Chapter 29 – Lily
LILY
Somewhere between the art museum and Amara’s party, I must have fallen and hit my head, because I just awoke in Aster Blake’s bed, sans clothes. It seems I was charmed by the bourbon spitting and the Grim Reaper costume and his stupid, incessant need for protecting me.
He murdered someone to keep me safe, and instead of calling the police or booking him a one-way ticket to a grippy sock vacation, I fucked the man!
I really need to reconsider my methods of Karma punishment, because orgasm should not be one of them.
A throaty little groan leaves his lips as he rolls over, putting an arm around my waist, tugging me close to his warm chest. And I hate myself for loving it.
For indulging in the way my body molds into his.
It’s the first time in months I’ve truly felt safe.
Which is a bit ironic, considering how dangerous he is.
He would never hurt you.
“If you could stop freaking out about this, I would really enjoy another ten minutes of snuggling,” Aster rasps out while brushing a lock of hair off my shoulder, and I choke on a laugh. Did he just say snuggling?
I spin in his arms until we’re face to face. “I’m not freaking out.”
“Aw.” He boops my nose. “You’re very cute when you lie.”
My brows furrow. “I’m an excellent liar.”
“Maybe.” He brushes another hair out of my face, and I lean into his touch. “To someone who hasn’t spent the last month memorizing you.”
“Coming on a little strong there, Grim,” I tease, trying to ignore the way every word he says does something funny to my insides.
“You fell for me first.” His brow cocks as he drags his thumb along my bottom lip, and I struggle to breathe.
“I fell out of a tree.”
“For me,” he says with a smirk that causes me to clench my thighs.
“You could have at least caught me.”
“Don’t worry. I’d never make that mistake twice.” His eyes fall to my lips, then wander back to mine. “Are you making me pretend last night didn’t happen, or can I kiss you again?”
“Only if you promise not to fall in love with me.”
“Sorry, baby.” He grips my hips, and I squeal in laughter as he tugs me on top of him to a straddle position.
“I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” My stomach somersaults as he grips my jaw and tugs me towards him.
A full-toothed smile fights its way across my face.
Then our lips meet, and I melt into him once more.
The grooves of our bodies blend like puzzle pieces.
Heat pools between my thighs, and after a moment too brief, he rolls us so he’s on top, presses one last kiss to my mouth, then crawls off the bed.
“Where are you going?” My lips are swollen, tingling, and already aching for more. Am I… missing him?
He winks, tugging on a pair of athletic shorts, and I watch shamelessly in admiration. “I’m gonna grab us some coffee. Feel free to snoop in case you missed something the first time around.”
“Aster!” I squeal, chucking a pillow at him, but he’s out the door.
After convincing myself not to masturbate in his bed, although I’m sure he’d be delighted by that idea, I drag myself off the mattress, pad over to his dresser, and borrow a vintage band tee. It’s perfectly oversized and so damn cozy.
Nothing has changed since the first time I was here.
Same photos on the walls, same addictive smell.
I venture across the hall to the art room, finding a new gnome atop his workstation.
On the wall, there are a few more frames I didn’t notice before.
One containing a twenty-something Aster in a graduation gown, with a younger girl and a guy around his age.
“Here you go,” Aster says, walking in the room. His eyes fall to the picture as I grab my coffee.
“Who are they?” I ask before taking a sip.
It’s delicious and exactly how I like it.
It should scare me that he knows so much about me, yet my knowledge on his personal life is scarce.
But maybe it’s because I’ve been so focused on Grim instead of Aster.
Meanwhile, he’s been focused on Lily instead of Karma. Guilt settles inside me.
“My siblings,” he replies in a tone I can’t decipher.
I rub my thumb over the frame. “Are you close?”
A silence passes between us, and I glance his way, worried I’ve already overstepped. His gaze is distant, still focused on the photo. “We were.”
“What happened?”
His eyes meet mine. “My brother was killed.”
My lips part, and it’s a semi-truck to the chest. Is that why I feel such a connection to him? Two grieving souls just trying to right the wrongs of the world. “I’m so sorry.”
“My sister and I… we try to stay in touch, but it’s hard, you know?”
I nod. “I do.”
“Do you have any siblings?” he asks, seemingly trying to swap the topic of conversation off him. “Besides Detective Dick, I mean?”
I snort, rolling my eyes as I take a sip of coffee. “Nope, just Liam.” I swallow hard. “Violet, my best friend, who, um, died, she was like a sister though.” My eyes return to the photo. “I mean, I know it’s not the same as losing a real sibling, but—”
“It hurts all the same,” he says, and I nod. “How long had you known each other?”
Had. Past tense. It’s been almost a year, and I’m still hardly used to referring to Violet as a “was” rather than an “is.”
“Since we were seven,” I finally force out.
He sets his mug down, plucking mine out of my hands and doing the same. Then he pulls me to him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
“At the art gala, in the hallway, you said I killed her. Violet.”
I shake my head. “I realize now that couldn’t have been you.”
“She was a victim of the Kodak Killer?” he asks, and the black hole that surrounds my heart trembles, threatening to swallow me whole.
“Yes,” I say quietly, and he reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.
“We’re going to find him.”
I place my hand on his, squeezing. “I hope so.”
“We will,” he assures me, and in an effort to avoid diving into the darkness of my grief, I step away to continue admiring his space.
Passing a wall of gnomes, I pause and gesture towards them. “Is there an explanation for this?”
He huffs a laugh over the brim of his mug. “I need an explanation to paint?”
“I’ve just never seen so many in one room before… seems like there’s a story somewhere in there.”
“I’ll give you a hint,” he says, picking one up. “There’s one hundred and eight of them.”
I blink. I blink again. “One for each of your victims.” He angles a gnome holding a plate of hot dogs towards me and taps his fingers on a small roman numeral: XLV. Forty-five. “You number them?”
“It’s how I keep track.”
“Of all the people you’ve killed?” I repeat in disbelief.
“Yep.” He returns the cute figurine to the shelf as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
My eyes bounce around at the adorable, morbid little trophies. “That is certifiably insane.”
“Luckily, I’ve never been tested,” he says, with a wink, grabbing the hem of my shirt and tugging me towards him, eyes wandering my body. “You know, I was going to recommend we go through evidence today, but seeing you wear my clothes has me a bit distracted.”
“I’d take them off, but I fear that would only amplify the problem.”
“Then maybe we should get that out of the way first.” He leans in, capturing me in an intoxicating kiss, and for the second time, I end up in Aster Blake’s bed, sans clothes.
I’m freshly showered. Freshly fucked. And ready to solve this goddamn mystery.
I assess Aster’s murder board, truly taking it in without rushing. There are at least twenty suspects, and my gaze snags on a familiar face, heart stopping. “Why the hell is there a photo of my brother on here?”
“These are just suspects, babe,” he says, and I try and fail to ignore how easily the pet name rolls off his tongue and how much I like it.
“Okay…” I walk closer to read a paper pinned near Liam’s picture with our license plate written on it. “And why is he suspected?”
“Well, firstly, I added him because I thought he was stalking me.”
“Yes, but you know now it was me investigating you. So can’t we take him off?”
“He’s also the detective most often on the cases for the Kodak Killer.”
“And you’re the journalist most often writing the articles for the Kodak Killer,” I point out with a cocked brow.
He narrows his eyes on me. “Which is why you suspected me, is it not?” I huff a sigh. “Exactly.” He turns back to the board. “Liam also doesn’t like me… or reporters generally, for that matter.”
I scoff. “So you suspect him because he doesn’t kiss your ass like everyone else does?”
“Hey.” His eyes narrow. “Why so hostile, baby?”
“Maybe because my brother is on your murder board?”
“We have to consider all possible suspects so we can weed out the innocents.” He takes a few new photos, pinning them to the wall. They include Jude and Isla Westerford and Frederick Vetrel.
“Vetrel is dead, or have you forgotten?”
“Which is why I’m adding him. He is—was—a super sketchy guy. If there’s not another victim soon, it’s possible it was him.” He points to the Westerfords. “I think this is self-explanatory. The last victim died at their house.”
“Yeah, but they were in the auction room when we left.”
“Just being thorough. In the Blake household, you’re guilty until proven innocent.”
“Do you at least make sure people are guilty before you kill them?” I ask, brow cocked.
He glances at me. “Of course. Either I vet them or my associate does.”
“Your associate?” My head tilts to the side. “What the hell does that even mean? Sounds very John Wick.”
“Let’s just say it’s someone who wants to rid the world of toxicity as much as I do.”
My curiosity is piqued. “Do they pay you?”
“Would it matter if they did?”
“I mean…” Murder for hire is a bit different than murder for fun. “It might.”
His brows pull together. “Why?”
“Because that would make you a contract killer, not a serial killer.”
“What can I say?” He huffs a laugh. “I’m a man with range.”
“Aren’t you ever concerned about taking hits that someone else gives you?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’ve been working with them for years. They want the same thing as me.”
“And what’s that?”
“To rid this world of all the people that are destroying it.”
“Heavy burden to bear,” I say, chest squeezing, and his eyes meet mine.
“No heavier than yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your job is literally to balance the cosmic forces of the world.”
My eyes fall to the ground. “A lot of good I’m doing, poisoning douche bags with laxatives and knocking out the occasional asshole.”
“It’s all important,” Aster assures me, tipping my chin until my gaze meets his.
“As much as the world needs to be rid of horrible people, normal people also need to feel satisfaction that their problems matter. That karma is being given to those who wronged them. It’s not our place to make someone feel like their problems are inferior.
” He drags a hand through my hair. “You give people hope that the world isn’t just out to get them. ”
“That there’s a balance,” I add, allowing his words to sink in and wrap around me like a warm hug.
“Exactly.” Aster nods, pleased, then returns to the board. “So how are we going to balance this one, Karma baby?”
Following his line of sight, my eyes bounce around the various photos.
“I guess the first step is narrowing the suspect pool?” Aster walks over and flips the board.
On the back of it is a map of Cleosville, with the photos the Kodak Killer shared of every victim.
My eyes wander the map, immediately landing on where 23rd and 42nd Street connect. Where the photo of Violet was taken.
I’ve seen it so many times, but my stomach still churns at the sight of my best friend, eyes vacant of life. I wonder what she was thinking in her last moments. Was she scared? Did it hurt? Of course it hurt. The amount of blood surrounding her, that couldn’t have felt good.
My fingers run over the photo. “I miss her,” I whisper.
Aster follows my line of sight. “Do you have a picture of Violet on your phone?”
His question catches me off guard. “Yes, of course.” He takes the device, and a few minutes later, there’s a photo printed of her smiling and full of life.
It makes my chest squeeze. She should still be like that.
Not six feet under, God knows where, no one even able to visit her grave.
Doesn’t feel the same visiting a tombstone that doesn’t have a body beneath it.
Our home feels more like a memorial than that gravesite ever has.
He sticks the new headshot over the one from Kodak, and I send him a grateful smile.
“All the photos were taken within this radius,” Aster says, grabbing a red marker and drawing a large circle on the map. “And before, I’d assumed the killer lived somewhere in this area.” He points to the center. To our neighborhood.
“Are you telling me this entire time I’ve been searching, they were that close?”
“Not necessarily.” He points to a green spot on the map far outside the circle, then draws a big X. “We know Karolyn Heinzel was killed at the Westerford mansion during the art auction.”
“Which makes the ideology that the murders happened in the city null and void,” I say, catching on. “So we still have no freaking clue.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic.” He winks. “In journalism we’re taught to exhaust all possible leads before killing a story.” He flips the board back around, gesturing to the suspects’ photos. “And we’ve still got plenty.”
I force away the hopelessness. “Then where do you suggest we start, Sherlock?”
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the movement sexy and so damn irresistible. That charm increases tenfold when he grins at me with a brow cocked and points at the Westerford estate. “Have you forgotten we have a date this week, love?”
My cheeks flame. “I fear I can’t deny it’s a date now that we’ve slept together.”
“No, you cannot,” he replies smugly. “So, let’s start with the Westerfords. There was at least one murder committed there, and we want to search the house anyways. Maybe we’ll get lucky and a second victim will drop so we can follow them this time.”
“You and I have very different definitions of luck if you consider someone dying a positive thing.”
“Maybe we’ll be super lucky and it’ll be Jude.” His eyes brighten, way too pleased with the idea.
“In that situation, are you the one dropping the body?”
“Of course not.” He grabs my hand, pulling me to him. “I never murder on the first date.”
A choked laugh escapes me. “Well, that’s reassuring.”
“That’s more of a fifth date type of activity.” He runs a thumb over my bottom lip. “Wouldn’t want you thinking I’m easy.”