Page 1 of Kiss Me Honey Honey (To Love a Psycho #2)

Prologue

Kiss Me Honey Honey

Sitting in the shadows at the back of the bar, he nursed a glass of water he had no intention of drinking. He wouldn’t drink anything he hadn’t prepared himself. Lesson learned and ingrained. Thank you very much for that survival tip. Scanning the crowd, he lingered here and there. Observing . Couples laughed. Eyes bright with a youthful naivety age would soon erode. And they slanted toward each other. Familiar. Intimate . Completely unaware of the forces that could take it all away in an instant.

He despised them all.

Especially the innocent ones.

With their smiles blinding, and voices a cacophony of adolescent hopefulness, they irritated the fuck out of him. Every smile. Every touch. Every moment of carelessness clawed at him. They were too trusting. Too willing to throw themselves into the arms of someone they’d only just met, chasing the fleeting thrill of connection. Didn’t they know? Couldn’t they see? The world wasn’t safe. It was a stage of masks and lies, where monsters walked among them unnoticed.

Tonight, he would remind them of that .

Call it a national service, if you will.

The dim lights painted the bar in swirling hues of purple and blue, giving the crowd an almost dreamlike quality. He savoured the mayhem. The mingling of bodies. And the thrum of the bass vibrating through the walls, aiding their careless abandon. It was intoxicating. Not for what it was, but for what it could become. For him. And for one lucky chosen one.

A single kiss would change everything.

As they so often did.

Swiping his tongue along the scars running over his bottom lip, he had the usual stark reminder of the incident that had caused it and how it hadn’t healed properly, creating the deformity that made people flinch before they saw anything else. It was his fault, of course. Because he too, once, long ago, had been just as trusting. Just as susceptible to a pretty face. He’d soon learned, though. Been taught the error of his ways. Giving in to temptation was a disease. A weakness. The ultimate deficiency in mankind. And his punishment for having been so gullible was now a permanent fixture on his face that no one would ever look beyond.

Those scars made him undesirable. And, luckily now, invisible to those searching for a potential match. He used that to his advantage, teaching all those other ignorant delinquents a lesson in vanity.

He hated them. With their selfies. Their pouts. Their filters. And how they would all post their perfect images for all to admire. Gaining followers and admirers as if they were a stamp collection.

How very vain .

He hated them more than he hated the one who had done this to him . But not being able to exact revenge on her , he had to make do with anyone who looked like her. Acted like her. Then one day he could use what he’d tried and tested and have her pay the ultimate price .

But for now, he had to practice. Hone his craft. And who better to do that on than those who thought they were invincible? It was proof to the world to stay vigilant. To keep teaching that stranger danger. Not everyone clicking like on a pretty profile picture is a friend .

So he glanced around the bar, searching for the perfect test subject among the many. He despised how they all seemed to crave what he’d never have. What had been taken away from him before he’d even understood what she erased from his life. Affection. Love . It wasn’t jealousy, or a sense of rejection, leading him to this . He didn’t want to be them. Vying for attention. Clawing to be noticed. Love me, love me. That was all so…crass. What he created was his own form of intimacy. One he orchestrated. Where he decided who was the giver and who was the taker. So many gave in to a kiss with a stranger. Stupid and unwitting. Vulnerable . And they were stupid for it.

His kiss would be the last one they ever had. And it wouldn’t be the likes of any Disney fairytale. He could be certain on that, at least.

Across the room, a girl laughed, her blonde hair catching the light as she tipped her head back. She was the perfect candidate. Bright-eyed, eager to please, with a smile begging for attention. She nodded as her friends spoke, but she didn’t belong. He could tell. Her laughter was too loud, her gestures too deliberate. She was trying too hard.

A fake.

He knew her type. She was like the others. Desperate for validation. For someone to see her. To choose her.

Tonight, he would.

Tonight, she belonged to him.

He fingered the small, unassuming tube of balm in his pocket. The formula was his own concoction, carefully crafted, perfected over the years. One bonus to being a recluse was gaining a thirst for knowledge, throwing himself into books and science. Shutting himself off from people had allowed him to develop the left side of his brain, discarding the need for the hypothalamus. Because he had no use for people and their messy hormones. Dopamine, oxytocin, vasopressin, they were all unpredictable . Science…science was logic and reason. And he’d learned, through trial and error as a scientist does, how much toxin to mix to ensure lethality without instantly giving him away. It was a skill. One he’d refined. A precise art. Should he release this into the world, he’d be considered a genius. But he had no need, want, or desire for accolade or status. What he had a thirst for was this . Staying in the shadows. Watching his experiments as if they were lab rats.

He loved this part.

Pushing up from the table, his pulse raced, something it only did in these moments. And he weaved through the crowd, making himself unremarkable. He knew the right way to approach. Sudden but not too forceful, charming without seeming too interested. The way it had worked on him. Although, he’d been a mere child then. Lured by sweets and treats. This wasn’t much different. Sweets and treats now made way for sex as the ultimate in adult temptation.

Her friends were engaged in their own conversations, unaware of his presence, and, indeed, hers, and that suited him fine. He wouldn’t have chosen her if he believed there would be a threat of others intervening. Like when he had been lured from the playground, his friends hadn’t noticed his absence for hours. She was just as invisible in her friendship group as he was to them and the entire world. Because she might be pretty, but she wasn’t pretty enough . Might be slim, but she wasn’t slim enough . Her personality might shine, but that meant nothing when under dimmed lights and drowned out by loud music. She was the one within the group who often felt out of place. Where did she fit?

Right here with him .

The girl looked up as he advanced into her space, eyes holding a hint of curiosity and, more importantly, none of the suspicion that would make his job difficult.

“I believe this is for you?” he said, dipping closer so she could hear him over the music and he held out a single red rose.

She blinked, taken aback. As everyone always was when he spoke to them in this calm, confident manner. Because he was hideous. Deformed. Wasn’t the usual type of man who would be so brazen as to approach a beautiful woman. But after a while, because he knew them so well by now, she, like the others before her, would conclude he was non-threatening enough to engage in conversation at least. As she was on the periphery of her group of friends, she welcomed the distraction from feeling out of the loop. And she had the upper hand here, because she was way out of his league. She wouldn’t get her heart ripped out by someone who looked like him .

Perish the thought.

No one would believe someone so deformed had wooed her.

So with a confidence unwarranted, she smiled back, polite and easy. Nothing but companionship. That’s what university was for, right? To meet new people. And she was proving she was inclusive . Wasn’t put off by how he looked. What did they call it? Ah, yes. Woke.

“Oh.” She took the rose because she was polite.

He focused on the moment that was coming. Her moment. Her final act elevating her status from cast aside to the Next Big Thing . He watched her lips as she spoke, unscarred, perfect, and his blood boiled. Thunderous rage coursed through him. He wanted to tear them apart. Bite right through them. Cause irreparable damage. The way she had done to him.

Because he couldn’t ever kiss them. Not properly.

She’d never let him.

So he had to do this .

He edged closer, one hand still on the plastic of the rose sleeve, allowing her to tug out the flower. Then he angled his face just right, letting his lips meet hers. It was nothing more than a fleeting act. But he lingered a fraction longer, enough for the balm to transfer. To stick. On him, it was as harmless as water. But with the heat of another’s skin, the toxin would absorb through pores, seep into bloodstreams, and get to work.

She pulled back, as he knew she would, looking at him with mild surprise, perhaps a hint of confusion. Repulsion, too. But no suspicion. What was there to be suspicious about? He was just a disfigured man wanting to be loved. And she was too polite for her own good.

“I’m sorry but…”

He held up his hand to stave off the unnecessary rejection. Because it was unnecessary. He wasn’t asking for anything more from her. He’d see her again, of course. In a different place. A different way. And he couldn’t wait . She would be magnificent!

So without another word, he stepped away, slipping into the crowd, leaving her to return to her friends where she might be more comfortable but was less seen. As soon as she licked her lips, the toxin would enter her bloodstream and she will shine!

She’d feel a faint headache, a hint of light-headedness, but she’d write it off as just another bad drink choice. Then it would deepen, numbing her muscles, slowing her heart, quieting every nerve until she fell gently, almost peacefully, into darkness.

He shivered with delight. If only he could be there when it happened.

But he knew his limits. He’d tested this many, many times. Don’t get too bold. That’s what he’d learned. Because as soon as he became too at ease with this, he’d get sloppy. And he couldn’t be sloppy! No. He had to be perfect . Because incompetence meant it would all stop.

He never wanted to stop.

Couldn’t .

Because he wanted to reign supreme. Prove he had won. That he was better than her . She hadn’t ruined him completely. He’d just found another way to live and his revenge was being far superior in her domain. If he couldn’t get to her, then he would show her.

One way or another.

But for now, he returned to his shadowed corner, lips tingling, and took out the moistened wipe from the packet in his pocket to wash away the remnants of balm. Not a drop could touch his tongue even if he’d developed an immunity. Then he watched from afar as she once again tried to ingratiate herself into the throng, her last night bright with oblivion. Satisfaction settled over him. The grim contentment of a job well done. She hadn’t wiped her lips, as other might have. He knew she wouldn’t. She had far too much lip gloss to ruin. Vanity is everything.

The world should learn—kisses were deadly . They caused rack and ruin.

Only the most cautious would survive.

And the ugliest.

So, for now, he sat back to toast his next victim. She was just another in a long line of those who deserved what they got because they gave in to temptation.

A lesson for us all there, I think.