29. Erica
“When were you going to tell me that you’re a philanthropist?” I push a gentle elbow against his side, sipping on my leftover champagne.
The golden sunset frames Cain with an otherworldly glow, and his long shadow moves in unison with him as he shrugs.
“Never?”
“But that’s amazing! You must have saved so many lives.”
Cain leans against the railing, taking a fancy cigarette case from his pocket.
We’re alone out here, and I don’t miss how his stance relaxes.
“You sound surprised, little dove. Did you think a brutal butcher like me ain’t capable of doing any good in this world?”
There it is again, that charming accent.
I can’t stop myself from smiling.
“That’s not it. I guess I don’t understand why you do what you do. The things in your basement, I mean. It can’t be for the money.”
He plucks a cigarette from the case before sliding it back into his pocket.
Searching my face, he lights it.
His cheeks hollow as he takes a deep drag and exhales in a smoke-stained, grey sigh.
“You sure you want the whole story? It might mess up that neat preconception of the evil killer you’ve formed about me in there.” He taps my forehead.
I toss my hair back.
“Pah. Try me.”
“The first time wasn’t a choice. I did it for Mandy. She was low on the waiting list for a heart transplant and never would have made it until it was her turn. The doctors just shrugged.” His hands shake, a shadow of anger crossing his face, but he quickly composes himself.
“Our parents were already gone, so mother couldn’t throw her weight around. Money was a little tight after our clinic went into the red.”
“You took care of things yourself.”
He takes another puff.
“Damn right I did. Back then I was straight as an arrow and the worst liar in the world, but I couldn’t let Mandy die. I got in touch with a guy I had a few computing classes with in university. Through the grapevine, I heard he became some big shot hacker.”
“That’s how you got into the dark web stuff.”
“Yeah. I asked him how I’d go about buying certain exotic goods online. He thought I meant drugs and I didn’t bother to correct him. In exchange for a steady supply of hospital grade morphine to feed his addiction, he set me up with an encrypted laptop. He tried to explain how it works, but I didn’t understand. Didn’t care either. I just needed it to ensure I couldn’t be traced while I looked for surgeons who accept jobs outside of the usual medical bureaucracy.”
My brows rise.
“Underground surgery?”
“Naw, I found an upscale private clinic. A reputable doctor there agreed to do the procedure at short notice without the documents and waiting times. But there was a catch. He said hearts were hard to come by, especially this quickly and I would have to provide a suitable transplant organ myself. I improvised.”
He flicks the cigarette butt over the railing.
His eyes drift along the orange horizon, a wrinkle between his brows.
“Cain, you don’t have to tell me if this topic is too painful—”
He raises a hand and smiles softly.
“I don’t mind talking about it if it’s you.”
I bite my lip, averting my eyes.
He trusts me .
“You know all that bullshit about the Hippocratic Oath? How doctors aren’t supposed to do harm?” he asks.
“I’ve heard of it.”
“Well, I added my own stipulation to it. An eye for an eye. I decided anybody who hurt others is fair game. From the dark web, I bought information about criminals, but strictly those who were acquitted or released under unusual circumstances. Evidence vanishing, witnesses disappearing, retracted statements, that sorta stuff. I found a woman with the same blood type as Mandy. She was 26 years old, physically healthy, and accused of suffocating her infant son because he wouldn’t stop crying. But the only witness—the boy’s father—disappeared before he could testify. She walked.”
My stomach squeezes.
“Does Amanda know the true story?”
“No. I don’t want her to live with that guilt and she won’t have to lie for me if I get caught, either.” Cain shakes his head.
“She didn’t suspect anything. The clinic in Mexico was clean and luxurious, the kinda place rich people go to all the time.”
“But why didn’t you stop after the first murder?” I ask.
“Mandy got what she needed and—”
“Killing gives me a sense of freedom,” Cain cuts in.
“My whole life has been about doing what others wanted me to do. It didn’t matter what I wanted or needed, didn’t matter what I felt. The pressure inside me became unbearable. But when I took that woman’s heart for Mandy, all the pent-up anger and resentment flowed from me like the blood from her veins. It’s a release I can’t find anywhere else. Pure euphoria.” He shudders, rolling his shoulders.
“You’re a sick bastard.” I let out a laugh, surprising myself how easy it has become to talk about gruesome murder.
Then again, the victims ending up on Cain’s table seem to deserve it.
I gesture toward the ballroom.
“All these people in there, they think you’re some sort of angel. You’re leading a double life.”
“I do have a few rules,” he says.
“Rules?”
“No kids. No innocents. I do my research very carefully and pick my targets accordingly. Then I use my experience and contacts in hospital management to funnel the organs to donors who need them most, but are low on the waiting list like Mandy was. Every cent I make from selling spare organs goes to the Little Hearts Children’s Hospital and a few other charities, on top of my regular donations.”
I misjudged Cain.
He is a murderer, but one with morals.
It’s a bizarre thought, yet I can’t think of a better way to describe the personified contradiction that is Dr.
Cain Morrow.
I grin, waggling my brows.
“So you are an angel.”
“I’m the devil , Erica.”
“Even Lucifer was an angel once.” I shrug, but reflecting on his words gives me pause.
“Hold up! I don’t fit your MO, Cain. I’ve never committed a crime in my life.”
He favors me with a crooked smirk.
“Naw, you don’t fit my MO and believe me, that fuckin’ messed with my head. Badly. You were a problem from the moment I saw you at the gas station. I meant to drive on the next day, had a victim picked and everything… but I couldn’t leave without you. You were mine when I first laid eyes on you, darlin’.”
My belly tingles, a lick of fire flickering between my legs.
I wish that his possessive asshole behavior wasn’t such a turn-on for me, but there’s no denying it.
And if I’m entirely honest, his secret generosity is damn sexy, too.
My clit pulses as I imagine what it’d be like to get bent over that railing with a view over the city while he fucks me.
“My turn to ask a question,” Cain says, yanking me from my dirty daydream.
“Now that you’ve seen both sides of me, which version do you like better?” He smooths over his suit jacket, straightening his cuffs.
“The wealthy, well-spoken businessman in a custom-tailored tuxedo or the guy in a cowboy hat and boots, driving you around in his beat-up old truck?”
I don’t even have to think about my answer.
“The real you,” I say.
His head tilts.
“And which one’s the real me, little dove?”
“I think there’s a bit of the authentic Cain in both. But you seem far more comfortable in your jeans on horseback than at a gala giving speeches in a tux. Me personally, I like seeing you with a spark in your eyes and a genuine smile on your face.” I fidget with the string of the clutch around my wrist.
“I want you to be happy.”
Realizing what I said, my mouth snaps shut.
Cain’s brows shoot up, and the surprise in his gaze makes my heart tumble into my stomach.
Fuck, it’s true, isn’t it?
I didn’t just say that to be polite.
I want my kidnapper to be happy.
A nervous laugh bubbles from my throat.
“Okay, I uh, I think I have to freshen up a little. The champagne is getting to my head. I’ll be right back.”
Cain gives me a long, thoughtful look before he nods and takes out another cigarette.
“I’ll be here. Can’t be bothered to run the social circuit yet. I’d rather wait and drag you along for that. It’ll be much more bearable with your pretty self on my arm.” He winks, and his smirk releases some of the tension in my belly.
I smile, too.
“Sounds good.”
As I open the door to the ballroom, a wave of music and chatter hits me.
I walk around the dancefloor when a man cuts out of the crowd, bumping into me.
He wears a black suit and dark sunglasses contrasting his grey hair.
His expression is grim, mouth pulled down and jaw set.
I bristle.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, ma’am,” he says without missing a beat, not sparing me a glance as he pushes past and heads in the direction of the balcony.
I click my tongue.
Yikes, poor Cain.
So much for not running the social circuit yet.
I hope he can make do without me for a few minutes until I swoop in and save him from what is sure to be an awkward conversation.