34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Kayla

I don't have to worry. As soon as I step out of the bathroom, a mouthwatering smell reaches my nose. I follow it straight to the kitchen, where I find Ethan cooking.

I wonder if this is just him trying to win me over or if he really cooks regularly. I mean, he can't be that perfect, can he? A man who cooks, cleans, listens, is amazing in bed… Sure, this particular man also kills people, but that's a negligible flaw compared to all his positives.

The gift from god to womankind is currently stirring something in the pan, still wearing those damned sweatpants that outline every inch of his toned legs and ass. And what an ass! I could watch it all day.

Just like the bathroom, the kitchen is squeaky clean and meticulously organized. Everything has its own spot. The pans, the knives, the spices, everything down to the sponge on the sink that lies perpendicular to the tap at what I'm sure is a strictly set distance from the dish soap dispenser.

I break into hives as I imagine even something as simple as making myself a coffee here. I'm sure I'd put everything in the wrong place.

Then again, it might be a fun thing to do if I want to tease Ethan someday. Rearranging his alphabetized spices, for example. Who even alphabetizes their spices? Or I could swap the utensils that are laid out in the drawers so neatly they don't even touch each other. Not all of them, so he wouldn't notice immediately, but just a few. I bet it would drive him crazy.

Wait a second, why am I coming up with ideas to drive a serial killer crazy? What the hell does that make me?

"That's one sly smile you've got there, bunny," Ethan says. He pulls the pan off the stove and fills two plates with its contents while grinning at me. "Should I be worried about your nefarious plans?"

"Nope," I swiftly reply. "No plans. None at all. It smells great in here."

As far as deflections go, this was a lame one, and I'm sure he can see right through me, but he doesn't press further. "Well, you said you were hungry," he says with a shrug, "so I'm making food. I'd hate to be accused of not taking proper care of my captives again."

It should feel strange to joke about it, but somehow, it doesn't. "Hmm, it still remains to be seen. The food smells great, but the way you just shoveled it on the plate without an ounce of artistic flare calls for point deduction."

Ethan snorts, failing to suppress an eye roll. "Eat your food, Kayla," he orders. "Before I decide to play the game you crave so much and make you work for every bite."

"Yes, sir," I tease, my pussy clenching at the thought of being forced to give him a blowjob for every meal. I'd happily oblige, and not just because my stomach is growling.

I dig in, a moan of delight escaping me as I take the first bite. The food is a simple stir fry with meat, vegetables, and noodles, and it's absolutely delicious. In fact, it's a homemade version of one of my favorite takeout foods I often order from an Asian bistro downtown.

It takes me way too long to realize Ethan must know that. I've eaten this food several times over the past couple weeks, and he's been watching my every move. Of course he knows my favorite food. He knows everything about me, and instead of using that knowledge to hurt me, he makes me my favorite meal.

Butterflies flutter around my stomach, a whole swarm of them. Not even when Nick and I started dating, and he was all sweet to me, did I have this bubbly feeling in my chest, as if my heart was floating on a puffy cloud. I want to smile, to dance, to be in Ethan's arms. And, most importantly, I want that big cock of his so much it hurts.

I'm falling in love with a serial killer, and I don't know how to stop. Or if I even want to stop.

I finish everything on my plate and barely hold myself back from licking it clean.

"So, was it acceptable?" Ethan teases. "Did I pass the test?"

"Mmm," I hum as I down a glass of water. "It was delicious. Where did you learn to cook like this?"

His playfulness gives way to something tender. "From my mom. She's an excellent cook. Although this particular dish I taught myself just recently."

Because it's my favorite. My heart does a backflip. "Will you tell me more about your family?" I ask, choosing my words carefully. He seems to be in a talkative mood, and I long for more information, but I don't want to pry in case family is a sore subject for him. After all, there must be a reason he murders child molesters.

"There's not much to say, really. It's just me and my mom. And, well, Freddy, whom she met after moving to Florida." He smirks. "I think he's rather obnoxious, but he makes her happy."

"And…your father?"

Instead of glaring at me and telling me to shut up, Ethan grins. "Are you asking me if my father raped me as a child? If he's the reason I do what I do? If I killed him?" Before I can blabber out a response, he shakes his head. "The answer is no to all questions. I know Victoria Smith believes I've been abused as a kid, and that's why I help her with the cases. I don't know how much of her beliefs she shares with other people—"

"None," I say, interrupting him. "I've heard a lot of rumors about you but none about your childhood."

"Rumors, huh? From other women, I assume?" He chuckles. "Let me guess. I'm gay. My cock doesn't work. I'm asexual. You lot say terrible things about men who refuse your advances."

I don't refute his claim because there's nothing to refute. He's right. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," I say with a shrug. "Most rumors about you are positive, though. You're a local celebrity. Isn't it a bad thing for a serial killer?"

"If the FBI ever connects the missing person cases and profiles the killer, who do you think they'll look for? A shady hermit living by himself, hating the entire world? Or a popular guy, loved by his community?"

It makes so much sense that I don't know how I didn't realize it earlier. Of course the law enforcement would go after the people on the fringes of the society first. They wouldn't believe a social, outgoing person like Ethan would be involved in a series of murders. I'm the brightest example of that line of thinking. I didn't even consider him being my stalker until he showed himself to me, even though it should have been painfully obvious.

"So, everything you do here in Bluebell Springs is to provide you with a better cover? All the charities? The puppy photoshoot?"

Ethan groans. "Oh, don't even remind me of that damned thing! I mean, I'm all for making money for charity, but after that calendar came out, women went from fawning over me to groping me on the street. It was terrible. There was this flock of girls barely out of their teens who literally stalked me everywhere I went."

"So, stalking is only acceptable when you're the one doing it?" I tease.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Cheeky. And this was different. I kept my distance from you. Well, mostly…" he admits, his mouth twitching in a suppressed smile. "And to answer your question, no, not everything I do is just to maintain my ‘good guy' cover. It may have started that way, but…" He trails off, shrugging.

"You grew a life here," I finish for him. "The fake friends aren't fake anymore? I saw you with your opponents during the dart tournament. Nothing about the way you interacted with them was fake."

"It's not fake. I know you must see me as a monster, Kayla, but I'm not a psychopath. I have emotions, real ones. Strong ones." He leans across the table to cup my cheek, his thumb sliding over my lips, making my breath hitch. "I just don't follow the same rules as everyone else."

I sigh. "I can't say I support vigilante justice in general. But… I guess I'm a hypocrite because I believe in what you do."

"You do?"

"Yes, Ethan, I do," I reply, a shiver of excitement running through me as I imagine myself wearing a white dress, saying the same words. Ethan is definitely not the only messed up person here. Since he still doesn't seem to believe that I support his crusade, I reach over the table to touch his hand. "Do you want proof? I'll give you a list."

"A list?" He draws his brows together into a confused frown. "What list? You don't need to prove anything to me, Kayla. Just your presence here is more than I ever hoped for. More than I deserve," he adds quietly, lowering his eyes to study my hand as if it were the most interesting object in the universe.

"A list of people," I specify, fully aware that what I'm about to say would make me an accomplice to his crimes. "I worked at the CPS department in Kansas City for three years. I met a lot of terrible people. Most of them probably won't fit your profile, but some…" I shudder in disgust as I remember the cases I worked on. "Sometimes, we just knew. We knew something terrible was happening, but without proof…"

Ethan squeezes my hand, silently offering comfort. "I'll look at whatever you want to share with me, Kayla, but you really don't have to do this. You don't have to be afraid—"

"Afraid of a local dart champion who posed shirtless with puppies for a charity calendar? Oh wait, you aren't actually a champion anymore, are you?" I tease, grinning widely. "You lost that last match."

Ethan's grip on my hand turns from comforting to restraining. My nipples react by tightening as if they were trying to poke holes through my T-shirt. "I did lose that match," he agrees, his voice low, "because someone distracted me."

"Really?" I flutter my eyelashes, teasing him. "And who was that terrible person?"

He stalks closer, still holding my hand so I can't retreat even if I wanted to. "There was this woman," he starts. Leaning over me, he grabs my hair with his free hand, tilting my head back. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and she put a spell on me. I lost because winning didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered but her."

His breath whispers over my cheeks, his lips so close I could kiss him if I leaned forward a little. Which I can't because his grip on my hair holds me in place. "And…" I roughly swallow, distracted by the dark hunger in his eyes. "What did you plan to do to this woman?"

Ethan snaps his teeth so close to the tip of my nose that I yelp out in fright. "All kinds of things," he rasps. "I really wanted that damn trophy, so I've been planning ways to punish this seductress for distracting me."

"P-punish?" Oh god, yes, please!