Page 45 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

“I missed you,” I tell him, glad the darkness hides my blush. “I feel crazy, because I’ve only known you for, what, a week? Like, I shouldn’t feel this way about you, right?”

His laugh is low and grating. “Don’t ask me that, Saylor,” the serial killer growls against my jaw. “Because I’ve wanted to keep you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I don’t know if it’s love. Maybe I’ve always been too fucked up for that. But whatever this is? I’ve known it since the moment I met you. And it’s forever.”

“You say that,” I murmur, hating how unsure I feel. “But you don’t know⁠—”

“I know,” he assures me. “Trust me, okay? I know.” When he talks like that, I have no choice but to believe him. Not with the certainty that laces his tone.

When I pull away, however, whatever I was going to say is lost in my shriek. That’s the only thing that saves Jed from getting smacked by the baseball bat being swung in his direction. He whirls, one hand out, and somehow catches the bat, then wrestles it away from the man. His other hand grabs mine, pushing me behind him so I’m up against the wall.

“You did it.” The man wavers, looking drunk and unsteady on his feet. His voice is somewhere between a whine and a growl, and I can see him bare his teeth in the low light. “You fucking killed him.”

The smell of alcohol hits me and I recoil, nose scrunched in disgust, but Jed doesn’t move.

“Get lost,” he states, one hand still on me as if he needs to know where I am at all times. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re drunk and lost. So keep moving, okay? Before I make this the worst night of your fucking life.”

The man sways harder, his eyes unfocused. He’s drunk as hell, and the bat seems forgotten, now that it’s no longer in his flexing hands. “Fuck you, man,” he growls. “I know what you did. I know how fucked up you…monsters are.” He spits the word at Jed, who doesn’t flinch. “If Tyson were here…” Jed stiffens at that, but the man takes that opportunity to stagger into a brighter part of the parking lot, away from the two of us.

“The police told me about him,” I whisper, my fingers wrapped around Jed’s wrist. “I think that’s the guy’s brother. From the preserve.”

“Yeah,” Jed agrees, his eyes trained on the drunk man. “Yeah, I think it is, too. They certainly smell the same.” He bares his teeth like a dog, then shakes his head as if to clear it. “Come on. I’ll take you back to your car, and⁠—”

“Actually.” I have no idea what I’m doing. Especially now, with my heart racing and adrenaline pumping through my veins. “I was thinking, uh. My apartment kind of…is awful. And my upstairs neighbors are loud.”

Jed spares me a glance, one brow raised as the drunk man continues on his way. “Are you asking what I think you are?” he murmurs, and I swear I see the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Depends,” I reply. “Can we call it kidnapping again? Only, maybe don’t put me with the bleeding body this time. If I’m allowed to make that request.”

A snort of a chuckle meets my ears, Jed shakes his head. “Tell you what,” he says, eyes trained on the man who’s now making his way back in our direction. “Why don’t I pick you up? Give me just a few minutes. I want to uh, discourage Mr. Miller here from ever darkening our doorstep again.”

I hesitate, my fingers still on his wrist, before I get the courage to ask, “Are you going to kill him?”

Slowly, Jed shrugs, and only gives me a look before saying, “Only if I have to.” But I don’t get anything better from him. In the next second he’s urging me toward the well lit customer parking lot, and the last thing I see is him slowly stalking closer to the brother of Tyson Miller, just like the version of him that hunts through my darkest fears.

22

Part of me worries that Jed isn’t going to show up at my apartment. I still haven’t gotten his number, somehow, and that means I can’t stare at my phone, hyperventilate, and worry. All I can do is the worry part. And the hyperventilating part.

I change out of my dinner outfit the moment I get back, though I leave my makeup on and my hair up in its half-ponytail. I’m attached to the curls and the way my hair frames my face. All in all, I don’t think my hair has ever looked better. And more than anything, I want to look good for Jed, so he doesn’t notice the parts of me that don’t look so great.

With my clothes on the floor, my phone takes that moment to go off. It vibrates off my desk to startle me enough that I bump into my dresser.

“Ow.” I sigh and rub my hip, nakedly scooping up the phone in my hand, expecting a number I don’t recognize. It’s probably Jed, I think, telling me he went on and killed Tyson Miller’s brother and not to wait up for him.

I’m probably not as interesting as murder, anyway.

But when the phone shows me Brenda in big letters, I stand there, blinking in both surprise and slight horror. I don’t want to talk to her tonight. I never want to talk to her, to be fair, but tonight I really don’t want her to ruin…everything. She’s especially good at that, and my stomach sinks as I imagine all the ways she could make tonight suck.

So I simply don’t answer her. I don’t send the call to voicemail, because that would be rude and, more importantly, she’d know that I’m here, available, and pointedly ignoring her call. Instead, I gingerly handle my phone, making sure not to press anything as I place it back on the desk, closer to my laptop so it’s not dangling off the edge like a Cirque du Soleil performer about to hurtle off of the abyss.

Then I turn my back on Brenda’s call, and return to my dresser to grab a pair of blue, cotton panties. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, however, I stop with a frown. “What are you even doing, huh?” I mutter to myself, hands planted on my hips in disappointment. Whether Jed does show up or not—God, I hope he does—it’s my plan to be more prepared than navy cotton undies.

That’s just disgraceful.

Instantly they go into the laundry pile, and I dig around in my drawer until I find a pair of black, high-waisted underwear edged in lace. They give me a plan, and my next dive into a dresser drawer results in me finding a bralette edged in the same lace, with a line of barbed wire glittering in silver print wrapping over it. The wire twists and sparkles in the light of my room, and while there’s no wire design on the underwear, I love the way the silver adds just a bit of something extra. Plus, they’re different. At least, I hope Jed hasn’t had girlfriends lining up to meet him in a bralette with barbed wire printed across it.

A knock on my door makes me jump again, and I whirl around, looking toward my door. I doubt it’s Brenda. If it is, then she’s taken ruining my night to a terrifying new level. Without thinking, I jog out of my room, not remembering that I’m barely dressed in my hurry to make sure it’s Jed and not someone else. He won’t mind waiting at the door for a few seconds, right? Just enough time for me to put on a shirt and leggings?

That thought goes out the window, though, when through the peephole I see exactly what I’d hoped for…only a little bloodier than I’d expected. Jed stands on my doorstep, scrubbing at his raw, bloody knuckles. There’s a cut on his bottom lip bleeding sluggishly as well, and the shock of it causes me to pull the door wide, instead of calling out and asking him to wait.