Page 19 of Kiss Me Honey Honey (To Love a Psycho #2)

Chapter eightee n

I Think I’m Paranoid

What Aaron should have done after Kenny dressed and left for Ryston Police HQ to give his statement was simple: go back to his room. Get his shit together. Head to his Tuesday lectures like a normal student. Do his reading. Lose himself in library silence. Grab coffee with Mel and talk about nothing that mattered. Just be a regular second-year trying to survive university life.

Instead, he stood across the road from Taylor’s house, hood up, shadowed by the dull grey sky, waiting. The police car parked outside confirmed what he already knew. Two officers were inside, undoubtedly informing Taylor about his boss’s brutal death and grilling him about the events leading up to it. Aaron stayed still, tension coiling through his body as the front door opened. The officers exited, a grim thank-you exchanged between them and someone unseen in the doorway.

Aaron hid his face until the officers climbed into their car and drove off. He watched the taillights fade into the distance before he strode across the road, anger a living thing beneath his skin, and pounded on the door with a clenched fist, each strike harder than the last .

When the door opened, it wasn’t Taylor.

Max blocked the entrance, expression dripping with disdain. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Need to see Taylor.”

“He’s not in.”

Aaron laughed, devoid of humour. “The filth here for you, then? Maybe questioning you about those party favours you like to hand out?”

Max didn’t move, arms crossing in a show of defiance. “Piss off.”

Aaron stepped closer, forcing Max to crane his neck to maintain the glare. “Move.”

“No.”

Aaron shifted, leaning in, their noses nearly touching. “When I’m not pumped full of whatever shit you’ve slipped into my drinks, I can be fucking terrifying. Want me to prove it?”

Without giving time for Max to respond, Aaron darted his hand down, grabbing Max’s groin in a sharp grip. The thin material of Max’s joggers and the absence of underwear made it all too easy for Aaron to feel him shrink. Not even a palm full. Poor bloke.

“Here’s the thing.” Aaron kept his tone dangerously low. “If you don’t move, I’ll pull. Hard. And when I’m done, you’ll be explaining to the hospital why your micro-dick’s in a jar instead of in your pants. Sound fun?”

Max’s eyes bulged, panic replacing the sneer as his arms faltered. There was a split second of hesitation, of internal struggle, before Max caved, stumbling back to give Aaron room. Aaron shoved past him, storming up the stairs two at a time. Taylor’s door was shut, but Aaron pushed it open without knocking, the slam rattling the small house.

Aaron halted at the sight inside.

Curled up on his bed in only a T-shirt and boxers as if just woken up, knees drawn to his chest, Taylor rocked back and forth like a child lost in a nightmare. His usually meticulously styled hair was a tangled mess, and his face was slick with tears, eyes swollen and streaming as if the world had finally broken him. Aaron wasn’t used to feeling empathy, especially not for a man who’d drugged him to fuck him, but the sight of Taylor right then sparked something uncomfortably close to it.

He knew that posture. That helpless retreat inward. Because he’d been there many times, years ago, in the suffocating loneliness of foster homes, his small world collapsing under confusion and fear. He knew what it felt like to be that scared. That insecure. Until the armour had hardened around him. But unlike Aaron, Taylor had never needed protection before. This was his first taste of how cold and cruel the world could be. It was just a stupid, sensational video to him. For clicks and giggles. And serial killers were sexy, right?

No. They weren’t.

Taylor’s head jerked up, bloodshot eyes wide with terror as they locked on Aaron. He scrambled back on the bed, slamming himself into the headboard as if he could sink through it.

“No!” he choked out. “Not you! Go away!”

The panic in Taylor’s voice clawed deep and uncomfortable. But Aaron forced himself to stay composed. “Too late for that.” He stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him.

“What are you going to do to me?” Taylor squealed, the words breaking apart like glass.

Aaron exhaled sharply, the sound halfway to a laugh. “Talk to you.” He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Taylor flinch as if his presence might hurt him. “Jesus, Taylor. If I was going to kill you, don’t you think I’d have done it when you were naked, desperate, and trying to crawl up my arse after I’d told you no about fifty times?”

Taylor gripped the duvet like a shield. “Fuck.” He hung his head. “Oh, my God. Did I… did I sleep with a fucking Howell ?”

Aaron cocked an eyebrow. “Think of the bragging rights. ”

“Oh, my God.” Panic overtook Taylor, and he hyperventilated.

“Jesus, Taylor, breathe.” Aaron dragged a hand down his face. “At least you can say you roofied a Howell.”

That did it. Taylor sank into the mattress like a deflated balloon. “I… it wasn’t me,” he stammered, voice cracking as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. “I swear it wasn’t me. It was Max!” He flapped a hand at the door. “He said he could get the stuff from some bloke at the uni. All it was supposed to do was make you a little sleepy, so you’d stay up here. Then when I got home…”

“You’d fuck me.”

“No!” Taylor’s voice broke as he shook his head. “No, not really. Just… so I could comfort you! Make you feel better, then maybe you’d want to. You never let me take care of you.”

“I didn’t need you to.”

Taylor’s eyes glossed over. “Now I know why.”

“Not because I’m a fucking Howell. Because I’ve been taking care of myself since I was nine years old. You think you’re the first one who’s tried that? There were others. One even succeeded. And that’s exactly why I don’t let people get too close. When you grow up being screwed over just for existing, you grow layers. You make damn sure people like Max don’t get one up on you.”

Taylor buried his face in his hands. “So… it’s true. You’re Child A.”

Aaron said nothing.

Taylor looked up, trembling, eyes filled with dread. “Did they really do it? Your parents? All those horrific things?”

Aaron shrugged. “Apparently.”

Taylor gagged, barely suppressing the urge to retch. “Did they… do stuff to you?”

“No. They kept me away from it. ”

Taylor’s fear twisted, almost accusatory. “But did you? Did you—was it you?”

Aaron frowned. “Was what me?”

“Rahul. Connie. My boss .”

“Why the fuck would I kill any of them?”

“I don’t know!” Taylor cried. “You’re a Howell!”

“So that automatically makes me a murderer?”

“I don’t know!” Taylor’s voice screeched. “Does it?”

Aaron groaned, grabbing a crumpled paper bag from one of Taylor’s Gregg’s stashes, blew into it to puff it open, and shoved it into Taylor’s hands. “Here. Breathe.”

Taylor did, reluctantly, his shaky exhales inflating and deflating the bag. Aaron sat beside him, rubbing slow circles on his back until the heaving calmed and Taylor’s trembling eased.

Taylor finally lowered the bag, his voice rasping. “Is that why you and your professor are so… close?”

Aaron deflected with a clipped, “Yeah.”

“You’re not… you’re not fucking him, are you?”

Aaron left the question hanging, his silence saying everything and nothing. Then, eventually, he had to give him something.

“What I’m telling you right now doesn’t leave this room. The only person who knows who I really am is Dr Lyons. Do you understand how dangerous it would be if this got out? For me and for anyone attached to me. I’m trusting you to keep this to yourself. Just like I’ll keep quiet about your housemate’s little pharmaceutical hobbies. Are we clear?”

Taylor gulped. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it. But…” His voice broke again. “I already told Carly.”

Aaron’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“I told her about Child A. She already knew some of it, but I gave her the rest. She was chasing the story for years, trying to piece it together. Then when I told her I knew, she got so excited. Said it was all classified and didn’t know how I found out. That’s why I did the video, okay? To impress her. You know I failed my first year. I needed this placement to go well. I didn’t know it was you !” Taylor buried his face in his hands again. “Then your professor barged in like a fucking mental case and I sorta figured it out. It made sense. You’ve been in care and you and he are all over each other. So I told her. Said it could be you.”

Aaron inhaled deeply, rage bubbling beneath his skin. “How did she even know about a Child A in the first place? Who gave her that info?”

Taylor shrugged. “Journalists don’t reveal their sources.”

Aaron stared at Taylor, grinding his teeth as his confession settled. Carly knowing about Child A was bad enough, but the missing pieces made his stomach churn with unease. She’d been given his name.

“What did the police tell you?”

Taylor hesitated, twisting his hands in his lap, eyes darting away like he was trying to escape the question. “Just that… she was found in her office. Someone broke in.”

“How did she die?”

“They didn’t give me any details.”

Aaron dropped his voice lower, more insistent. “What did they tell you?”

Guilt flashed across Taylor’s face. “Just said it looked like someone went through her stuff. That they were looking for something specific. They asked me what I was working on with her. If I knew anyone who might want to get to her. I told her about your professor attacking me yesterday.”

Aaron’s stomach dropped. “Her files on Child A. Were they taken?”

Taylor’s head snapped up, his face pale. “I… I don’t know. Maybe? I think so. They didn’t tell me that, but why would someone—?” He stopped, voice catching. “Oh, my God. Do you think…? ”

Aaron stood, pacing the room as his mind spun. His thoughts felt like jagged shards, too sharp to piece together. Carly’s files were gone. Files that included everything Taylor had told her. Perhaps even his name. And everything she’d dug up over the years. Now they were out there, in the hands of someone willing to kill to get them.

He turned to Taylor. “Who else knew she had those files?”

Taylor shook his head vehemently, tears spilling freely now. “No one! I swear! I didn’t tell anyone else. It was just her, and now…” His voice cracked. “You don’t think someone’s… someone’s after you, do you?”

Aaron let out a humourless laugh, cocking his head with a biting edge of sarcasm. “What? After that sick video you posted? Where you point the spotlight on Child A as the mastermind behind the murders? Yeah, I’m sure no one’s connecting those dots.” He raised an eyebrow, tone cutting. “The public’s known for their calm, reasonable nature, right? Definitely no pitchfork-wielding vigilantes out there with nothing better to do than hunt down someone they think is a killer in their neighbourhood.”

Taylor crumbled under Aaron’s words, but Aaron didn’t let up. His anger, his fear, needed somewhere to go, and right now, Taylor was an easy target.

“Fuck!” Aaron scrubbed a hand down his face as his heart pounded so loudly it drowned everything else out.

The icy dread gripping his chest told him those files weren’t just a loose thread—they were a noose tightening around his neck. If whoever took them had any idea what they were looking for, it wouldn’t take long for them to figure out the truth. His truth.

Taylor sniffled. “Aaron, what do we do?”

Aaron looked at him, the fear in Taylor’s eyes a mirror of what he felt buried deep inside. But he couldn’t let it show. Not fully. “ You do nothing,” he said. “Stay quiet. You didn’t know, and you don’t know now. Understand? ”

Taylor nodded, trembling hands clutching the blanket on his bed. “And you?”

Aaron swallowed hard, glancing out the window as though he could see the threat already lurking in the shadows. “I don’t know.”

All he did know, was that he needed Kenny .

Aaron headed for the door. “Keep your head down,” he said over his shoulder. “And if anyone else comes asking questions, don’t answer. Don’t even open the door. And take down that fucking video!”

“Aaron?” Taylor’s voice was small, almost childlike.

Aaron paused but didn’t turn back.

“What’s going to happen to you?”

Aaron didn’t reply. He couldn’t. The fear clung to him like a rash and he left the room without another word, footsteps heavy as he descended the stairs. And as he stepped out into the cool air, it all hit him like an avalanche.

Carly was dead. Her files were gone. And whoever had them knew his name.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

* * * *

Kenny sat at the interrogation table, arms folded, jaw tight, doing his best to appear calm, collected. It was a thin veneer. One Jack, standing in the corner, could no doubt see right through. Jack wasn’t part of the questioning. That he was here at all, told Kenny he hadn’t declared his connection to him. He also hadn’t said a word since Kenny entered. But Kenny could feel his gaze like a hand gripping his shoulder.

Across from him sat DS Cleveland, a stern-faced sergeant with sharp eyes that missed nothing, and DC Jenkins, a younger officer who alternated between scribbling on her notepad and glancing nervously at Kenny, as though unsure what to make of him. They’d both met him before, of course. From previous cases. The most recent being Rahul Mishra. Neither expected Kenny to be on this side of the table.

“Let’s start with the incident at the Gazette ,” Cleveland said. “You entered the building without authorisation, confronted an intern, Taylor Long, and locked him in a toilet, then issued threats to journalist Carly Reynolds. Is that correct?”

Kenny fixed Cleveland with a level look. “I’ll admit I lost my temper. Taylor had been distributing a video that—” he paused, glancing briefly at Jack, “—contained defamatory content endangering not only a classified case but also someone I knew. I confronted him. Perhaps I was heavy-handed, but I didn’t harm him. As for Carly, I told her to remove the video.”

“Did you threaten her?” Cleveland asked, leaning forward.

“I told her what would happen if she didn’t take it down,” Kenny said evenly. “That’s not the same as a threat.”

Cleveland’s expression didn’t shift. “What did you think would happen if she didn’t take the video down?”

“Mass hysteria and vigilante attacks.”

“What would draw you to those conclusions?”

“Many things.” Kenny fixed DS Cleveland with a pointed stare. “The existence of Child A was kept from the public and the press for a reason. Primarily, to protect their identity and to give them a chance to heal, free from the stigma and the shadow of their family’s crimes. To enable them to have a life beyond that.” He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “When people face narratives involving unresolved trauma or sensationalised crimes, their reactions bypass reason. We see this consistently in psychological studies of mob mentality and collective behaviour. The public, as a collective, DS Cleveland, aren’t known for their rational thinking. Especially those who consume their media in short form. A figure like Child A, or even those who are mistaken for them, and unfairly implicated in crimes they did not commit, become an all too easy target for vigilantes and armchair avengers looking to channel their outrage.”

Kenny clasped his hands on the table. “Should that video remain in the public sphere, it could trigger a cascade of psychological and social consequences. First, endangering Child A’s identity and thus, their safety. Vigilante action is predictable where the public perceives justice hasn’t been served, even if that perception is based on misinformation. Second, the misdirected accusations would have created hysteria, amplifying paranoia and scapegoating. Third, this hysteria could lead to escalated aggression, not just toward Child A, but toward institutions, such as this very police force, for perceived failures in protecting the public.”

The room notably squirmed.

“And let’s not forget the psychological toll on Child A themselves. Unfounded accusations, public scrutiny, and threats would reinforce feelings of alienation and distrust. It would risk undoing years of progress in their recovery, turning them from a survivor into a hunted figure. This harm is not hypothetical, DS Cleveland. It’s backed by decades of research into the impact of public exposure on individuals who have already endured significant trauma. So, yes, I wanted Carly Reynolds to understand the implications of her actions. And if you’d like, I’m happy to outline, in detail, the psychological implications for every single party involved. Shall we start with mass hysteria or individual trauma?”

DS Cleveland cleared his throat and wrote something down, and Kenny peeked over at Jack. There was a hint of a smile behind his professional mask. Pride, too. The way he’d used to be in awe of Kenny’s mind. But it was gone as soon as Cleveland asked the next question .

“Can you tell us where you were last night between the hours of eleven p.m. and two a.m.?”

“At home.”

“Was anyone with you?”

Kenny hesitated, Jack’s presence like a knife at his back. “Yes.”

“Could you tell us who?”

“Aaron Jones.”

Cleveland’s pen stopped mid-note. “Aaron Jones?”

“Yes.” Kenny refused to break eye contact. He had to remember, nothing of what he did last night was illegal. Sleeping with a student wasn’t even a sackable offense. But it was the looks of alarm that had his hackles rising. They knew Aaron from last year. The Rahul Mishra case, and how he’d given evidence at the trial to incarcerate Drew. “We were together all night. He can confirm that.”

“And you didn’t leave at any point?”

“No,” Kenny replied firmly. “I didn’t. Nor did he.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because we shared a bed. And his clothes were in the same location this morning as they were last night. Which was downstairs.”

Cleveland exchanged a glance with Jenkins before nodding curtly. “We’ll need to speak with Mr Jones.”

Kenny didn’t reply. There was nothing else to say.

“Thank you, Dr Lyons,” Cleveland said. “We appreciate you coming in so early to help us with our enquiries. You may go.”

Jack motioned for Kenny to follow him out of the interrogation room. They didn’t speak as they moved through the corridors of the precinct, tension humming between them until Jack led him into a small side office and closed the door behind.

“Why the private meeting?” Kenny asked, fatigue creeping into his bones.

Jack didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he retrieved a folder from a drawer and placed it on the desk between them. He tapped it once, his expression grim. “Carly.”

Kenny gave him a look. Jack was risking everything here. Again. But he opened the folder and the first thing he saw was a crime scene photograph—a woman sprawled on her desk, at first appearing as though she was asleep, but her eyes were open, and her skin tinged blue.

Kenny flipped through the pages, taking in the forensic reports, witness statements, and photos. He stopped at an image of CCTV footage, grainy and shadowed, showing a man outside the Gazette’s offices. He was handing something—a single red rose—to Carly Reynolds.

“Is this him?” Kenny asked, his voice low.

Jack nodded. “Same man was seen on CCTV again, just before midnight. Carly was already dead by then, but he came back. Broke into her office. Ransacked her files.”

“And he took…?”

“Everything related to Child A. Carly had been collecting information for years. Whoever this bloke is, he knew what he wanted.”

Kenny stared at the image, frustration bubbling under his skin. The man’s face was never clear. Obscured by shadows or angled away from the camera. Just a figure in a hoodie, nothing more.

“This is our guy, Kenny. Our kisser . And whoever this is, they’ve got those files. The question is, why does he want them? And why risk being caught on camera to get them when he’d been so damn careful until now?”

Kenny clenched his fist around the edge of the folder, pulse hammering in his ears. “Can I take this?”

“Yes. They’re copies. But you do not tell anyone you have them.”

Kenny snuck them into his bag, then headed to the door .

But Jack’s voice, accusatory and unyielding, hit him on the back of the head. “So, you are fucking him now?”

Kenny hovered his hand around the doorknob. “Does it hurt?”

Jack held his gaze. “Not anymore.”

Kenny smiled, then twisted the door handle. “You’re welcome.”

“Fuck you.”