Chapter 3
BELL
I spend the first couple of hours at Kit’s helping him and Libi clean up the mess Rhonda made. I didn’t want to ask any more about what happened with Libi around, but now that she’s finally sound asleep, I’m about to find out what in Satan’s fiery hell I walked into here.
Stepping into the lush kitchen with the same warm rustic vibe as the living room, I find Kit at the sink, washing a few dishes, this time wearing shorts and a tank like he’s about to hit the gym.
My eyes flick briefly to the muted TV on the wall with more headlines about The Seduction Slayer flashing across the screen.
They make it sound like a bloody vampire slayer or something. Like what’s wrong with the Siren Stalker, or the Goth Widow? Or even the Kiss of Death Killer?
I roll my eyes at myself for even caring about that shit, and drag my attention back to Kit, and the red belly black snake ink winding from under the strap of his tank to coil up the back of his neck.
Shit. I didn’t notice that earlier.
Hell’s bells, get your head out of the gutter, woman!
“I’ve come to collect my thank you.” I force myself to speak as I approach the black stone island bench between us.
Kit’s head whips over his shoulder like I scared him, some of the water sloshing over the sink to trickle to the floor.
“Fucking hell, Bell. I know you don’t have a fucking soul, but could you not walk around here like a fucking ghost? Make some damn noise when you enter a room.”
I hitch a brow. “Sure, Kitty. I can do that.”
He rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the soapy water, reaching in and pulling the plug out before shaking the suds off his hands and drying them with a hand towel.
“Don’t you have staff for that?” I nod my head towards the sink as he turns, and he shrugs.
“Gave them the night off since Satan was going to be here. They don’t get paid enough to deal with her shit too.” He leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. “So, how exactly do you want me to thank you?”
The way his brow quirks has me chewing the inside of my mouth to stop the smile that wants to appear.
I’ve already smiled twice since arriving. That’s enough for one day.
“Tell me what the hell happened with Rhonda. Why was she even here?”
His auburn brow lowers, and he pushes off the bench. “Not really your business, Belladonna.”
“Of course. I should’ve known you were too much of a pussy to be honest with me.” I roll my eyes and spin on my heel, heading for the door.
I only make it a few steps before a firm hand grips my arm and spins me around to come face to face with the top of Kit’s heaving chest.
I forgot how tall he is. Or at least, how tall he is compared to my nearly five ten height. He’d be at least six five. Maybe six six.
“You don’t know shit about me, Bellicent.”
My brows hitch, and for a moment I’m certain I stop breathing.
He said… my real name. The name only my mother used.
I part my lips to speak, but no words form, and he doesn’t miss a beat, a smirk kicking up his lips that shouldn’t look as tempting as they do framed by the dark auburn speckled stubble dusting his jaw, chin, and upper lip.
“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”
“I don’t know, Kitty Kat… do you?” I ask quietly, and his grip loosens on my arm, but he doesn’t step away, his searing hand remaining in place.
For a long moment, he just stares at me, and usually I’m good at reading people, but right now, I can’t tell what’s going through his head.
Then, his gaze flicks to my lips, and I swear time slows, and then completely stops.
Kiss me…
Wait!
Fuck!
No!
I take a step back, wrenching my arm from his grip.
“Why did your ex-wife trash the living room?” I snap, and he sighs, his shoulders dropping in defeat as he steps away, putting what feels like worlds of space between us.
“I agreed to let her come over so Libi could give her the Christmas gift she made her.” Kit sighs, raking his hand through his hair, making some of the strands stick straight up.
“Libs had been hounding me for weeks, and fuck, I thought I’d better get it over and done with so she would stop fucking bugging me about it.
Then at least we could forget about her bitch of a mother and enjoy Christmas in peace.
” He huffs out a breath, turning away from me to brace the bench and drop his head like he’s exhausted.
All I can see is the way his muscles coil.
Fuck me. What is wrong with me tonight?
“Took me long enough to get that cunt of a woman to show her face. I had to bribe her with twenty K just to come and see her kid for Christmas. Should’ve known she’d ask for more as soon as she stepped foot inside again.
” He shakes his head before lifting it and turning back to face me.
“I should’ve lied to Libs and told her Rhonda was out of the country or something. ”
“So why did she go off? Was it just about the money?” I ask, and Kit’s jaw ticks, clearly still frustrated with what happened.
“Rhonda is always money driven. She snorts most of it up her fucking nose. But the other thing that riles that woman up is how different our daughter is.” Anger flares across his expression as he shakes his head.
“Libi gave Rhonda the gift she made at school. She painted her a Christmas tree. The tree she really wants more than anything, thinking her mum would like it too.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask confused, and Kit growls.
“Rhonda didn’t fucking like it.”
I frown. “Why?”
For a long moment, Kit just stares at me like he’s trying to figure out what to do, then he sighs again, moving to the drawer and pulling out pieces of torn paper.
He starts laying them out on the counter, piecing them together like a puzzle, and my brows shoot up as a painted Christmas tree starts to form.
It’s no ordinary Christmas tree though, and my eyes meet Kit’s as he steps back after putting the last piece into place.
“She told her mother that this is the tree she wants, and that she has these cute little skeletons and skulls to hang on it.” He shrugs. “I guess this was just another thing Rhonda can’t stand about her own daughter.”
“All of that over Libi wanting a black Christmas tree? With skulls?”
Kit nods again.
“Can I kill her?” I deadpan, and his lips kick up as he chuckles.
“She’s not worth it.”
“I disagree.” I want to add that any mother that squeezes their child’s wrist like I saw deserves to have their hands cut off, but then I’ll have to explain that I witnessed more than I’m letting on, and while I’m typically honest, I do know that withholding information is sometimes necessary. “I’ll drag it out if you like.”
His eyes narrow as he stares at me. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”
“Have you known me to joke?”
“No, never.”
“Well. There’s your answer.” I shrug.
“So you did it then?” he asks, turning away and moving to the fridge.
“Did what?”
“Became the serial killer everyone expected you to be,” he states, so matter-of-factly as he opens the fridge and reaches in, snagging two cans of beer.
“What would you say if I said yes, that’s exactly what I became?”
Straightening, his head darts over his shoulder, some auburn strands falling in his eyes again, which must annoy him, because he bats them away.
“I think I should ask if I’m your next victim?”
“Depends.”
“On what?” His voice rises like he’s actually worried.
“If you’ve done something worth being killed for.”
His lips kick up. “Who decides what’s worth it and what isn’t?”
“Well me. Duh.” I roll my eyes. “I’m the killer.”
He throws his head back laughing, and again, I fight the urge to smile.
What the hell…
“This is a weird fucking conversation.” He strides towards me holding out one of the beers.
“Pass,” I say, shaking my head, and he frowns.
“I don’t have harder stuff than beer in my home,” he states almost angrily, like I’m the one doing something wrong.
I suppose the me three years ago would have already had a few lines of coke by now.
“I’m sober. No drugs or alcohol for me,” I admit, like it’s no big deal, but by the way his brows shoot up, I know he’s going to make it a big deal.
“Bell… that’s fucking amazing.” He moves back to the fridge, and I hold my hand up to stop him.
“Let’s not make a big thing about it.”
He puts both cans of beer back in the fridge and turns to face me. “Why the fuck not? It is a big thing. A huge fucking thing. How long have you been sober?”
I shrug, feeling awkward, the sensation unfamiliar to me. “A while.”
“Hey.” He steps up to me, both hands gripping my upper arms, his blue gaze locking with mine, and I stiffen, waiting for the urge to flee that normally comes when people crowd me.
“I know you know the exact day count, Bell. One of my mates is sober too. When I saw him a few days ago, he was on day four hundred and thirty-seven. What’s yours? ”
I don’t know why this is a big deal. Not for him, but for me. It’s like the words refuse to come, because the only people I ever say my day count to are myself, my therapist, my sponsor, and in group meetings. I don’t even tell Tillie, and she never asks.
“Please tell me,” Kit urges, and I frown.
“Why? So you can use it against me?” I snarl, and he quickly frowns.
“The fuck,” he snaps, and I think he’s going to shove away from me, but his hold only gets tighter. “I would never ever do that. Not for something so important. I may be a prick of a person at times, but with this, I will never dishonour it.”
My heart is racing. I don’t know why it feels like it’s ready to steam train out of my chest, but it sure feels ready to take off at any second.
Another sensation washes over me, and I feel a sense of safety and peace here in this moment, so I hardly notice when my lips part and I speak.
“Nine hundred and nineteen days.”
His lips part this time, and then they slowly spread wider until his face is engulfed in his smile.
“Nine hundred and fucking nineteen days?”
I nod, and he scoops me up, spinning me around while he laughs.
“Nine hundred and nineteen!” he cheers, and I’m certain he’s lost his mind.
In the seven years I’ve known him, never once have we touched this much, let alone had more than five sentences said to each other, and when we did speak, the words weren’t very pleasant.
For a beat, I feel light, and a little giddy, which is strange, because I usually only feel that way when I’m high on drugs, or from a fresh kill.
And then, of course, there’s the few times where I’ve lingered on the edge of life while having my air cut off during sex.
That’s one high I haven’t had in a while.
My feet land on the floor again as Kit puts me down, and we stumble back from each other.
His smile is still huge, and I can’t help but smirk, watching him take me in.
“Damn. You’re so different.”
“Stop looking at me like that,” I deadpan, trying to get this interaction back on track.
The track being he despises me and we butt heads.
“Stop looking at you like what?” he asks, and I shrug, knowing all I can do is be honest.
“Like you want to fuck me.” I cross my arms over my chest, and his eyes drop to my cleavage.
“I do want to fuck you,” he states without a lick of shame, and I scoff.
“You hate me.”
“Exactly.” His blue eyes flick back to mine. “It’s called hate fucking. Probably the best fuck you’ll ever have.”
I roll my eyes. “You must enjoy hate fucking Rhonda then.” I point out, and he cringes, his face screwing up as he shakes his head.
“Fuck no. If I stick my cock in her, it will drop off.” He shudders. “In fact, I’d rather become a eunuch.”
A laugh bursts from me, and I slap my hand over my mouth as we both stare at each other in shock.
“What the fuck is happening?” he asks. “You just laughed. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you make that sound before.”
“Uhhhh. Same.” I deadpan, frowning at myself as my hand falls away from my lips. “Maybe I need to go to a meeting.”
“Fuck that.” Kit shakes his head quickly. “Do you feel like you need a drink right now?”
I shake my head at Kit’s question.
“Then why would you need to go to a meeting?” he asks. “Come up to my room, I’ll make you feel better.”