Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Ryell
I stand just inside my bedroom door, watching Lane as he stares out the window, a book in his hand but his eyes on the horizon.
For the past week, he’s been despondent, a few feet away but not really here with me. I know his mind is on how he can alert his partner that he’s okay, trying to figure out another course of action so we can freely live our lives. But that’s not possible. Not unless…
I sigh and thrust my hands through my hair. There’s only one solution, and no matter how many other ways I thought this all through, it all leads back to setting Lane free.
My heart clenches as I watch him. I’ve grown used to having Lane here, in my bed, walking around my home, pressing against me in the shower.
I’ll miss him.
That’s the baffling part of all this. I’ve never missed anyone, but I already miss Lane, and he hasn’t even left yet.
Before he came into my life, I was simply going through the motions, living for my sketches and my victims. While Lane has been here, I’ve only wanted to sketch him.
Sketch after sketch of my boy, no blood, no violence. Just him.
I’ve still wanted to kill, but with him here, I can ignore it. When he’s gone, I’ll probably overdo it to feel any semblance of what I do while Lane has been around.
“Baby boy,” I murmur, watching his face while waiting for him to acknowledge me.
When a few seconds pass and he doesn’t answer, I call to him again, this time louder.
Slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, Lane turns to me, his face a sad, blank mask. It takes a few moments for him to cover his wounded expression with one of joy. “Hey Daddy. When did you get home?” His smile is wide but shaky. Like it requires effort to keep in place.
Sighing, I walk over to the chair, kneel in front of him, and lay my head in his lap. Lane drops his book to the floor and runs his fingers through my hair. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tightly.
“You okay?” I ask, my voice muffled.
“Mhm. Tired. Didn’t sleep well last night.”
Neither did I, especially after I came to the conclusion that I did.
It was hard to be present at work during two complex jaw surgeries, because all I could think about was my decision.
It was hard to get out of my head enough to work.
I had to repeat the steps of the procedure over and over in my mind so I wouldn’t fuck up.
If I’m going to let him go, it has to be sooner rather than later.
I don’t want to drag out breaking my own fucking heart.
Like a fucking fool, I fell in love with Lane.
I fell for my fucking captive, not imagining that he’d leave me.
I can’t put Lane in a body bag, I can’t pose him for my collection, so he has to go.
He has to be free. I might be signing my own arrest warrant, but I can’t look at my boy and see how down he’s gotten.
What we have will never work. Lane is an FBI agent, and I’m a serial killer.
He loves his job, and I’m almost compelled to take lives.
He might say he’s okay with it now, but if he keeps finding my victims, he’ll fall out of love with me.
That’s a fate worse than death. I can handle being away from him, but I can’t handle him hating me.
Forcing out a long breath, I look up at him and say, “Let’s go take a shower. I’m tired, too.”
Lane nods, wincing when he stands. Even though I’ve told him not to walk so he can heal, he hasn’t, so for the past week, I’ve had to bandage his feet because he keeps opening his scabs.
We head to the bathroom, and I undress Lane, cataloging every inch of his skin. I have plenty drawings of him, but they can never touch the real thing.
Carefully, he steps into the shower and under the spray. Faint red stains appear, and I narrow my eyes at him. He has the decency to look chastened. “I’ll be better tomorrow, Daddy. You’re off, right? I’ll stay in bed with you.”
A fissure runs through my heart as I pull him in for a hug, wrapping my arms tightly around him. Lane smiles against my chest, holding on to me just as tightly.
“Baby boy, I need to tell you something. Promise you’ll hear me out,” I say. It’s manipulative, knowing how much promises mean to Lane, but I need him to do what I ask.
He nods. “Okay. What is it?” Lane looks up at me. When he sees how serious I am, his smile drops. “What happened, Ry?”
I run a wet hand down his face, thumbing across his cheek. “The best thing I’ve ever done was lock you in my dungeon.”
His lips twitch, but the smile doesn’t bloom. “Thought it was a cell.”
“It is,” I whisper. I pull in a deep breath, steeling myself for what I’m about to say. “Lane, I’m letting you go.” When Lane only stares at me, I say, “You’re going home.”
“No,” he says simply. There’s no anger, no malice, no tears. Just a simple word that holds so much weight.
“You have to. I can’t—”
“You can’t let me go.” His voice takes on a pleading quality.
“I know you think I’ll kill again, but—”
He scoffs and wiggles out of my grasp. “This isn’t about you killing anyone, Ryell! This is about you trying to get rid of me. No. I don’t want to fucking leave.”
“You have to!” I shout back, making him jump, and I feel bad that I hurt him.
Fuck, he has my head so fucked up. I’ve never had all these feelings and emotions and other shit.
I fucking hate it. “You have to go. You look like a fucking zombie, thinking about your partner.” I spit that word out like it’s filthy.
Lane shakes his head. “No, listen. It’ll be fine.
In a few days, I’ll be better, okay? I won’t…
I won’t be sad. See?” He plasters on a wide, phony smile, pressing himself closer to me.
He looks almost deranged as he tries to prove to me he’s not miserable.
I can feel his heart thumping against my chest, and I know he can feel how much mine is racing.
The conversation wasn’t supposed to go like this. He should be happy, thrilled that he can go back to his normal life. Happy to see someone other than me, happy to tell his partner that he really was safe. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
Running a finger over his smiling lips, I shake my head. “No, Lane. You have to.”
His smile drops, and his lips tremble. “I don’t want to, Ryell.
I wanna stay with you.” Tears drip down his cheeks, mingling with the shower water.
“Don’t make me go.” He sits down on the shower bench and holds himself around the middle.
“You can’t. You can’t get rid of me. You can’t.
If you do, I’ll have no one. I need you, Ry. Please don’t.”
My heart fucking cracks in half as he breaks right before my eyes.
Kneeling in front of him, I rub his face, clearing the tears even though more water drips down on our heads. “It’s okay, baby boy. Don’t cry. I won’t—”
Grabbing my wrist in a hard grip, Lane’s gaze bores into mine, and he hisses almost desperately, “Promise you won’t send me away. Fucking promise, Daddy.”
I frown, hating that he’s trying to trap me. He remembers I told him I wouldn’t break another promise, so if I utter the words, he’ll hold me to them.
But like Jacob said, promises mean nothing to me. Lane will get over it when I let him go. Even if it takes him a few months or even years, he will. He has to.
Even though I hate lying to him, I nod and say, “Okay, yeah. I promise.”
Lane sighs and sobs for a moment, placing his head on my shoulder. I pull him in, rubbing his back in gentle circles. I’ll comfort him now for the last time, but he’ll have to do it on his own when he’s free.
Fuck, I hate that I’ll hurt my boy. I hate that I’ll have to break his heart, but I don’t have a choice. Lane will just sink deeper into depression, and no matter how hard I try to make it better, he’ll wither before my eyes.
When he lifts his head, I give him a soft smile. “Let me wash you. Then we can eat dinner and go to bed.”
Lane nods, and I pull him to his feet. They’re still bleeding, and he hisses, but that doesn’t stop him from stepping closer to me.
After I clean him, I help Lane out of the shower and wrap his feet in bandages again. I give him a reproachful look, and he shoots me a shaky smile.
Scooping him in my arms, I carry him to my bed and lay him down, using a pillow to prop his feet up. I sit down beside him and push his damp hair from his face. “You hungry?” Lane nods, his eyes drooping. “Take a nap, sweet boy. I’ll get you some food, and I’ll feed you, okay?”
He sighs happily. “Thank you, Daddy.”
I kiss his forehead, my lips lingering against his skin.
Leaving the room, I go downstairs, and instead of going to the kitchen, I enter my office and beeline to my desk. Opening the bottom drawer, I remove the false bottom and pull out a syringe of tranquilizer. My heart thumps hard, sadness blanketing me at what I have to do.
When I return to the bedroom, Lane is lying on his side, his knees pulled close to his chest. I take a few moments to admire his beauty, but if I wait too long, I’ll change my mind.
I stride over to the bed and sit beside him. Lane turns sleepy eyes on me and smiles. Before he can get a word out, I pop the cap off the syringe and stick it into his neck.
Fuck, the look on Lane’s face tears my heart out. His hand clamps on his neck, and his eyes fill with tears. “Ry…why?”
“I’m sorry, Agent,” I say, but I’m not sure he hears me, as his eyes are already closed and his breathing deepens.
Moving quickly, I dress in dark clothes, find a cap, and pull it low over my eyes.
I also slide on a pair of gloves. Then I change Lane out of his pretty panties to a pair of plain briefs, stuffing his underwear into my pocket for safekeeping.
When Lane is found, they’ll put him in a hospital gown, and someone will see the panties he’s wearing.
I don’t want them to ask him questions about what happened here or for anyone to look at him as anything other than a victim.
When he’s decent in a pair of faded sweatpants and a ripped shirt, I scoop Lane into my arms and take him downstairs. When I get to my garage, I put Lane in the back of my van, and with a heavy heart, I climb into the front seat and head out.
An hour later, I pull up into a parking garage far from my home and search for a car with dark tint for the second part of my plan.
Once I locate one—which is luckily parked in a dark corner with no cameras around—I park beside it, jimmy the lock, and open the door. It takes me only a minute to transport Lane into the front seat.
Before I drive off, I lean over to Lane’s sleeping form and kiss him gently on the lips. “I’m sorry, sweet boy. But you’ll thank me in the future.” I kiss him once more on the forehead, then drag his seatbelt across his chest, back out of the space, and head to a hospital a few cities away.
An hour and a half later, I pull up to the emergency room entrance and put the car in park. I run around the hood of the car, take Lane out, and leave him in front of the doors.
Even though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, I get back in the stolen car and drive away. As I look into the rearview mirror, several nurses run out of the building toward Lane, and one of them races after my car.
But I put my foot on the gas and speed away, trying to push thoughts of Lane from my mind.
I fail miserably.