Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Ryell
The drive back home is relaxing. Especially since I spend most of it thinking about Lane. I wish I could tell him what I did for him, but I don’t think he’ll be as happy about it as I want him to be.
His adoptive parents are dead.
I wish I could have done more, wish I could have torn them limb from limb and left them scattered across their big ass lawn.
Locked them down in my cell—my dungeon as Lane calls it—and left them there to starve to death.
Waterboarded them and watched as their frail chests tried to rise and fall with their uneasy breaths.
Tied them up, put them on a boat, and dumped them in the middle of the ocean.
So many ways I wanted to end them, but I didn’t want them to enjoy any more minutes of life they didn’t deserve, even if they would have been spent in fear.
I smile as I think about how I ended them.
Both Edith and Parker were crying and frightened, holding each other as they looked at me with wide, fearful eyes.
I’d worn a mask so they would assume I was there to rob them, but I couldn’t keep up the charade because their displays of emotions pissed me off.
I’m sure when Lane lived with them, they showed him nothing.
Not love, not hate, not anger, not happiness. Just indifference.
Since he told me what happened during his childhood, I’ve been prying small bits of information out of him.
He told me that his parents never let him have friends over, they tried to force him into all kinds of clubs he had no interest in, then pulled him from them when he informed people of his treatment at home.
They didn’t even throw him birthday parties or give him Christmas gifts.
Even with my shitty home life, before she was killed, my mother would bake me and Jacob homemade cakes for our birthdays and take us to do whatever activity we wanted for the day.
I’m sure Mom knew that me and Jacob were different than other kids, but she loved us and showed us every day.
I didn’t like that the two people that ruined Lane were still living and breathing.
Kneeling before them, I pulled up my mask and glared at their tear-streaked faces. “Did you cry when you were mistreating your son?” I seethed, pissed at them on Lane’s behalf.
Parker looked at me like I had two heads. “We don’t have any children.”
Edith nodded, wiping under her overly botoxed eyes. “I…I co-couldn’t have them. We were child-free.”
Before I could think better of it, I first hit Parker, then Edith over the head with the butt of my gun.
They crumpled at my feet, sobs leaving their throats.
“You’re fucking liars,” I roared, losing my cool because, even after they didn’t love him, after they left him with nowhere to go, they denied his fucking existence.
Edith trembled, and Parker looked at me with fear and regret in his eyes. Pulling out my phone, I found the picture I showed Jacob and turned it around so they could see. Parker’s face paled, and Edith murmured apologies.
“You mistreated your son,” I said in a deadly quiet voice. “But it’s okay. I’ll take care of him now.”
Standing so I was looming over them, I aimed my gun first at Parker and pumped three slugs into his head and one in his chest, then did the same to Edith to silence her shrill screams.
Since their home was so remote, it’ll be a while before someone found their bodies, so they’ll decompose there.
Before I left, I was sure to ransack the place. I took jewelry and anything that would fetch a price at a pawn shop or something, but I plan to get rid of it all when I get back home. There are so many places I can bury it in the woods that surround my house, and no one would know.
I could throw them in the garbage, but I don’t want any eagle-eyed sanitation worker to find the items and they get traced back to the Bauers.
Now, my Lane is free, and the people that made his life hell are dead.
As I drive back home, I think about Lane and the sketches he’s posed for over the past week.
More of my cum has joined my sketches. Once, after a blow job and I came on his face, he let me draw him as it slid down his cheeks.
After I had his ass rough and came all over his cock and balls, he kept his legs spread so I could sketch just his softening dick and heavy sac.
“Fuck,” I grunt, arranging myself in my pants.
On the way back from my kill, I find a boutique near my house and grab Lane some panties of different kinds and colors with the matching bralettes.
He’ll look so fucking good in all of them.
I ripped the thong before I could sketch it on him.
How his balls looked encased in the fabric.
How the thin strip led up to his crease. Fuck, I can’t wait to see it again.
When I’m home, I hurry inside, wanting to see Lane. It’s like when we’re apart, I feel like I’m…not complete. Like I’m half of myself until we’re together.
Pushing through the bedroom door, I find Lane in his usual spot, one leg pulled to his chest as he looks out of the window. My breath whooshes out of me, and my knees almost grow weak when I gaze at him. He’s beautiful.
He turns to me with a soft smile. “Hey, Daddy.” He scrunches his eyebrows as he studies me. “You okay?”
I nod, but all I say is, “You’re beautiful, Lane.”
Smiling, he holds his hand out to me, and I walk over, dropping to my knees in front of him. I rest my head in his lap, and he runs gentle fingers through my hair. Lane hums as I wrap my arms around him, soaking up his comfort.
I’ve never felt like this, so fucking needy for another human, so eager for them to touch me. But with Lane, when his hands are on me, I feel…calm, relaxed, at ease.
I don’t ever want to give this up.
Raising my head, I meet the curious eyes of my sweet boy. “You okay, Daddy?” he asks again.
“I am now. Have you showered?” I already know the answer, but I love hearing it anyway.
“No, I was waiting for you.”
Smiling, I reach into my pocket and pull out the key for his cuff, undo it, and help him to his feet. Taking him by the hand, I lead him to the bathroom, and we go through our usual bath time routine. I’m really getting used to having him here, falling into the same patterns every night.
I smile as I wash Lane’s hair and then the rest of his body, loving how he sighs and moans.
When we’re both clean, I help Lane out of the shower and dry him off. With a towel wrapped around our waists, we leave the bathroom, and I set Lane on the bed while I look for pajamas for us to wear.
“What’s this?” he asks.
I turn around as he picks up the bag I brought into the room. In my haste to touch him, I forgot about it.
Grabbing some pajama bottoms for him, I walk over to the bed and take the bag from his hands. I help him into the pants, then sit him back on the bed.
Kneeling in front of him, I remove the items one by one, showing him all the colors and styles of lingerie that I brought for him.
“From now on,” I say as he smiles down at his new underwear, “after we finish our shower, you’ll wear a pair of these to bed.”
A filthy grin on his face, he quips, “And my hole will never get a rest.”
I chuckle but don’t disagree. “So no panties tonight. I’m too tired, and I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”
I pack his underwear away, then climb into bed, gather him in my arms, and close my eyes.
“Long day?” he whispers, running his hands softly over my abs.
“Yeah. Had two troublesome patients, but I took care of them.”
“Good. I’m sure they appreciated what you did for them.”
I scoff but don’t answer. “Do you want me to bring you a television?”
“Maybe. I was never one to watch a lot of TV. Maybe if you have, like, one of those old school portable DVD players and a few old movies? I probably won’t watch them, since you keep bringing me books, but it would be nice to have the option.”
Kissing his forehead, I say, “Okay.” We’re quiet for a few seconds, then I ask, “Are you happy?”
His nod is immediate, and that strange feeling unfurls in my chest. “Yes. I love being here with you.”
“Still scared?”
Again he nods, and I smile, but then he adds, “But not for the reason you think.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, curiosity piqued.
Lane shakes his head.
No matter how much or how many ways I ask, Lane doesn’t answer. He yawns widely, so I let him be.
“You work in the morning?” he asks in a tired voice.
I shake my head. “After the cases today, I decided to take tomorrow off, too.”
“Maybe we can watch a movie?”
“Okay, Lane,” I say as my eyes drift closed. Doing a turn and burn for a murder scene and ransacking the house is busy work. Before I know it, I’m pulled under into dreamland.
Sunlight streams through my window, stabbing into my closed lids. I grunt and turn over, searching for Lane so I can cuddle him close. It’s been a while since I’ve slept in, and I want to snuggle with my boy.
I pat the bed beside me, then reach behind me, thinking I’ll run into warm flesh. Instead, I’m met with the cool mattress.
Sitting up suddenly, I look around the room and find it empty. The cuff that was locked on Lane’s leg is still by the window from when I unlocked it last night.
Scrambling out of bed, I scoop up my phone and rush out of the room. If he had gotten out of the house through the door, my alarm would have sounded and I would have been on him before he could get far. The windows likewise would have alerted me. So how did Lane get away?
Checking my phone, I see that I didn’t arm the lock to the front door last night. So if Lane tried the door and found it unlocked, he would have run for sure.
Fuck, how far away did he get? Did he find the keys for my car? Was he able—
Before I can open the front door to search for him, I hear noises coming from the kitchen.
Walking in that direction, I turn the corner. Lane is at the stove, humming as he scrambles eggs.
He’s still here.
My knees almost give out in relief as I watch him push eggs around the pan with a spatula.
My heart rate calms as he moves his hips to music only he can hear.
He has on a pair of the panties I got him yesterday—a pair of silk cheekies, so the meat of his ass hangs from the bottom.
The delicate material is such a contrast to his toned, hairy legs that I find my dick getting hard and my mouth watering.
Lane turns around to toss something into the garbage and finally sees me. He jumps nearly a foot in the air and places his hand on his chest. “Jesus, Ry. You scared the shit out of me.”
I tick my eyebrow up. “I’m sure I was more scared when I woke up alone in bed.”
Lane’s eyes grow wide. “Oh shit. I didn’t…I didn’t even think…” Then he narrows his eyes at me. “You thought I ran?”
I shrug. “What was I supposed to think?”
“Uh, that I would keep my fucking word when I said that I would stay here so you wouldn’t kill anyone else. What the fuck, Ryell?”
Shame swamps me, and I marvel at the new emotion, but I don’t let it show.
But I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong, so I push off the wall I was leaning against and walk over to Lane, wrapping him in a hug. His arms are crossed over his chest and he has a scowl on his face, but he lets me hold him.
“You’re right, Lane,” I murmur. “I thought you ran and you broke your word. I’m sorry.”
He glares at me, the scowl still in place, but not as harsh. “I don’t want to risk anyone’s life, Daddy. I told you I’d stay until you got rid of me, and I meant it. You keep your word, and I’ll keep mine.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I’ve broken my word twice, but the first time wasn’t my fault and the second was for him. I didn’t pose either of those kills, so I’m not counting them.
“I swear,” I tell him, starting our deal from scratch. I glance behind him and smile. “You were making me breakfast.”
“Yeah. I figured we could have breakfast in bed, since you were sleeping in.”
I bend down and kiss him. “Thank you, baby boy. I appreciate it.”
I help Lane clean up the trash he was throwing away, then we make our plates and sit at the dining room table.
We dig in, and I groan as I eat. It’s been years since someone’s cooked for me. I could get used to this.
“You mad at me, Daddy?” Lane asks quietly, pushing his eggs around his plate.
I sigh and shake my head. “No, Lane. It’s my fault. I should have remembered to cuff you, and I didn’t. It’s not on you. But since you didn’t run, I’ll get you an ankle monitor so you can roam around the house now.”
He gives me a dry look. “Is that necessary?”
Smiling, I rise from my chair, lean across the table and kiss him gently. “Definitely.”
“But you have those locks on the door, and I can’t get out when you’re not here. Can I just…not?”
“Ankle monitor or ankle cuff.”
Lane scowls again but says, “Ankle monitor.” He picks up his biscuit and throws it at me, hitting me in the middle of my forehead. “You’re a dick.”
I scoop up the bread and take a hearty bite, making him bark a laugh. “So I’ve heard.”