Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ezra

T hey weren't sevens.

That's the pervading thought that circles my exhausted mind as I blindly stumble toward my villa. Those little lines I carved into his skin weren't meant to represent the number seven, though I can understand why she would have thought that was the case.

I carved him up when I had him tied to a table, long before the family discovered him, so each symbol would have appeared upside down once I changed his orientation and draped him from the hooks.

But they weren't sevens. They were letters. More specifically, dozens of capitalized letter Ls.

Letters or numbers, it didn't matter either way. She and her mother wouldn't have made the connection because they were blissfully unaware of what their beloved son and brother had been up to in his free time. The missing eyes wouldn't have made much sense, either. But now I know everything I need to know.

I killed Kindra's brother.

A terrified mother brought him to my attention all those years ago. She didn't hire me to kill the man who'd been molesting her child, though. She only wanted me to ferret out enough evidence so that he could be brought to justice. Instead, I meted out justice myself.

My methods haven't changed much over the years. Someone brings a name to my P.I. firm, and I sally forth and return with the evidence they require. But, on rare occasion, that evidence secures my right to kill, and that was the case with Kindra's brother.

His name was Reese Amato, and he paraded around as a community do-gooder. No one questioned a twenty-something youth pastor who just wanted to help the neighborhood kiddies with their batting average, especially when that man had been the star of the local baseball team in high school. Someone should have been asking some questions, though.

A week of investigative work gave me more details than I could stomach. The mother had been right to worry. He'd been doing horrible things to her son, but he'd been molesting other boys on the team as well. Unfortunately, I learned her son had been his personal favorite since he was eight years old.

After warning the child's parents, I stalked Reese for three days, waiting for the right moment to strike. When that moment never presented itself, I got tired of waiting. Just knowing he did such vile things to such innocent children tipped the scales of rage in my heart. It was the only time I've ever lost myself to a kill.

It was stupid to stray so far from my MO, which usually involves careful planning and rigid execution, but I couldn't help myself. I really wanted to hurt that asshole, so I snatched him from his bed one night and hauled him back to my place.

That's where I tied him to a table and carved those letters into his skin. That's where I removed his eyes with a melon baller, all while he was still alive. He would die with that child's brand on his skin, and he would never look at another innocent babe with lust again.

I wanted to do so much more. I wanted to shove his stumpy cock into his mouth, wait for him to shit it out, then feed it to him again. I yearned to pull each of his nails from his fingers and toes, then drip acid into the open wounds.

There just wasn't enough time. There never is.

So, I loaded him up in my car and took him to his mother's address, where I hung him in the garage and proceeded with exsanguination. That's where Kindra comes in, I guess.

Now, knowing all this, I'll be forced to explain everything to the woman I'm falling for. I have no way to prove anything to her, as all the evidence in my possession has been destroyed, so I can only hope she believes me.

If we were back on the mainland, I'd just call up the families and ask them to corroborate my tale, but that isn't possible here. The cell connection is too spotty, and the internet is about as accessible as a pious nun's panties.

Which is to say, not at all.

I sigh and lean against the door to my villa. My heart has done a very stupid thing and attached itself to someone who can't possibly return the affection. Once she learns that I killed her brother and lied about it, she'll never want to see me again.

That means I have one more day with her. I promised Bennett I would tell her before the hunt on the last day, so I still have tomorrow. But is that fair to Kindra?

"No, it's not," I whisper as I turn around and break into a run.

Trees and tiki torches rush by in a blur. If I don't tell her everything right now, I don't know if I ever will. It won't be easy, but it's better to rip off the Band-Aid now and give some time for the wound to heal. Kindra's a smart girl. She'll do her own digging, and once she discovers the truth, she'll come around.

I stop running when a strange sound reaches my ears. It's almost like a gentle wail riding in on the wind, but the sea swallows the keening cry before it fully reaches my ears. As I draw nearer to Kindra's villa, the sound grows in strength.

Is she . . . weeping?

Light catches on her hair. She's seated on the porch, right where I left her, and yes, that sound is coming from her. I know this because the sound stops when she tips the wine bottle against her lips, then begins again when she's done guzzling.

"Is everything okay?" I ask.

Not the most brilliant move on my part. My voice startles her, which sends the wine bottle flying directly at my head. I duck just in time, and the bottle collides with the sand behind the boardwalk. Incredibly, it remains intact, but I don't fetch it. Kindra doesn't need any more wine.

As I approach, she swipes her hands over her eyes, desperate to conceal any lingering hint of vulnerability. This poor, poor creature. How terrible to go through life as you hide your emotions from the world. And I would know.

"I didn't mean to frighten you. I just..." I step onto the small porch, still searching my mind for the words that must be said. "There's something I need to tell you."

She waves her hand and purses her lips. "No, no. You don't need to say anything. I already know. Now that I'm falling for you, you've lost interest. It's cool. I'm cool. You're cool."

"No, pet. That's not what I wanted to say at all." I rush to her side and brush the sweat-soaked hair from her tear-stained cheeks. "I haven't lost interest. On the contrary, my interest in you has only grown from the moment I laid eyes on you."

I want to lean forward and kiss her, but I also recognize that this isn't the right moment. Not when she's this sloppy. She's liable to spill her guts in the most unappealing sense. Instead, I sit beside her, guide her head to my shoulder, and wrap my arm around her.

"I'm so sorry I've made you feel as if I've lost interest," I say, then kiss the top of her head. The sun set hours ago, but I can still feel the sunshine in her hair.

She shakes her head and sniffles. "No, I'm the one who should apologize. I'm a miserable, closed-off, antisocial mega-bitch. How can I expect anyone to find something to like about me when I'm in a constant state of fuck-off?"

"The right person sees through the rough exterior and spots the promise within." I pull her against me and brush my hand up and down her arm. "You haven't scared me off yet, love."

This sets her off again, and she wails against my bare chest. Had this been any other woman—and I speak from experience, mind you—this show of melancholy would be a major turn off. I'd be squirming in my skin, looking for the exit.

But now?

Now, I want to let her cry. I want to hold her until she's let it all out. I want to be her source of comfort. When the world is at her back and she feels she has nowhere else to go, I want her to run to me.

Even though I have no right.

I've been the source of her pain for so many years. It's not right for me to keep this secret from her any longer, regardless of what the truth will do to me.

"Kindra, I really need to be honest with you about something." I try to peel my arm from behind her, but she clutches my wrist and pulls it back into place over her shoulder.

"No," she mumbles. "Whatever it is, I don't want to know right now. I just want to stay like this for as long as possible. Just hold me, Ezra."

So I close my eyes and I hold her. I rub her arm and let her rest against my chest as the stars cut a path through the sky. If she wants me to wait to tell her, I will, but I don't feel great about it.

"Truth or dare?" she says after a long stretch of silence.

My lips form a lazy smile. "Truth."

Sitting up, she rubs her eyes, then looks into mine. "Have you thought about what happens after the retreat?"

I know what she's asking, but I decide to toy with her. "Well, I don't have to think about it too much. I already know what happens. Jim has a clean-up crew that comes in and takes care of the bodies. A cannibal tribe from?—"

"What? No!" She smacks my arm. "You know what I mean."

"Oh, you mean with us? Yes, I've given it a bit of thought, but it's still early days, so I wasn't sure if it would be weird to bring it up. Plus, you seem to enjoy flying solo, and I didn't want to wreck your carefully curated mystique."

"Carefully curated mystique? Do you ever listen to what you're saying?"

She laughs for the first time since the crying fit, and I've never been more relieved to hear a sound.

"I've been alone a long time," she says, then sighs. "I don't mind it, but sometimes I get lonely. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have someone to call at the end of a long day."

"Are you asking for my number, Kindra? How forward."

She giggles, and it's music to my ears. "Maybe I am. Do you think we could be anything outside of this place?"

"I think we could."

Once we get past the whole I-killed-your-pedophile-brother bit.

She sits up and begins picking at the side of her thumb. "If that's the case, there's something you need to know about me."

Now I can see her logic. Now I understand why she didn't want me to tell her anything that could derail this train of paradise we've set rolling down the tracks. Because now I don't want her to speak. Whatever dark secret she hides, let it remain hidden.

"I don't want to know," I say.

She ignores me and cocks her head to the side, then bites her lower lip. "I'm the Heartbreak Killer."

If the flirty, drunken way she's looking at me wasn't enough to get blood to the down below, her words certainly do the trick.

I've been fucking my idol!

The killer I've been obsessed with, the murderer I've fantasized about meeting, has had my dick in her mouth.

I nearly come in my pants.

"You . . . are the Heartbreak?—"

"Killer, yes. Are you okay? You look a bit pale."

"It's just my British complexion. I'm perfectly fine. Shocked, but fine." I run my hands through my hair and look at her again. " The Heartbreak Killer?"

She nods and sits back on her side of the bench. In her inebriated state, she nearly topples to the porch. I catch her arm and pull her forward again.

"Maybe we should get you to bed, HBK." I help her to her feet, and she leans against me.

"Yeah, that doesn't sound like such a terrible idea."

Once inside, I help her undress and ease beneath the sheets. Being a good boy is difficult, especially when her perfect nipples brush past my lips as I'm helping her out of her swimsuit, but I remain steadfast. And painfully hard.

"Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?" she asks through a yawn.

I sit on the edge of the bed and run my fingers through her dark hair. "Of course I can."

"I think I'm ready to hear whatever you have to say now," she mumbles. "Even if it's something bad, I'm too exhausted to care."

"It's not something bad," I say, and I'm not being dishonest. It's not bad.

It's horrible.

And now I've lost the courage to tell her I killed her brother, so I say the only other thing that comes to mind.

"Kindra, I'm beginning to fall in love with you."

She replies with a soft snore.