, too. No, I mean, what
if another cop kills him?”
“And why would they do that?” Cass asks, his voice interested but
carefully non-judgmental.
“Hartmann is insane, or getting there,” I remind them, looking at Virgil
for confirmation. The brunet nods his agreement, not hesitating. “And he
thinks that I know all of Wren’s secrets, or that I can lead him to them. He
follows me. Especially lately, he’s been following me more. I know he
doesn’t believe my lies, and he gets angry. He gets kind of violent.”
Memories of the day Virgil had gotten him away from me flash through my
head, fueling my plan. “But what if that’s a good thing? He gets so angry
when I lie, or when I deny that I have anything to do with it. Maybe I force
a confrontation with him, and we set it up so other cops come? What if…” I
trail off, thinking. “What if we make someone else kill him? Like a police
officer. If he’s a danger to the public, and we’re in a public place, then
surely they’d have to. Right? Surely they wouldn’t just let him walk away
or keep going, and at the very least they’d put him in jail and discredit his
theories of Wren… maybe?”
I look up, realizing that there’s a strong possibility my plan is stupid.
“Well, that’s elaborate,” Virgil points out dryly. “And dangerous. You
want her to do something like that?” The question isn’t for me, but for
Wren.
My serial killer shrugs carefully. “No,” he admits, turning his dark gaze
on mine. “I don’t want to do anything to hurt her. And I can’t promise that I
won’t kill him if he gets violent with you, Hazel. And then your plan is
ruined, and I go to jail anyway.” His smile is wry, making my heart sink.
“Then don’t go,” Cass says firmly. “There are four of us. You don’t need
to be there.”
Wren opens his mouth to argue, but Virgil cuts him off to say, “No, he’s
right. And your girlfriend is right. Hazel, is right,” he corrects himself, like
I’ve finally earned my name being used in a room of serial killers. “It’s a
good idea, if it works.”
If I don’t die doing it.
“You just need to be somewhere else entirely.”
When the door slams behind Virgil, I give it a few seconds. Instead of
following an angry Wren to his kitchen, I wait in the living room, wishing
that there was still someone here to talk to other than my brooding
boyfriend.
He’s angry with me.
While I’m not afraid of him, it still makes me nervous. It makes me
worry that I’ve fucked up and messed this up for us. Though I can’t help but
think that even if I have, if at the end of the day my plan works, Wren will
still be safe.
“Here.” A cold can of Coke presses against my temple, making me yelp,
and I look up into his face, surprised he’s back. I hadn’t heard him, but it
feels like one of his greatest talents is moving silently. “You look upset,” he
adds, not moving when I take the can.
“I look upset?” There’s a nervous tone to my voice that I wish wasn’t
there, but it is what it is. “You kicked out your friends, basically. You seem
really upset over this. At me.”
He sighs and leans against the column behind him that separates the
living room from the dining room and kitchen. “Not like that,” he says
finally. “Not like you think. I’m not mad at you, little bunny. How could I
ever be mad at you?”
“Well, the way your face looks, you’re giving it your best effort.”
He glances my way, a grin catching at his lips before he smooths it
away with his hand. “Are you hungry?” he asks, gesturing for me to follow
him. “And surely you want to see more of my place than just the living
room.”
He’s right, though my stomach flips and twists nervously, like he’s
going to blow up at me in the next minute. Still I follow him, silently
admiring the large dining room table with matching chairs, and the granite
topped counter that I nearly bump into on my way after Wren.
There’s a bowl of fruit on the counter, like this is some show home, and
when I eye it, Wren snorts. “It’s not for show or something. I really like
apples, and bananas are good for you.” On a second look, I realize the bowl
is only apples and bananas.
 What an adorable weirdo.
“I’m just trying to help you. Because I don’t want you going to prison,
or getting killed,” I say, sliding onto a bar stool as he sets his own drink
down beside me and goes to the fridge to rustle in it. I can’t help but think,
though, that he isn’t hungry so much as looking for something to do.
“I know,” he says at last, straightening. “That’s what makes it worse,
you know? I hate that I’m the one putting you in this position.” He comes
over to lean on the counter in front of me, his hands inches from mine
around my drink. “If I could go back to the start of this year, I’d tell myself
to hold back. To stop. There were a few times I could’ve. And my friends
think I should’ve. But I’m not exactly like them.”
“Because they don’t go on sprees?”
He snorts at that, shaking his head. “Cass kills people that remind him
of someone. He has a type, and there’s normally only a few times of year he
even feels like killing people. It’s why we all have a nice party on
Halloween night and lock him in. Otherwise, it would be the Halloween of
2019 all over again.”
I have no idea what that means, but I don’t ask.
“Jed hasn’t killed anyone in years. I don’t even know much about it,
except that his family are…” He looks at me, and I raise my brows.
“They’re cannibals,” he says at last. “But I’ve seen him get like he was
earlier a few times. It worries me. I don’t know if he’d be able to stop, if he
were ever to start again. So we try not to let him. And Virgil, for all his
arrogance and his threats, has killed less than Cass or I have. He’s soft, but
don’t tell him that.”
“He doesn’t seem like it,” I admit.
“He doesn’t want to seem like it,” Wren chuckles.
“So what about you, then? You were leading up to telling me why
you’re different.”
“I’ve killed more than all of my friends combined,” Wren says without
hesitation, his eyes dark as he taps his finger on the table. “Easily. I bet you
could double their numbers and still not match mine. Do you want to know
what sets me off, Hazel?”
“Yeah?” I whisper; feeling like this is the most interesting secret I’ve
ever heard in my life.
“Nothing.”
 But the answer is anything but the great secret I was expecting. He must
see the confusion on my face, because he grins and leans closer to me,
lowering his voice to whisper conspiratorially, “Because I don’t need a
trigger. I don’t need a type. Everyone is my type, and I’m always looking
for a reason.”
The words, even if they aren’t a threat to me, cause me to go cold. It’s
an instinctual reaction. One that comes from my very DNA, not my brain or
my heart. My own feelings chase it away a second later, but I can’t help the
way those words echoed in my body, just for a second.
Wren is a monster.
But, more happily, it’s not something that bothers me very much.
“Could you maybe like, not so much?” I ask lightly, turning to look at
him with a small smile. “I like to think I’m not doing this for nothing. Like,
I don’t want to have to do it again anytime soon.”
He looks at me, surprise coloring his features, and scoffs. It turns into a
full, meaningful laugh, and Wren kisses my cheek before he stands up. “I
love you,” he tells me, like a punch to the chest. “Maybe not like other
people. Maybe it’s not normal love at all, but Hazel?” He meets my eyes,
still smiling. “I fucking love you to death.”
Happily, that doesn’t give me pause. It doesn’t scare me like it would’ve
a week ago, or two weeks ago. It just makes me roll my eyes. “You love the
idea of me getting rid of your stalker,” I accuse, trying to keep this light. Do
I love him back?
Can I love him back?
Yes, a small voice inside my head whispers. You can, and you do.
But does that make me a monster, too?
“But I wish you weren’t going there tonight,” Wren admits quietly. “I'm
so fucking worried for you, little bunny. I’d rather just kill them all and do it
that way.”
“That’s a stupid way.”
“Well, it’s my way.”
He walks away, back to the fridge, before announcing he’s going to go
grab something out of the pantry. I watch him go, head on my hand as I rest
my elbow on the counter under me. I’m terrified, but I don’t want him to
know. Because even though Cass is going to be there to try to make sure I
don’t end up dead, I still have the terrible nagging feeling that I might,
anyway. Or that he won’t be enough to help me.
 I can only hope that I’m completely wrong, and this will go smoother
than I ever could hope it would. Then, by morning, Wren will be free of this
shadow trailing him and can stop worrying about a bullet to the back of the
head or spending the rest of his life in prison.

OceanofPDF.com
 Chapter

Twenty-Two

T his is a bad idea.

Well, to be fair, it’s the only idea we could come up with. The
only one I could really figure out how to execute, and no one else
was saying anything else, so if it’s a bad idea, it’s the best of the worst.
Though, I’m not sure if that’s a compliment, when I think about it in
those terms.
A breath of anxiety builds in my chest, and I stand at the corner of the
street as a bus goes by, intent on the station that’s so close behind me that
the bus slows almost to a complete halt in my face. My eyes go up as I
think, barely focusing on it, and only for a second do I see the flashing sign
in the front of it proclaiming Springwood, Ohio, before it makes the turn
into the station.
I never come to this side of town. It’s not the greatest, that’s for sure.
But that’s what makes this a better idea than doing it on, say, the steps of
the museum. At least here, even if Wren and his friends are in the shadows,
they probably won’t be recognized. For their part, Virgil and Jed blend in
seamlessly, and I have no idea where they are. I don’t even know what they
could look like today, since it’s obvious they won’t be looking like
themselves. No, they’d decided that since Hartmann knows about Wren,
there’s just as much of a chance he knows their faces too.
I’m the only one who can risk this.
I don’t see the detective either, though I know for sure he’s not that far
away. I’ve gotten used to the feeling of being watched, and it’s here, in full
force, like eyes burning holes into my back.
 “Excuse me.” The soft words make me jump, even as my brain registers
that they’re not coming from anyone I know. I whirl anyway, like I’m in
danger, but the man behind me only lifts a brow and watches me do it. “Did
I scare you?” There’s a backpack over one shoulder, and a week’s worth of
a beard on his angular, handsome face. His light brown eyes, deep set over a
too-large nose, never leave mine, even when he reaches up to run a hand
through chestnut hair.
“Sorry. I’m always pretty jumpy,” I lie, wondering if he’d just hopped
off the bus that’s now parked outside the terminal. “Am I… in your way?” I
can’t help but ask, confused about what he wants.
“No.” He smiles kindly, and when I see the lines around his eyes
deepen, I peg him at being in his mid to late thirties. Older than Wren and
his friends, for sure. But not by much. “Do you know what the fastest way
to Baltianic University is? I’d prefer not to take another bus, but if that’s the
best way to go…” He shrugs lean shoulders under a light black jacket. “I’m
sorry again for frightening you.”
“You didn’t.” I watch as he flexes his fingers again, like he can’t keep
his hands still or they ache. “I’d take an Uber if I were you,” I say finally.
“The bus would be brutal to go that far across the city. And it’s late, so you
won’t have a great time.”
He grimaces, but the look smooths away as he finds my gaze with his
once more. “Thank you,” the man says, like he really means it or I’ve done
something other than give him lazy advice. “I hope your night starts going
better.”
I smile at him, unsure if it’s happy or just as painful as my twisting,
nervous insides are becoming. “No problem.” I expect him to leave then,
but he holds my eyes for another second, and I swear I hear him humming
softly.
But then he shrugs and moves, heading up the sidewalk toward a line of
restaurants that are normally open until midnight or later. I spare him a few
seconds of my time before shaking my head to clear it, and quickly walk
across the street like I’d just lost my train of thought.
And not like I’m urging the detective to follow me deeper into the
warehouse district.
The lights from cars, shops, and the posts along the street cast creepier,
more anxiety-inducing shadows than I’d hoped for. Despite the rising fear, I
walk like I have a purpose. Like this is all part of some thought out plan to
get to some destination, and not the winding trail of invisible breadcrumbs
I’m trying to leave for the police officer.
I try not to look as hurried as I feel. So I stop and look inside a bakery
window and even read the poster about a musical that’s making its journey
from Broadway to Akron. I scuff my feet on one corner and compliment the
dog that’s milling about, then cross the street again with the pair and wish
the owner well before I break off from her.
Warehouses line the streets in front of me, along with a decrease in
available lighting that gives me some pause. But I trust Wren and the others,
and I remind myself that I’m not really alone here.
Well, especially since now that there are fewer people around, ex-
detective Hartmann’s presence is pretty obvious. Stupidly, he’s still wearing
his sunglasses, even this late at night when it’s almost one am, and his
black, slick jacket is another dead giveaway with the gold star embroidered
on the pocket.
One that, from what I hear, he no longer has a right to wear.
Surely if he still is some kind of detective, or isn’t completely crazy,
he’d know that it makes him recognizable and obvious. Just like the glasses.
Is something wrong with him?
The thought is almost enough to stop me in my tracks. If something is
wrong, if he’s got a screw loose and rolling around his head to cause even
more damage, is this such a good idea?
Well, surely the others have already thought of that.
I turn onto Danvers Street, happy I’m not too afraid to forget where I’m
going, and finally slow my steps, trying to look ‘lost.’
Which isn’t hard when I’ve never been here before.
The steps behind me slow and finally stop, and I turn around sharply,
like I haven’t known he was following me. A low sound leaves me, and I
back up in fear, the look on my face probably too dramatic for the anxiety I
feel.
“What do you want?” I yell, loud enough for someone nearby to hear.
It’s empty, but not empty enough for me to go unnoticed. After all, the plan
is for the public to hear my distress and call the police.
Then, when the police come, they’ll have to do something about
Hartmann. He’ll go to jail, or something. Maybe he’ll just get in trouble
with his former superiors. But either way, threatening a twenty-something
year old girl won’t look good on his record. It can’t.
 Hartmann stops, a harsh and unfriendly grin on his features. “What the
hell are you doing out here?” he snaps, adjusting his jacket enough that I
can see the gun at his hip. It makes my breath catch, and my heart stutters in
my chest. This is the terrifying part, because he really could hurt me.
“You have a gun?!” I pitch my voice higher, hands upraised, and from
the corners of my eyes I see a few people look up and take notice, though
most of them speed in the other direction or freeze. “Please leave me
alone!” I back up, feeling almost as terrified as I’m making myself seem.
It all feels a little bit like kindergarten to me. Back then there had been a
girl who didn’t like me, and she’d pretended that one day, on the low
balance beam in the middle of the rock covered playground, that I’d
punched her.
Of course, I’d never punched anyone in my life. And I wasn’t about to
start with her. I’d been too afraid of her, for one. Not to mention I wasn’t
exactly a violent child. But she’d made me out to be the worst kid on the
playground that day. She’d doubled over in pain, wailing about me doing it
when I’d come up behind her. The teachers had rushed over and even
though I’d cried just as hard as she had, they’d put me in timeout for the
rest of recess and called my parents for a conference.
Years later, Emily had admitted that she’d lied, and it was all a ploy to
get me into trouble. But by then we weren’t little kids, and it was something
to roll my eyes at, not cry over.
And this certainly has higher stakes than the playground. Still, I channel
Emily as best as I can, and dart into the warehouse behind me that I’d
already visited when we’d planned this hours ago. Thankfully, back then,
Hartmann had been off for the break he always took around three in the
afternoon, leaving us to scheme and me to nearly pass out from anxiety.
“Wait!” He doesn’t draw his gun, but predictably follows me into the
warehouse like I knew he would. His footsteps echo on the stone floor, and
I don’t go too far in before whirling and coming to a hard stop, still looking
petrified.
By now, Jed or Virgil would have called the cops.
I put my hands up in front of me, doing my best to ‘talk him down’ as I
interrupt him at every turn. My heart pounds in fear the whole time I do,
and every time I beg him to leave me alone yet again, I can see more and
more red creeping up his face. Like his irritation is increasing by the
second.
 God, I hope he doesn’t shoot me.
If he does, then Wren will kill him, go to jail, and none of us will live
happily ever after.
If he does, it’ll probably hurt like a bitch.
“Why are you following me?” I beg, straining for the sound of distant
sirens. “Please, please just leave me alone!”
“You know why!” he snaps, with more control than I expect. “You
know what he is, and so do I.”
“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about! He’s my boyfriend, but
that’s it. He comes to the flower shop and we go on dates! We talk about
anthropology and cats. You’re making our lives miserable and you won’t
leave me alone!”
There they are. During a breath I take to steady myself, I hear the distant
sound of sirens. Thankfully, we aren’t far from a station, so it hasn’t taken
officers long to show up. They screech to a halt outside, and Hartmann
looks more frustrated than anything.
But he isn’t… angry. Not like the other day. Not like I’d expected. I
need him to be angry.
If he isn’t, and he can explain things to the cops coming in, then I’m
screwed. At the very least, this will be a lot harder and I don’t have anyone
to help me.
Doors close outside and Hartmann rolls his eyes, looking more
exasperated than anything, as two cops run into the warehouse, guns drawn.
Only… this isn’t exactly the scene we’d needed them to walk in on.
Where’s the furious, screaming detective? The one who couldn’t control
himself and had threatened me?
“Finally,” he grumps, looking at the two of them. “I told you to hurry
up.”
“Sorry,” the darker-haired one says, and turns to look at me, gun
pointing at the ground. “You’re under arrest,” he says, and the words make
my brain go white and terror to grip me.
“For what?” I ask, taking a nervous step back.
This isn’t how things are supposed to go.
Had my plan really been so bad?
“For aiding and abetting a suspected killer.”
“But he’s not—”
 “But he is. And I think we both know it,” Hartmann interrupts, more
confident than I’ve ever seen him. Was the other day an act? A one time
thing? He’s been brutal in his tracking of me. Relentless. Surely all of that
wasn’t an act to try to push me into doing something stupid.
Surely he wasn’t just trying to needle me into doing something that
would have Wren crawling out of the woodwork to help.
“How do you know that?” I demand. “Why do you have such a hate
boner for my boyfriend?”
Hartmann smiles darkly and opens his mouth, the words unkind and
unfriendly as they flow through my ears and into my head. I should be
afraid of them. Afraid of the explanations and how he’s been waiting for a
chance to prove it all.
He threatens me.
I hear it, though none of it processes in my brain.
How can it, when the man from the bus station stands behind them, one
long, metal claw to his lips as he silently stalks closer to the police officers?
But the real reason the air is knocked out of me isn’t because of his
clawed hands, or the finger to his lips. It isn’t because he’s stalking closer,
no. It’s because with every step and every breath, I see it in his face.
He’s going to kill them.

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 Chapter

Twenty-Three

M y eyes flick back to the officers and I fight the urge to look around
for Jed and Virgil. They should be here. They’d promised to be
here.
But they aren’t as far as I can see.
Worse, this man is a stranger. I’m willing to bet he’s a stranger to
Akron, and if Wren knows him, he sure as hell didn’t tell me.
“Are you listening to me?” Hartmann walks forward, brandishing
handcuffs, and I blink up at him, eyes wide. He reaches out to grip my
wrist, fingers hard and clammy.
Stupidly, I ask, “Weren’t you kicked off the force?”
His smile grows sinister on his lips, eyes glinting. “And who told you a
thing like that? Everyone knew how close I was to catching Wren. And I
thought maybe, just maybe, if I made you believe I didn’t have the
department behind me, you’d do something you wouldn’t normally do.” He
looks up at the warehouse with an appraising eye, frowning. “Don’t know
what the hell this is, though. Why would you come here? And to beg for the
police?” He snorts. “Who did you think you were running from?”
“I’d say she was running from me.” The man slides forward in a
graceful movement before the other two can turn. Even Hartmann doesn’t
react quickly enough, and the stranger’s metal claws attached to leather
gloves on his hands stab into the throat of one of the police officers.
Time seems to slow as the other raises his gun, but with one hand on my
wrist and the other holding cuffs, Hartmann doesn’t even think to go for his
sidearm.
 Before the second officer can fire a shot, the man wrenches him around,
gripping his face in one hand and wrapping his other arm around the
officer’s shoulders.
I know what he’s going to do just as the officer does, and fear flickers in
his eyes.
“Oh God, please, no—” He screams once as the man twists, then again
right before a sickening crunch meets my ears and the man falls to the floor,
limbs jerking.
“What’s wrong, officer?” he purrs, twisting his fingers so the claws
make soft shhhk shhhk noises as they rub together. “You’ve been looking
for me for this long. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
He’s lying.
Something uncoils in me at the stranger’s words, because he’s covering
for Wren. He isn’t telling the truth about the murders, but Officer Hartmann
doesn’t know that.
Officer Hartmann is currently looking at the two men on the ground, his
hands trembling. “Go,” he hisses, shoving me backward. I stumble back a
few steps, lips pressed together as I fight not to shake. My hands curl into
fists, and I watch the stranger round on Hartmann as the latter finally goes
for his gun.
“I wouldn’t,” the stranger warns, and I wonder if he knows, somehow,
that Hartmann’s gun will get stuck in its holster, causing him to have to give
two additional tugs.
But surely, he hadn’t. There’s no way for him to have known. He’s just
human, like me. He’s not some psychic, or something worse.
Maybe it’s just fate.
The stranger lunges forward, punching Hartmann and slashing at him
with metal claws that sound like fingernails on a chalkboard when they hit
one of the many metal fixtures in the warehouse. He doesn’t give the officer
a chance, only moves around him and out of his reach. When Hartmann
does finally get his gun free, the stranger slaps it out of his hand,
surprisingly graceful even with the claws.
And I just watch. I back up another step, scanning my memory for
anything Wren might have said about another ‘friend.’
But I certainly can’t think of a damn thing.
Finally, Hartmann lets out a pained cry, his voice low and reluctant, like
he doesn’t want to give the man even that admission of injury. The stranger
grins and hits him again, showing that the back of his gloves are inlaid with
metal as well. There’s a spatter of blood, and when Hartmann tries to run,
it’s in my direction.
The stranger hits him again with those metal backed, deadly gloves, and
he goes down in a slump, blood splattering on my chest and bare arms.
Hartmann doesn’t get up. The other two cops don’t either, and it’s easy
to see why. One lies in a pool of his own blood, the claws having hit an
artery in his throat. The other, who’d had his neck broken, lies with eyes
that stare sightlessly at the door, like he wished in the end he could’ve just
run.
Even though this man has saved my life, I can’t help the way my heart
pounds. I can’t help the terror I feel as he looks over his work, whistling a
low tune from pressed-together lips.
“Th-thank you,” I whisper, having to swallow to get some moisture
back into my bone-dry mouth. “You saved me.”
“They didn’t seem to like you very much,” the man agrees, kicking
Hartmann gently. “Especially this one. Were you trying to lead him here,
little one?”
The nickname immediately makes me uncomfortable. I reach up to hug
myself, eyes never leaving his. “You don’t know?” I was so hopeful he
knew Wren that the question puts me on edge.
The stranger looks up, eyebrows furrowing in interest. “Should I know
something about why you’re here?”
“I just. Umm.” I lick my lips and look around, still finding no sign of
Virgil or Jed. “I thought you might know my boyfriend. That’s all. I thought
you did it to pull suspicion off of him… like I was trying to do.”
“You didn’t do very well.” Now that his eyes are on mine, he won’t look
away. He prowls closer, the claws making that shhk shhhk sound at his side
as he moves his fingers. “What’s got your boyfriend in so much trouble that
the police are dogging you, too? I guess you knew you were being followed
at the bus station as well.”
I nod, my heart in my throat.
Up until now, I haven’t been truly afraid tonight. I’ve been
apprehensive, anxious, and scared.
But not terrified like I am right now. The icy fear that wraps around me
has me nearly locked in place, and I’m barely able to take a step back
before the stranger’s hand comes up to cradle my jaw, the metal of his six-
inch claws still glinting with blood.
“Who are you?” I whisper, feeling like the little rabbit Wren has always
pegged me to be. Because I can’t run. I can’t even move.
All I can do is stare into the face of the hunter who might be the one to
finally kill me.
His other hand comes up, causing my breathing to quicken, and I can’t
help the shudder that runs through me as the back of one claw strokes
against my face. My knees feel like jelly, and my palms are so clammy I
wouldn’t be surprised if I leave handprints everywhere for the next hour.
If I live that long.
At my shivering, the man inhales. His eyes widen, like he can scent my
fear, and he leans in until his face is only a few inches from mine. He is so
close, I can smell the dark, musky cologne that sticks to him like a cloak.
“Oh my,” he purrs, not answering my question. “I guess I’m touching
someone else’s property… aren’t I?” He looks up and jerks backward, just
as Wren appears at my side. Though I have no idea how he’s carried it
around all night, he grips a machete in a white-knuckled grip as he stares at
the claw-wielding man.
“How dare you?” he whispers, eyes wide. “How dare you touch her?”
He moves to stand in front of me, one hand on my shoulder, and asks, “Did
he hurt you, Hazel?”
“N-no,” I say, then realize that there’s warmth on my cheek.
Am I crying?
I reach up to my face, and the stranger’s lips twist into a smile. “I only
marked her a little,” he admits, as I draw away a droplet of blood left by his
claws. “She’s fine.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Saving her, apparently. Are you the boyfriend they were looking for?
The one they accused of murder?” His eyes dip to the machete, then flick
back up to Wren. “If you are, you must be sloppy. They would’ve killed her.
And I think your two friends were supposed to be here… were they not? Or
maybe I’m thinking of two others who were trying to come to the
warehouse and were detained by the cops that are patrolling extra heavily
tonight.”
Wren pauses, and the man takes the moment to continue. “Oh, they’re
fine too. But they called you, didn’t they? They were worried about her.
Maybe you, too?”
“He killed them,” I whisper, looking at the bodies. “He broke his neck
and stabbed the other. And the detective—”
“I left him alive,” the stranger interrupts. “I thought that was the right
call. Since I took the responsibility for your crimes and all. Don’t worry. I
doubt he’ll remember much. And if he does…” The man shrugs. “I won’t
be here for long.”
He moves to walk away, but Wren blocks him. I hold my breath, terror
clawing its way back up my throat as the stranger looks up at him after a
pause.
“Why did you help her?” Wren asks finally, searching his face.
For the first time, the stranger smiles, and the malice etched into his
face fades away. “Because I can’t stand when kids get hurt. Move, Wren.”
He knows his name.
Wren doesn’t move for a moment. He stares at the other man, who’s just
as tall as him and of a similar build… except he’s less somehow. With
shoulders hunched and his head slightly lowered, he looks more like he’s
trying to take up the least amount of space possible.
“How long will you be here?” Wren asks, sounding like he has to force
the words out. “What do you want?”
“I won’t be here any longer than I have to be,” the man promises,
holding his hands, and claws, up as if in surrender. “As soon as I find what
I’m looking for, I’ll go.” He looks at me once more, smiles, and walks
around Wren, who hasn’t moved an inch.
And even though Wren tenses like he’ll stop him. Even though I think
he’ll take the machete and stab it into the stranger’s back, he doesn’t. He
stands there, like he’s frozen, and it’s only when the stranger is gone that he
exhales and drops the machete to crush me in a hug that pulls a squeak from
my chest.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, reaching up to grab at his jacket. “Holy shit. Was
that planned? Did you know—?”
“Of course not,” Wren promises. He kisses me once, hard, and then
hugs me again. “I shouldn’t have let you do this.”
“It’s fine. It worked out, it…” I look down at the still breathing
Hartmann. “We should go. You should go, actually.”
“Not without you, little bunny.” His voice is firm, but I shake my head.
“No, no. That guy was right. Don’t you see?”
 “He’s never right about anything.”
That has implications that I need to figure out, but not right now.
Not yet.
“Hartmann will hopefully believe him. He won’t think you did it. But if
I run off with you, he still will. Let me stay and answer their questions. Let
me stay so that he can never trace this back to you.”
Wren hesitates, and I reach up to hug him, my body still rigid with fear.
“It’s fine,” I whisper, even though I don’t feel fine at all. “Let me do this for
you.”
“You’ve already done too much for me,” he murmurs, and I shake my
head.
“Well, then you’ll owe me. So go, go, please. I’m okay.” I don’t really
feel okay, but that isn’t the point. Wren kisses me again, promising that
Virgil will be back to make sure I don’t end up dead.
And this time, I hope he’s right.
But either way, I kneel on the floor near Hartmann, my hand on my
phone as I call the cops and wait for the sirens. Over and over, I rehearse all
the things I’ll say when I’m asked about this horrible tragedy and the twist
tonight has taken.

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 Chapter

Twenty-Four

T his time, I know when he comes in.

Even listening to my music, earbuds jammed into my ears as I lie
on my stomach with my face in the pillows, I know that Wren is
here. Watching me, judging by the way I can almost feel him hovering at
the door.
But I don’t move. I open one eye and look at my phone that’s sticking
out of my curled fingers, and I hope I’m not about to start drooling on the
pillow under my cheek.
Why isn’t he moving?
I nearly get up to check, wondering if maybe I’m wrong or it’s one of
my cats that Wren has welcomed into his duplex, when the bed shifts under
me and I feel Wren climb up the mattress until it dips on either side of my
hips.
He reaches out and pulls my earbuds free, tossing them to the bedside
table as he comes to his hands and knees over me. “You’re making this too
easy.”
“Maybe I do it on purpose,” I murmur, yelping in surprise when he
leans down to nip at my bare shoulder.
“Lying in my bed without a shirt on and only your underwear? I think
that’s an easy guess, little bunny. My sweet little prey.” He moves to kiss
down my spine while he speaks, and I can’t help but shudder. “All of your
stuff is here, right? And you’ve turned the key into the landlord?”
“What are you, my mother?” I moan, like it’s some kind of hardship that
he so easily convinced me to move in with him only a few weeks after the
issue with Hartmann.
 Which, at this point, isn’t an issue at all. The officer had been
apologetic. Friendly. Had even looked at Wren and shook his hand, saying
they’d definitely have to catch the bastard who was really responsible. I’d
wondered if he’d vomit at the prospect of shaking Wren’s hand, but
somehow the detective had made it through.
And all the while we just looked at the still healing gashes on his face
and knew we’d just tricked him into whole-heartedly believing something
that wasn’t true.
“No. I’m your stalker,” he teases, two fingers sliding against me over
my underwear. “I’m your serial killer.” He rearranges me under him and
yanks me up onto my knees so that he can more easily grind his body
against mine.
It’s then that I notice that I’m not the only one barely clothed.
“You’re my problem now, I guess. That’s what Cass said,” I sigh,
though when Wren yanks me up with a hand on my throat and growls
playfully in my ear, I can’t help but laugh. Nor can I help the soft sound of
arousal that leaves me when he slides his hands into my underwear and
against my clit. “But, hey. I want to talk to you.”
He doesn’t stop, only mouths at my throat, and I turn to look at him
while I grip his hair between my fingers. “Please, Wren?”
“What’s wrong, little bunny? What could possibly be wrong?” Still, he
falls over onto his side, taking me with him, and tangling his legs with mine
as he kisses my shoulder.
Ever since I’d moved in, he’d had such a hard time keeping his hands
off me that for a while, I’d thought it was an addiction.
Now I’m convinced it is.
I can’t say anything while he nips at my skin. I can’t do anything but
enjoy it when he shoves my panties aside to thrust two fingers into my wet
and aching entrance.
Fuck, I want him.
“Come on,” he goads, pulling his fingers free to slide my underwear
down my hips. “You want to ask me something? You want to say
something, little prey?” He grips my thigh, forcing it up and back over his
hip so that his length brushes my leaking core.
Fuck, I need him so much.
“You’re awful,” I whisper, biting at his hand that’s resting against the
pillow.
 “I’m dreadful,” he agrees mockingly, holding himself with one hand so
he can sink into me. Then I bite him again, causing him to moan, and his
hand coming off the pillow so he can hold me by the throat instead. “I’m so
dreadful, aren’t I? Just the worst. I’m a monster.” He says the words in a
growl, even as he fucks me and I lose my train of thought.
Finally I come again, for the third time today, and he lets me roll onto
my stomach as I suck in a breath and try to reassemble my train of thought.
“Fuck you,” I murmur, hating how he can just so easily derail all of my
conversational plans.
“Well, we just did, but I can eat you out?” he suggests, hand splayed
against my stomach. “But don’t you have class tonight?”
I don’t say anything to that. He knows how nervous I am to have signed
up for classes again. It had been last minute, and it was only because of his
connections that I’d gotten into Baltianic for this semester’s classes instead
of in the spring.
Not to mention, he’d been the one to pay for it when it turned out I
didn’t have the scholarships I once did. The only thing he’d asked for, when
I’d told him I’d somehow pay him back, was to go to the park that night
with him and take a walk through the hiking trails in the woods.
Of course, it hadn’t just been ‘a hike.’
“I’m nervous I won’t pass,” I admit, scared my old dedication and
passion had left me in the dust. I’m nervous about classes. Nervous about
things that might’ve somehow changed even in this amount of time.
“You’ll pass, Hazel,” he promises lazily. “And you’re not skipping.”
“I wasn’t going to skip!”
“You were.”
He might be right, but only because he’s such a more attractive option.
After all, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here. “Now, can I ask you
something?” I demand, when he settles down on the bed beside me. “Or do
you have something else to say?”
I sit up and look down at him, but Wren only gives me a lazy smile.
He’s never attempted to hide anything from me, and as I look at him, I can’t
help but admire him. He’s gorgeous.
And he’s mine.
All tan and muscled and teasing… all for me. He’s not just my
boyfriend, or the love of my life. He’s one of my best friends, and the first
person, other than Jenna, to be okay with everything I am. Even if that
means we spend some nights with him brushing out the mats in my hair
while I cry over something I’m sure he sees as stupid.
“What do you want to ask me, Hazel?” he purrs, stroking a hand down
my spine.
“Do you think he’s gone?” We hadn’t really spoken of the stranger since
that night. Wren hadn’t even told me his name, though I figure there’s no
way he doesn’t know it.
His hand pauses, and he looks away.
“I don’t know,” Wren says at last, movements picking up again. “But I
also don’t think he’ll bother you again.”
“You know him, right? You know who he is, or what he’s done?”
Again, Wren doesn’t answer. Not right away, at least.
“I used to know him,” he hedges at last, the nerves in my stomach
causing my guts to do somersaults. “A long time ago. When he was
different, and I was as well. He’s not good news. And he’s not part of our
little ‘club.’ He’s not my friend. Hazel…” He meets my gaze, his dark eyes
serious. “If you ever see him again, promise me you’ll run.”
“He said he didn’t like seeing kids hurt, implying me.” Even though I’m
not a kid. “But you think he’d hurt me anyway?”
“I think he’s the least predictable creature that’s ever walked this earth,
and I don’t intend on finding out if he’s changed or not.”
We sit there in silence for a moment until Wren gets to his feet and
comes around to yank me to mine. “Come on,” he sighs, dragging me
toward the bathroom. “I looked at your schedule. Your class is in two hours,
so go take a shower.”
“It won’t be very efficient if you come along,” I protest, not bothering
to pull away as he leads me into the bathroom and turns on the faucet in the
glass-walled shower.
Wren whirls around, his smile sweet and searing at the same time.
“Then, little bunny, I guess you’re just going to have to take two.” Without
another word he pushes me into the shower and I let him, not stopping until
my back is against the wall so he can bracket me against it and stare down
at me with that terrifying, exhilarating predator’s grin on his face that I
love.
I don’t mind. I’ll just take two.

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 About the Author

AJ merlin is an author, crazy bird lady, and rampant horror movie enthusiast. Born and raised in the
Midwest United States, AJ is lucky to be right in the middle of people who support her and a
menagerie of animals to keep her somewhat sane. When she isn’t writing, she’s probably watching
something scary, witchy, or being swarmed by her pigeons.

Connect with her on Facebook or Instagram to see updates, giveaways, and be bombarded with dog,
cat, and pigeon pictures.

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