41. GIFT OF GIVING

41

GIFT OF GIVING

YARA

I woke up with a groan. My body felt like it was run over by something delicious but also… destructive. Every part of me ached, but I enjoyed the pain. I turned around to see Ryden lying next to me, looking almost soft and content. The harsh lines around his eyes, the firm press of his lips… they were absent, making him almost accessible, normal.

I traced the scar by his lower lip with a sigh.

For two people who started this for sex, we were… dangerously wading closer to uncharted waters, and I didn’t know how I felt about that.

He looked like a melancholic song written about broken dreams and desires, and I wanted to be the words in his poetry.

He yawned and stretched. “Good morning, Yara.”

“Good morning, Ryden.”

He rolled over and pressed his body to mine, his erection nudging against my thighs as his hands drew art on my back.

My body came alive. Wanting more, I moved closer, seeking his heat. Last night was explosive, but I didn’t feel like it was enough. More and more. I hoped, wished, that this need wouldn’t be so sharp all the damn time.

When my slick pussy met his cock, he jerked and groaned.

“Ryden…” I whispered, my nails digging into his skin. “I want to…” I bit my lips, wondering how far I could go, without arousing suspicion.

“Oh, this isn’t the time to become shy and meek. We both know you’re not that, and that’s what I like the most about you. You take what you want without remorse, and it’s so fucking hot.”

“I want to cut you. I want to break you and then put you back together.”

“Fuck, Red,” he moaned. “Yes, a fucking thousand, ten thousand times yes. Do whatever you want with me, baby.”

And then I was on him, biting, clawing, hunting. He moaned and groaned, his voice delirious, his breath fast and sharp.

“One minute,” I whispered, jumping out of the bed. When I came back, he was already ready with a condom on. I sat on his stomach, my wetness rubbing against his skin, my pussy begging for more as I pressed my knife against his chest.

The moan that left his lips was loud, desperate.

“Do something,” he begged, his eyes half closed, his lips parted. I could see how much he wanted this, how much he needed this. I was more than ready for my handsome killer.

I drew a line along his skin, making sure not to cut too deep, making sure it was only a stinging line—I could do this all day long. I could hear him beg for more like the fucking good boy he was.

My good boy.

“Do you like it, Ryden? Do you like the feeling of cold metal cutting into your skin?”

“I do. I do,” he groaned. “You’re so fucking good at this, Doctor West. Behind that pretty face, you really are a fucking killer.”

“I am,” I whispered, running my thumb along the dots of blood on his skin, making a note to clean it up properly once we were done. “I love killing you, Ryden.” I pressed my thumb against his lips, and he sucked it greedily before pulling me down to kiss me.

I was panting when I got away from his hold.

I wanted more. I wanted to cut him, rip him, shred him, until he was without any masks, until he was vulnerable. Completely at my mercy. I trailed my knife down his abdomen, down the treasure trail of hair, moving down to see how his cock jumped with every small nick, every soft press.

He was mine now. Mine. This was my mark.

“Yara…” My name on his lips was a fucking prayer. I’d grant him all his wishes. I pressed my knife against his throat, just the way he did when we met the second time.

I still dreamed of him chasing me through the woods and then fucking me against that old car, his knife cutting into my skin. I wanted that dream to become a reality. Someday, it would.

There’s something wrong with both of you.

I pulled myself up from his body and then slammed myself down on his erect cock, taking him in, fully, wholly, until every inch of me was filled by him. The need grew into monstrous claws that clung to my skin.

The scream that ripped out of him was feral. His fingers gripped my hips in a punishing hold as I rode him, moving up and down his body as he grunted like a wild animal. “Faster, baby, faster.”

I did as he begged, as he ordered until we were on the crash course, and then we both fell, screaming, shouting, shattering into a million bloody pieces of broken masks and lies and secrets. Until we were both bare. Free. I was free.

Had he looked closer, he would have seen the killer in me, just as I did. His eyes were closed, though.

When I moved away from him, he closed his eyes tighter, his fingers pressed against his chest, his brows pinched together. He looked to be in pain.

“Is something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

“No, everything is so right,” he whispered as he opened his eyes and what I saw there made my stomach tilt and turn.

“Yara… I—” He stopped when my phone rang. I was grateful for that. I didn’t know what he was going to say, but I didn’t want him to say anything.

Look who’s the coward now.

Fuck you, Kat.

“Sorry, it’s Detective Patel. I have to answer it,” I whispered with a frown. Early morning calls always carried the stench of death.

“Doctor West. Wagner Park.” I heard the agitation in his voice, the cloud of distress. I jumped from the bed, tiptoeing toward the door.

“I’ll be there ASAP. Homicide?”

“Yes. We have to clear the scene before the reporters get wind of it,” Detective Patel said before he hung up.

I stopped by the door and looked at Ryden. “I have to leave.”

He was already pulling his pants up. “Homicide?”

I nodded as he buttoned his shirt. “Ryden, you need to clean your wounds,” I said. “Come with me.”

“No, I’ll drive you, and then I’ll take care of it. Go,” he said, pushing me gently out of the door.

I went to my room and quickly got ready. When I came downstairs, I could smell the fresh coffee brewing in the pot, and I felt a weird sensation creeping up my stomach, up my heart, until I couldn’t breathe properly. Fear. It was fear.

He looked like he belonged here. Like he had been here for forever.

“Coffee,” he said, handing me the tumbler, his smile so bright and familiar.

For all his darkness, he was a better person than I could ever be.

“Come on, I’ll drive you.”

“I can drive, Ryden. You don’t have to go out of your way to—”

“Get inside.” He opened the door for me. With a sigh, I entered the car.

When we reached Wagner Park, I could already see uniforms everywhere. He parked his car a few feet away from the scene of the crime as I emptied my coffee.

“Thank you, Ryden,” I said, getting out of the car. “Don’t forget your wounds.”

“I won’t, I promise.” He smiled, looking past me. I knew he was curious to know more. I expected him to get out of his car and follow me.

Instead, he drove away, blowing a fucking kiss in my direction, much to the amusement of the uniforms around.

Composing myself and wiping away the smile that threatened to overcome me, I walked towards the crime scene. A uniformed officer pulled up the yellow tape to let me in. Detective Rosario was talking with someone, his face red. Detective Murray and Patel were already covering the dead body as if they didn’t want anyone to see it.

“It’s The Strangler,” Detective Patel said when I finally reached where they were. I stopped in my tracks. “His second kill of the year after Baltimore.”

The detectives moved away to show me the display on the park bench. The woman was sitting, her hands holding onto a white calla lily bouquet. “Why did he go and change his MO now? What a fucking mess,” Detective Murray cursed as I continued to study the woman, noting down every small detail.

She was wearing a red dress and a thick layer of makeup, and she had a red wig on. Dark red lipstick. Nails properly filed and painted a glittering red.

“She looks like she’s waiting for her date,” Detective Patel said, making my heart shudder. “If we didn’t see the bow tied around the victim’s neck, we wouldn’t even have known that this was The Strangler’s victim. Everything is different. Every fucking thing.”

I snapped my gloves on and walked closer to the woman. Scraping her makeup, nail polish, and lipstick, I quickly sealed them in the evidence bag.

“There are no visible injuries. No blunt force trauma. A small needle impression at the base of her neck.”

It was consistent with The Strangler’s MO. He gave them anesthetics. Sometimes, he gave them drugs before he killed them. I untangled the bow and carefully took the letter from around her neck, putting it into another evidence bag before handing it to Detective Murray. “There were abrasions and soft tissue damage along her skin,” I said, poking against her neck. “The hyoid bone is damaged. Everything is consistent with…”

“Strangulation with a garrote,” Detective Rosario, who had finally joined us, said.

I removed her wig using forceps.

“He’s evolving. Fucking evolving,” Detective Rosario said in anger. “He just made it harder for us to find him. He isn’t fucking spiraling. Like you said, it was all a game.”

“Evolving,” I whispered, trying so hard not to flinch or scream. He was back in Detroit, and this was his first gift for me. With all the makeup and the red wig, he made her look like me. I was grateful the detectives hadn’t seen it, but I could. She didn’t look anything like me, but… she was me.

My stomach heaved.

“There’s no ID or any personal belongings. If it is The Strangler—” Detective Rishi started and was cut off by Rosario.

“It’s that pinche pendejo. You know it.”

“Detective, here’s the fingerprint scanner.” Keya Jackson handed the device to Detective Patel, looking at him like he had hailed from Mars.

“The victim is Daphne Morgan.”

And that was when it struck me like fucking lightning. I staggered back, grabbing my throat, which felt like it was slowly becoming smaller.

Now I knew why she looked vaguely familiar—not just because she looked like me. She was the woman I met last night.

“I—I know her. I mean, I don’t really know her, but I met her last night at an art exhibition. She’s the art director of the gallery Art and Apostles,” I whispered, taking another step away from her.

“Are you alright, Doctor West?” Detective Patel put a hand on my shoulder. “You should sit down.”

“No, no, I’m alright. I just… I can’t believe that she’s dead. I talked with her, and she was… alive. Why—”

Me? Am I the reason she’s dead?

I had a feeling I was.

“Detective, we have finished processing the scene,” Keya said. “There are no fingerprints anywhere in the scene. The Strangler didn’t kill her here. This is a body dump, like his previous ones.”

“Bag the body and bring it to the ME office,” I said to one of the officers as Detective Rishi continued to study me.

“If you need to take some time…”

“No, I’m not letting this monster do this again. I’ll make sure he pays for this.”

I walked out of the crime tape and realized Ryden drove me here.

Fuck.

I should have taken my own car. Look what depending on someone else got me. Stranded without a car.

You’re exaggerating. Any one of the officers here will gladly give you a ride.

But I didn’t want to drive with someone else. I wanted to be alone, just me and my thoughts that were racing at a million miles per second.

Just this morning, I was happy, and now it was lost inside this tornado of secrets and lies. How could I tell anyone this without revealing what I was? I had to end him before this became a long game. I knew he wouldn’t stop killing now. He promised me gifts and he would send them to me.

“Who the fuck are you? And what do you want with me?”

My phone vibrated from inside my purse. Gritting my teeth, I pulled it out. It was him.

TS: I hope you enjoyed my first masterpiece. Do you love the bouquet I left for you? I know you love lilies. If you have any complaints or suggestions, let me know. After all, you’ll be the one receiving your birthday presents. If you don’t like THEM, it will be such a waste of my time and effort.

TS: Are you angry?

I didn’t reply. He wanted me to… He was enjoying this a little too much, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“No, you don’t get to enjoy this. I’ll find you before you hurt more women. I’ll find you, and I’ll fucking gut you like the animal you are.”