Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Kindra

E zra and Cat head toward me, and Ezra can hardly look me in the eye. Why does he look like someone just pushed his puppy into a puddle?

"Did you know he's The Crumpet Killer?" Cat says with a laugh. Right in front of him. She's shameless.

The man beside me—Eighties, as he's asked me to call him—shifts in his seat and opens his mouth, but Ezra interrupts him.

"You two never told me your names," he says in that smooth British accent.

Cat raises her chin, more than happy to have a chance to use the backstory we've created. "I'm the Cat Scratch Killer and she's the Sunlig?—"

"Sun shine Strangler," I blurt before she blows our fucking cover. I throw daggers at her with my eyes, and she mouths, I'm sorry . She made up the damn names. She should be able to remember them.

The man beside me scratches his head. "I'm confused."

"Why don't we grab some drinks, Eighties?" Ezra says.

The mulleted wonder stares at Ezra before getting up and walking with him toward the pavilion's tiki bar. As I watch the two men walk away, my chest tightens as memories of my time with Ezra flash through my head.

Even though I planned to cut him off once we reached the island so that I could focus on finding my brother's killer, it still hurts that he beat me to the punch. He's been distant since we joined the mile high club. What changed?

"I'd love a vodka tonic!" Cat yells toward them.

I turn to Cat. "Are you even old enough to drink?"

"I'm twenty-two."

Ezra brushes sweat from his forehead, still avoiding my gaze as he turns around. "They only offer beer and wine coolers until after the welcome party."

"Fine, but nothing berry!" Cat calls. "I'm allergic to berries."

"Not liking them isn't an allergy," I remind her. She's so melodramatic. The first time I met her, she acted like her throat was closing up from the sight of some blueberries in a bowl. I can't abide the theatrics.

Cat flops beside me on the bench. She wasted no time throwing on her tiny bikini and sheer pink wrap. She's treating this like an actual vacation when it's anything but.

"You really need to be more careful," I say to Cat. "I can't be with you all the time, especially since we don't share a villa. If you don't want me to put you on a leash, I suggest you learn to stop barking."

"When do we get to kill someone?" she asks as she gazes out at the water. "I thought this was a murder retreat."

"I don't know. I haven't read the event brochure yet because I've been a little busy."

"Making eyes at Ezra?" She waggles her eyebrows.

"No. That was a fling, and it's over now."

She licks her lips and fights off a grin. "I dunno. I saw the way he was watching you."

I smack her arm as the men approach. Mullet guy hands a drink to Cat, but Ezra is empty-handed. Which is fine by me. I want to keep my head for the remainder of the week, and alcohol won't help me do that.

"Kindra, do you fancy a walk on the beach?" Ezra asks.

I turn to face him. "Only if you aren't planning on avoiding my eyes the entire time."

"Eyes are overrated, pet. I have other things I want to look at."

His words are meant as a joke, but I don't find them funny. I'm still mad at him. He went from an endearing British man who gave me endless orgasms to...well, this.

If he has an issue with banging a psychopath, then I don't know what to tell him. And I don't know that a walk will help. It's not my fault that his radar is off. I knew what he was the moment he pulled out his bag of tricks. I guess he could have been going to a BDSM conference or something, but I just knew this man and I had more in common than our intense desire to explore each other intimately.

But closure is always nice, and the only way I'll get any answers will be by talking to him.

"Fine," I say. "I'll go for a walk with the man who's shrugged me off like a used jacket."

What else am I going to do? Spend time with Cat? I'd rather die.

Ezra winces and holds his hand toward me, but I ignore it and stand under my own power and start toward the water.

The sand darkens where the waves have lapped against the shore. It feels better on my feet than the loose granules. Sandpipers rush in and out with the water, skittering around on toothpick legs as they search for food.

Ezra catches up to me, and we walk alongside each other in silence as the ocean gathers around our feet. The water is surprisingly warm. I don't know what I was expecting, but I've never been to the beach before. I've always been landlocked or surrounded by lakes and rivers, never a vast ocean like this.

Despite the serenity, one question nags at me.

"Why?" I ask.

Well, that was shorter than I expected.

"Why what, pet?"

"Don't say that sweet word with your endearing British accent. You fucked me and then acted like you wanted nothing to do with me."

"It's complicated, Kindra."

"Then uncomplicate it, Ezra . Don't want anyone to know you're fucking the fat chick? Is that it?"

He takes a deep breath, his dark eyes scanning the water before jumping to me. "Fucking you was a privilege and not something I would ever be ashamed of."

"Then what happened?"

He stops, shakes his head, and strips off his shirt. He tucks it into the back of his jeans, and I've never seen anything so sexy. The sun gleams off his body.

I'm about to press the issue and ask the question again, but a scream breaks through the ocean's roar. As a serial killer, I home in on that sound.

"Why do I hear screams?" I ask.

Ezra looks around. "Probably the sand Cattle."

"The what?"

"For fireworks tonight, after the welcome party."

"That explains absolutely nothing." I drag my toe through the sand and watch as water fills the depression with the next wave.

"Each year, they bury a few of the Cattle—the prisoners—in the sand. Well, they bury their heads in the sand so they can shoot fireworks from their bums."

"So why can I hear them screaming?"

"I'm guessing some haven't been buried yet."

I follow the sounds like a fucked-up moth to a macabre flame and find an area cordoned off by low rope fencing. Several nude people lie side by side, most with their heads buried beneath the sand. Leg irons keep their ankles the perfect width apart, and their hands have been secured behind their backs. Their asses poke into the air, just like Ezra said, and light-pink fabric lies crumpled beside each one.

A man in a clown mask grips a screaming woman by her hair and shoves her face into a hole in the sand. A sand mound beneath her abdomen keeps her in an angled position as he dumps buckets of wet sand over her head, filling the hole and essentially drowning her. Her screams become muffled gurgles, then she goes silent and still.

Is it terrible that I feel a little bad for her?

Ezra must notice the odd expression on my face, because he steps in front of me so that I don't have to see it any longer.

"They're wearing pink jumpsuits. Don't worry about it, pet."

"She's wearing nothing, but okay." I shake my head and turn to walk in the other direction, away from the line of exposed assholes. "I'm going to need you to explain this whole thing to me. I'd have asked sooner, but I was being ignored."

Ezra offers a sinful smile. "The retreat allows us to explore our murderous tendencies in a beautiful beach setting."

"You sound like the infomercial we got last night."

He shakes his head and chuckles. "I can't believe they're still sending that out to new guests. Did you see the dapper man on the big black horse? He was holding hands with the beautiful woman."

"Wait, that was you?"

"It can be, pet, if you play your cards right."

I roll my eyes. "Back to the jumpsuits. What do the colors mean?"

"The jumpsuits tell us their crimes. Yellow are your normal, everyday crimes, like robbery and battery. Red jumpsuits are sex crimes. Pink are child predators. It helps discerning Sinners choose which Cattle they'd like to slaughter."

"Do you care about color?"

"Always pink, but I'll slaughter a red. And you?"

Telling the truth could out me as the Heartbreak Killer. It's widely known that I only target accused and convicted sex offenders. But then my mind returns to the naked people in the sand. If I say I kill indiscriminately, I'm locking myself into a box I don't want to be in. I'll have to take a risk.

"I exclusively kill those who attack the weak, so red and pink," I say.

"Here I was, thinking my brother and I would be the only killers with morals."

"I never said I have morals. I just choose to save my energy for those who deserve it." I stop walking and turn to him. "Whether you deserve more of my energy remains to be seen. You can start mending fences by telling me how you obtained such a shitty pseudonym. Which, by the way, I've never heard of."

"I've never heard of the Sunshine Strangler, either. What are you implying?"

Well, shit. I should have thought of a believable backstory before I started poking holes in his. Don't throw stones from glass houses. That's what my mother always said, and I never listened. Now my glass house is about to come down around me.

"I don't like to shit where I sleep," I say. "I do most of my work on the West Coast, then fly back to New York for my day job. I told you, I used to fly a lot."

I release a silent sigh of relief when he seems to buy my half-baked lie.

"Someone witnessed one of my crimes," he shrugs and starts walking again. "When the cops got wind of my accent, they dubbed me the Crumpet Killer. I can only assume they meant to embarrass me, but I don't care what they call me."

How odd. I have several contacts in police stations across the country, but I've never heard of this guy. Then again, I haven't heard of most of these people, and some of them are using their genuine pseudonyms. That's what sets us apart, I suppose. We fly so far beneath the radar that we can't get caught, but some fly low enough to avoid any sort of notoriety as well.

"And your brother?" I ask. "Who is he?"

"Ah, he's the Chaos Killer, though you need to keep that between us." Ezra taps the side of his nose twice. "He's never revealed his identity in all the years we've made the trip. Everyone just knows him as Bennett."

I stuff that little tidbit away for later. If Ezra chooses to get out of line and piss me off, I have no problem pulling it out and exposing his family.

We find ourselves back at the pavilion again. Cat is still talking to the man with the mullet, and they've been joined by the old German guy. I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh, which is more than he's stifling in that tiny Speedo. His balls are three times the size of his gherkin, so I imagine his motive for killing is related to sexual frustration. I doubt women (or men) are beating down his door to experience that.

"So nice of you to join us," the German says as we approach the three of them. "Your little friend was just telling us about your proficiency with a blade. I'm interested to hear more."

Ezra steps forward and holds out his hands. "There'll be plenty of time for that later, Grim. For now, she probably wants to get back to her villa so she can shower off the trip."

Mullet guy laughs and tips more beer into his mouth. "Looks to me like she just wants to get back to the villa so she can make a sandwich. Since when do?—"

A fist to the mouth interrupts whatever he planned to say next. Ezra grips the back of the man's mullet and raises him into the air.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you to say nothing at all if you can't say anything nice?" Ezra asks. He sets the man on his feet and pats his swelling cheek. "If she didn't, I'm telling you now. As far as the women on this island are concerned, keep your comments to yourself."

I'm too stunned to speak, so I just stand there until Ezra takes my arm and begins leading me toward the villas. Cat jumps to her feet and hurries to catch up, but I don't miss the hate-filled glare she tosses toward the asshole behind us.

"I really don't care what people think of my body, so that was unnecessary," I say as I shuffle along beside Ezra. "I like the way I look, and you aren't responsible for defending my honor."

Ezra stops and turns to face me, his teeth gritted and his eyes filled with malice. "No one will talk down to you in my presence. I've made my stance clear, and I don't foresee it being a problem going forward, but this will be the outcome every time if it does." He turns to Cat. "Take her to her villa, and both of you stay inside until the evening meal at the mansion. My brother and I will escort you there."

He rushes back toward the pavilion before I can argue. This is shaping up to be the longest five days of my life.