Chapter 22
HARPER-RAYN
The second Knight walks through the door, my panic begins to ease. Then before I can even tell him what’s going on, he steps right into me, pulling me into his warm arms and holding me tight, his hand drawing soothing circles on my back.
“You’re okay now,” he murmurs, that deep tone calming me in a way he will never truly know. “Everything is okay now. You’re safe.”
I suck in a shaky breath, wishing I could stay right here in his arms for the rest of my life, despite knowing how upset he is with me right now.
I was so wrong. Knight can’t be the stalker.
There’s no way that a man who can offer me this type of safety and comfort could be the man responsible for the two bodies on my table.
“What’s going on?” he asks, slowly releasing me, his gaze locked and loaded on mine, waiting for any sign I’m about to break.
Taking a step back, I try to pull myself together, hating how weak all of this is making me feel. “Two bodies just came in,” I tell him, indicating toward the autopsy tables and watching his brows furrow, wondering where the hell this is going. “They’re dead because of me.”
He steps a little closer to the bodies, his gaze sweeping over them before coming back to mine. “You’re going to have to fill in the blanks, Morticia. How are they dead because of you?”
“Saturday night,” I start. “When Izzy and I were at the club, I was dancing with both of these men. I knew the stalker was there, and I used them to tease him. Their hands were all over me. This one,” I say, pointing out the body that’s mostly still in the body bag.
“He went to the bar to get me another drink, but then just never came back, but I didn’t think anything of it.
And this guy,” I say, adjusting my stare to the other body.
“He was getting really handsy and wanted me to go home with him, but I wasn’t down.
So just to get rid of him, I told him I’d meet him in the bathroom and he left, but he never came looking for me when I didn’t show up.
Both of them just . . . ceased to exist.”
Knight looks back at the bodies, looking over them with a skilled gaze.
“These . . . these are the guys you were dancing with?” he questions, uncertainty flashing in his eyes, and honestly, the bite in his tone is throwing me off.
Is he jealous? No, that couldn’t be it. Knight doesn’t strike me as the jealous type.
But there’s definitely something running through his mind.
I just wish I knew him well enough to be able to decipher it.
I nod and he looks even more confused.
“And you said the stalker saw you with both of these men?”
“Yes. Both of them. It had to be the stalker right? He did this because of me.”
Knight glances at me, and the hint of pity in his eyes almost tears me to shreds, but I push it away, before hurrying forward to show him the carvings across their bodies, the burned palms, and the message left on the skin of the first victim.
I still haven’t gotten around to searching for whatever foul message has been left on the second body, but part of me doesn’t want to.
I’ve been reluctant to look further, and honestly, I’m starting to go with the theory of what I don’t know can’t hurt me. Ignorance sounds peaceful.
“Here, look,” I say, stepping right up to the first body, and waiting just a moment for Knight to join me. “See these markings on his arms? They’re identical to the ones left on the first victim that came in last week, and in my professional opinion, they were created using the same weapon.”
Knight leans in, looking over the vicious markings on the man’s arm as if trying to make sense of them.
“Do you see the letters?”
“Letters?” he questions, his gaze snapping back to mine, his brows furrowed with a deep confusion before shaking his head. “What letters?”
“In the carvings,” I say, pointing them out. “They’re hard to make out of the skin, but once you see it, there’s no denying they are there, plain as day. Down both arms. It reads Pay the fine if you touch what’s mine.”
He looks closer, trying to see what I’m seeing, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry, doll. I’m not seeing it.”
My jaw almost drops. How can he not? It’s crystal clear on the victim’s skin.
“Here,” I say, showing him again and using my fingers to point out the jagged lines of each letter, but as his brows continue to inch, I know he’s not seeing what I can so clearly see, and honestly, I’ve never been so disappointed.
He pulls on a set of gloves from my desk and looks over the rest of the body, taking a special interest in the man’s burned hands. “These injuries aren’t fatal though,” he muses. “How were they killed?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t worked that out yet. Apart from the hands and the carvings, there are no other visible markings on their bodies. I’m hoping there might be some clues when I start the internal part of the autopsy, but so far, I’ve got nothing.”
Knight straightens to his full height and lets out a heavy breath, clearly still deep in thought.
He rips off his gloves and tosses them into the trash, and without another word, he strides across the room to an empty table, grips the side, and hangs his head.
My heart breaks for him. I hate that he’s involved in this.
After dumping my own gloves into the trash, I creep up behind him and slip my hand up the back of his black shirt, letting my fingers skim over his warm skin.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know how to help you, Harper,” he murmurs. “Not when you don’t seem to want to help yourself.”
Something shatters inside me, and I’ve never felt more like a child being reprimanded by an angry parent. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, the sound getting caught in my throat.
He lifts his head and turns toward me before gripping my hips and lifting me right onto the empty table.
His hands come down on either side of my thighs, caging me in.
“I don’t know what’s going on here. Before the club, there wasn’t even a whisper of having seen this man in person, but then you tell me that you’ve seen him twice.
What the fuck is going on? What aren’t you telling me? ”
Guilt swarms through my chest, and I see the very moment he sees it reflected in my eyes.
“Harper,” he murmurs. “Please.”
I swallow hard and nod, knowing I have to tell him this. I have to be an open book, and as much as I think I can handle my stalker by playing his wicked games, the truth is, I have no idea what I’m doing.
“On Friday night, I’d just gotten out of the shower, and when I walked into my room, he was in there waiting for me.”
“Fuck, Morticia. In your home? That bastard was in your home and you didn’t tell me?” Knight groans, pulling away from me as he pushes his hands back through his hair, his strong arms bulging with each movement. He lets out a breath, his cheeks blowing out. “Did he . . . Did he rape you?”
I shake my head, feeling the overwhelming need to burst into tears, but I hold myself together.
“No. But he touched me. I was naked. I had a towel wrapped around me, and he pulled it off. He stood behind me with one hand clamped over my mouth while his other hand . . .” I cringe, letting the sentence fall flat.
Knight is a smart man. He can work out exactly what he was doing with his hand.
Knight returns to me, his hands now lingering on my thighs. “You wanted him to?” he asks, his tone flat, not accusatory or prying, and I appreciate that more than he’ll ever know.
I nod, wanting to be as honest as I can.
“I didn’t push him away if that’s what you’re asking.
I was scared at first. I didn’t know what he wanted or how far it would go, but once he started, there was this overwhelming rush.
I knew I shouldn’t have wanted it, but I did.
Then as his fingers, you know, he explained the rules of his twisted little game. ”
“Game?”
I cringe again. “Hide and seek. He said if I scream, I fail. If I run, I die. But kitten, you will hide, and I will find you. They’re the rules he’s playing by, and so I figured that if I stuck to that and gave him exactly what he was after, then I’d be okay.
I didn’t try to get away or call for help.
I just let him, and I . . . I hate that I liked it. ”
“It’s okay, doll,” he murmurs, his hands squeezing my thighs, and it’s clear from his tone that he’s struggling with this just as much as I am. “You’re okay. I’m not judging you. I just need to understand. I can’t—fuck. I can’t make this go away if I don’t know what he wants.”
“Me.” I say blatantly. “He just . . . wants me.”
Knight is silent for a minute, simply trying to make sense of everything and remain calm, doing everything in his power not to turn this into an interrogation. “What happened after?”
“Nothing,” I say. “The second I . . . finished, he let go of me and left. But he stopped at the door and said, Ready or not, kitten. I’m coming for you, which reiterates that this is nothing more than a twisted game to him.”
“Okay,” he says with a nod, clearly deep in thought. “This is good news. Games have rules, and he’s set out his rules for you, which means he likes structure. He’s probably playing by a set of his own rules, and that means he’ll be predictable.”
“Killing those two men for touching me in the club sure as fuck wasn’t predictable.”
“Wasn’t it? He’s killed before to send you a message. He clearly didn’t appreciate having other men all over you, and so he felt the need to send another message. It’s a pattern.”
Shit.
“Tell me what happened in the club.”
Double shit.
I cringe, and I know he sees the guilt in my eyes.
“He touched you again?”
I nod and my cringe deepens, the guilt radiating out of me, daring him to question me.
“He fucked you?”
“More like I fucked him.”