“I think you know why.”
“Oh God,” I whisper, trembling.
He sighs again. “I didn’t ever want you to find out, Daisy.”
No fucking kidding! I wish to God I hadn’t found out.
Me and my snooping fucking nose.
“Y-you…th-the pictures of those men.”
“Evan Foster, Levi Betts, and of course, you know Damien Doyle.”
“Ar-are they…” I lift a shaking, helpless hand to his scarred torso. His eyes squeeze shut. “Are they the men who did that to you and Haley?”
He breathes deeply through his nose. His eyes open. “Yes.”
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper. “An-and what do the crosses on Evan’s and Levi’s faces mean?”
“It means they’re dead, Daisy.”
Holy fuck.
I want to cry. And run. Far, far away.
I swallow past the bricks lodged in my throat. “Ho-how did they die?”
He adjusts his stance, lifting his hands to the doorframe above his head. His big body fills the doorway. His muscles are stretched out, showing the definition and strength of him.
I’m trapped in here, and if he wants to hurt me, he can.
The only things I have to my advantage are the selection of knives behind me and the gun, but I don’t know if it’s loaded.
And…I can’t believe I’m considering having to defend myself with a weapon against the man I’ve been sleeping with.
Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse, I open a door and find Dexter’s secret lair.
Kas lets out another sigh. This one sounds tired.
“Evan Foster slit his own throat. He bled to death in his bathtub. And Levi Betts was stabbed to death in an alleyway. Drug deal gone wrong apparently.” His steady black eyes stay carefully on mine.
Swallowing nervously, I glance back at the knives on the table.
Did one of those knives…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My pulse is pounding in my ears, my skin prickling with nerves and, most of all, disbelief. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.
I never really thought about what was behind that door. But, in my wildest imagination, I never thought it was this.
“An-and…” I carefully bring my eyes back to him. My stare catches on his scars. I never normally see them; they don’t stand out to me because they’re a part of him.
But, now, I’m seeing them.
I lift my eyes to his and gulp. “Di-did you…have anything to do with their…deaths?”
His eyes flicker with something…fear maybe?
He blows out a breath. It sounds resigned.
When he looks back at me, the look in his eyes is wary. “I think you know the answer to that as well.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I back up a step and bump into the desk, making the knives and gun rattle.
Kas’s eyes go straight to them and then back to me.
I sidestep the desk, moving away but not too far away that I can’t grab a weapon if I need to. “You killed them both.”
“Yes.”
Oh God.
“And you’re going to kill Damien.”
He doesn’t answer. He just stares steadily back at me, like he’s weighing up how to answer.
But he doesn’t need to answer because I already know.
Damien’s picture wouldn’t be pinned up on that wall next to theirs if Kas weren’t planning on killing him.
“How will Damien die?” I whisper.
“Painfully.”
“Oh God. Are you going to kill me, too?”
“What?” He looks stunned, like I just punched him in his face.
His whole demeanor changes. His arms drop from the doorframe, and he steps forward, eyes wide with shock. “Jesus. No. Of course not. Why would you ever think that?”
And it’s this moment that my brain chooses to explode out through my mouth. “Because you have guns and knives in here! And you’ve killed two men already—who, of course, deserved it—and you are planning to kill another man—who also deserves it! But you’ve killed people, and you have my picture all over your goddamn wall!” I slice a hand in the direction of the pictures. My chest heaves with fearful, angry breaths as the echo of my words silently reverberate around the room.
Kas drags a hand through his hair, his other hand crossing his chest to cover his heart. “I would never hurt you, Daisy. Never,” he states emphatically. “This”—he moves a hand, gesturing to his wall of fame—“is just a part of my life that I never wanted you to find out about.”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” I pinch the bridge of my nose, taking deep breaths in and out. “I’m in love with a killer. Only I could fall in love with a killer. God, what the hell is wrong with me?”
“What did you say?”
Dropping my hand, I scowl over at him. “Sorry, should I not call you a killer?”
“You’re…” He blinks. Shaking his head, he takes another step forward. “You’re in love with me.”
Oh. Shit.
Did I just tell him that I was in love with him?
Am I in love with him?
Oh God. I am.
I’m in love with Norman Bates.
Well, he’s not exactly a psycho. He’s a man out for revenge. But he’s killed people. And it’s not exactly the ideal time to tell the man you’re dating that you’re in love with him moments after finding out he’s the real-life version of The Punisher.
“I…I…it’s not really the point right now,” I utter dismissively.
“It’s the only point.”