Page 20 of Kiss Me Honey Honey (To Love a Psycho #2)

Chapter ninetee n

One Way or Another

Aaron called Kenny at least half a dozen times on his walk back to campus, phone pressed tight in his hand, but the calls all went unanswered. Each ring felt like a punch to his chest. Maybe the police were grilling him harder this time, digging deeper into Carly’s death and what Kenny might know. Maybe they weren’t letting him out until they got something useful. The scenarios spun in Aaron’s head, each one worse than the last.

When he finally reached the university, an eerie sensation settled over him. It felt like every pair of eyes on campus were on him. Students sitting on the stone steps, others walking in groups across the green, their chatter weaving through the brisk autumn air. It was as if they all knew. Not just about who he was, but about where he’d been last night. What he was hiding.

He tugged his jacket tighter around himself, his paranoia thick enough to choke on. The walk to his halls felt interminable, each step an echo of his unease. Technically, this was the walk of shame. Still in last night’s clothes, his shirt wrinkled, his jeans worn too long. Even his boots carried the faint scuff marks from pacing Kenny’s carpets .

His phone buzzed in his hand. A text from Mel: Where are you? Are you coming to class?

Aaron quickly tapped out a reply, telling her he wasn’t making lectures today, that he had stuff to do. She didn’t press, and he shoved his phone back in his pocket, relief mingling with guilt.

In his room, Aaron changed, sadly erasing any lingering trace of Kenny from his skin—the faint scent of his cologne, the warmth of his touch. A fresh pair of jeans, a plain jumper. Functional, forgettable. He couldn’t decide if he was trying to distance himself or carry Kenny with him.

With a burst of restless energy, Aaron threw on his denim jacket and left his room, slamming the door shut behind him. The walk across campus felt surreal, the crisp air biting his cheeks as he pushed through the crowds of students moving between lectures. The hum of normalcy—laughter, complaints about coursework, the tapping of laptops in outdoor study pods—jarred him. How could the world still feel normal when everything in his life had imploded?

By the time he reached the psychology building, his chest was tight, his breath shallow, and he took the stairs two at a time, the exertion doing little to calm the storm in his head. Third floor. Faculty administration and staff offices. Ignoring the curious glances from the admin staff, he strode with purpose down the corridor towards Kenny’s office. Door shut. Blind drawn. But that could mean anything. Maybe Kenny wasn’t even there. Or maybe he was inside, buried in work, deliberately ignoring the outside world.

Well, fuck that.

He swung the door open. “Ah, shit.”

Kenny was in there. Casually sat in his chair, tie loosened and sleeves pushed up, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and focusing intently at a laptop. Not his own laptop though. One that was balancing on the knees of someone else. Vinnie, his PhD student, across from him on the leather chair. Deep in discussion, a faint hum of familiarity, the sight immediately setting Aaron on edge.

“You can’t just barge in there!” Gail, the admin secretary, called from down the hall. “Sorry, Dr Lyons, I didn’t see him come up.”

“It’s okay, Gail. I know Aaron’s quite stealthy.”

Aaron quirked a brow at Kenny, trying not to let his irritation show.

Kenny gestured toward Vinnie with a faint smile. “Let me finish up here, and I’ll be with you.”

Gail hovered in the doorway, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Does he have an appointment? You said to clear your schedule today.”

“I requested for Aaron to come, yes. Thank you.”

Aaron cocked his head. Cause, yeah, technically Kenny had requested he come. And he couldn’t recall whether it was four or five times over the past twelve hours. He’d lost count what with everything else going on. But he could still remember how it sounded in his ear, deep and sonorous and fucking hot .

“Come for me, baby.”

He hid his blush as Gail scurried off, casting Aaron one of those disapproving frowns he’d grown used to, as if his very presence was a disruption.

“Two minutes.” Kenny widened his eyes at Aaron with a hint of urgency.

Aaron stepped back, letting the door close behind him. He stood in the corridor, trying to ignore the burn of jealousy flaring in his gut. Vinnie might only want Kenny’s advice on his doctorate thesis, but the sight of him there, soaking up Kenny’s attention, stung in ways Aaron didn’t want to analyse. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t rational. But it was there all the same. This fixation, this obsession , he had with Kenny bled into everyone and everything as if they were there solely to ruin it.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, scanning the open plan office, tapping his foot on the tiled floor as he tried to push the feeling down. He hated this. Hated waiting. Hated feeling like he wasn’t the centre of Kenny’s everything.

When the door finally opened, Vinnie stepped out, offering Aaron a polite nod before heading down the hall. Kenny appeared in the doorway.

“Come in.” Kenny held the door open, scanning over the office before he settled his eyes on Aaron. The look lingered, intense, before Kenny stepped aside to let him through. The door clicked shut with a finality, shrinking the already small space.

Aaron turned. “I’ve been calling you.”

“I know.” Kenny sank into his office chair, removing his glasses and rubbing his temples. His exhaustion was clear, but so was the tension etched into his features. “Been tied up. First with the police, then here with a queue of students. You okay?”

Aaron crossed his arms. “Define okay.”

“Well, you should be in Research Skills right now.”

“Excuse me for thinking there’s something a little more important than data collection and analysis going on.” Aaron dropped into the leather chair across from him, the lingering warmth from Vinnie’s seat making him grimace. He shifted, uncomfortable, then gestured toward the door. “I don’t like him, by the way.”

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with Vinnie?”

“He was in here.”

Kenny wiped his glasses on his sleeve, sliding them back into place, and when his eyes locked onto Aaron, the authority in them made Aaron’s pulse quicken. “You can’t hate everyone who sits in that chair.”

“Watch me.”

Kenny fixed his gaze on Aaron as if issuing a silent challenge. Aaron swallowed hard. God, he had it bad for this man. The way Kenny’s shirt stretched across his shoulders, the subtle smirk tugging at his lips—it was all too much and not enough.

“What happened at the station?” Aaron asked, keeping to a less uncomfortable subject.

“I gave my statement. They’ll probably come to you for confirmation of where you were.”

“And what do you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

Aaron’s lips curved into a sly grin. “How much truth are we talking? Like, full-colour detail, or just the PG highlights?”

Kenny shot him a warning look, lowering his voice. “Just that you stayed over. I doubt they’ll ask specifics.”

“Shame. Quite fancy reliving it.”

“Maybe another time.”

“Yeah?”

“If you behave.”

“Reckon you quite like it when I don’t.”

Kenny exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Aaron, as much as I appreciate your… concern right now, I’ve got a mountain of things to get through. So if you could—”

“I went to see Taylor.”

Kenny’s head snapped up, tension rippling through his posture. “Right.”

“He’s a mess.”

“Understandable.”

“Yeah. Sometimes forget how real people don’t handle murder well.”

“Hmm.”

Aaron drummed his fingers on his knees. “Turns out Carly was looking into the Howells. Specifically, Child A. And now her files on that are missing. Which probably have my name scrawled all over them. ”

Kenny’s jaw clenched, his silence saying more than words could.

Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a big, fat motive, isn’t it?”

“ Aaron …”

“Don’t do that.” Aaron waggled a finger at Kenny. “I know you’re holding back. You know something, don’t you?”

Kenny lowered his voice. “I can’t discuss this here. Not with you.”

Aaron stared him down a fraction too long before standing. “Fine. What time do you get home?”

Kenny’s chest rose with a deep inhale. “Six.”

“Perfect. I’ve got pole dancing from four to five.”

Aaron turned to leave, but the office was too small for a clean exit and his leg bashed Kenny’s knee, the contact sending a shock through him. Kenny didn’t move either, trapping Aaron in the small space, and the heat in Kenny’s gaze stole the air from his lungs, making it impossible to move, impossible to think.

“Pole dancing at four, you say?”

“That’s right. Every Tuesday. Dance studio two. The one with the windows overlooked by the gym.”

Kenny chuckled. “Now I get why Tuesdays are so popular in there.”

Aaron reached for the door, but before opening it, he glanced back. Kenny’s eyes were trailing over him, loitering at his hips, his legs, his arse .

Aaron smirked and pointed to the chair. “That’s mine.”

“Am I meant to ask my students to stand during one-to-ones?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I’ll get them to kneel.”

“Then your student cohort will drastically reduce.”

“Get to class, Aaron.”

“Get to work, doc. ”

With a grin, Aaron snuck out, facing the administration office, all of them oblivious to the exchange that had Aaron’s heart pounding with promise.

* * * *

Kenny didn’t meet him at the gym. As much as he probably wanted to go perv on Aaron while he pole danced, he must have had some moral compass and chose not to. It was bad enough he was there, in the dark, waiting in his car for him. But should anyone notice, there were a thousand and one reasons to give a lift to a student.

A thousand and one.

The one being because they were sleeping together.

Aaron rushed over the lawn toward the car park, bag slung on his shoulder, still in his workout gear. Kenny, waiting for him in the driver’s seat of his Discovery, was a sight Aaron would walk over hot coals for. Kenny started the engine as Aaron clambered into the passenger side and his distinct scent of aftershave meshed with sweat and musk did nothing to aid his mind in staying where it should. It was as if now they’d crossed that line and had a taste of each other, the mere sight of him had Aaron’s dick hungry for more.

Aaron stroked his hair back. “Can I shower at yours?”

Kenny looked straight ahead as if he, too, couldn’t temper his reactions. “Sure.”

They drove back to Kenny’s in silence. As if they were both waiting for the right moment to address what they needed to. Once home, Aaron went straight to the shower, hoping Kenny would join him. He didn’t. Instead, he prepared dinner and when Aaron came back down, hair wet and pushed back, in his jogging bottoms and tee, bare feet, Kenny gestured to the kitchen table.

Aaron tucked himself under and picked up his fork, sniffing the pasta dish as Kenny poured out a glass of white wine for each of them, dumping the open bottle on the table.

“Heard anymore from DI Bellend?” Aaron asked, shovelling in the utterly delicious sun dried tomato and lemony pasta shells. “God, you can cook.”

“Not a compliment when all you eat is super noodles.”

“Hey, I used to have Fridays as my day to cook for the residents of Rainbow House in Woolwich. Got top ratings every time. Was number one on the leader board.”

“You had a leader board?”

“Yeah. The staff gave us a budget, and we got rated for taste, nutritional value and cost per head. And that’s per person, not giving head, you dirty fucker. But we both know I’d be top of that board, too.”

Kenny averted his gaze to his plate, but there was amusement in his eyes. And a twitch of his lips suggesting he recalled quite well how Aaron had talent for that.

“They were teaching us independence and healthy living from an early age. Y’know, what parents are supposed to do but don’t.”

“What did you cook?”

“Super noodles with broccoli.” Aaron chuckled. “Nah, seriously. If I had the budget they’re giving me now, I’d still cook. Sadly, I don’t.” He picked up his wine, swirling it lazily in the glass. “Plus, I think you like cooking for me. It’s that whole ‘caretaker’ thing you have.”

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “Caretaker thing?”

“You like looking after me. Making sure I eat. That I’m okay. It’s your way of keeping control.” Aaron smirked. “You can’t help yourself.”

“Control?” Kenny’s voice was mild, but his grip on the fork tightened.

“Yeah. It’s not about power. Not really. You don’t want to own people. Or dominate them. You want to fix them. Keep them together, but keep them yours.” Aaron took a slow sip of his wine, watching Kenny over the rim. “It’s kind of sweet, really.”

Kenny said nothing, just cut another piece of food, but Aaron didn’t miss the way his shoulders stiffened. As if he’d had a taste of his own medicine. Aaron had seen him a little too clearly.

So he moved on, “What did DI Bellend say then?”

“I have files to look at.”

Aaron’s eyebrows shot up. “From the scene?”

“Yes. Unofficially. Which means even if I see something useful, there’s a chance they can’t use my consult because of my involvement.”

“So there are pitfalls to dipping your knob in the office ink.”

“Many,” Kenny deadpanned, eyes narrowing in warning.

Aaron swirled his wine. “Can I see them?”

Kenny stood, pouring more wine into both their glasses. “You wash up, and I’ll lay them out in the living room.”

Aaron shivered in mockery. “Your dirty talk turns me all the way fucking on, y’know?”

Kenny ignored him, carrying his glass to the next room. Aaron made light work of washing up, then scrambled over to where Kenny sat on the edge of the sofa in front of the coffee table that he’d spread photographs over.

“That was fast,” Kenny said without looking up.

“Like I was gonna let you have all the fun in here.” Aaron dropped to the floor beside him, legs stretching under the coffee table and his shoulder brushing Kenny’s knee as he leaned in to take a look at the photos. “If the dishes weren’t to your standard, do it yourself next time.”

“If they’re not done to my standard, there won’t be a next time.”

Aaron smirked. “Yes, there will.” He then shuffled forward. “What we looking at?”

Kenny pointed with his finger around his wineglass. “CCTV footage from the Gazette . Along with the photos from the crime scene. Carly was working late, alone. The building had one security guard, but he was patrolling the perimeter when it happened. The man buzzed the door, and Carly let him in, probably not expecting anyone that late. He gave her a rose.”

Aaron frowned, eyes narrowing at one of the images. It showed a shadowed figure in a hoodie handing Carly a single rose. The grainy quality of the footage made the scene almost surreal, but the intimacy of the gesture was unmistakable.

“A rose?”

“Yes. And a rose was also found at the scenes of Connie Bishop, Debbie Hess, and Charlotte Mountburrow. Linking them.”

Aaron’s spine stiffened. “Frank used roses.”

Kenny nodded, jaw tightening. “He did.”

“Shit.” Aaron shivered. “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I.” Kenny set his glass aside. “But this is different. Frank’s roses were a signature, a macabre calling card to taunt the police, to mark his control over his victims even after death. This isn’t the same.”

Aaron peered up at him. “How is it different? It feels the same.”

“It’s not a calling card. Or about leaving a message. The rose is a tactic. It disarms his victims. As a gesture meant to lower their defences, to get them to let him close. A psychological tool. A rose is associated with romance, intimacy, trust. Even safety. In that moment, these girls would have thought, this isn’t a threat. And that’s what he wanted.”

Aaron glanced at the other images. “And the kiss?”

“That’s different too.” Kenny took on a clinical tone. “It’s not about romance or sex. Those things are far from this killer’s mind. The kiss is a manipulation, a false connection. It’s the ultimate invasion of personal space. He’s forcing proximity and control under the guise of tenderness. It gives him an opening, a way to dominate them psychologically before he kills.”

“Why target young, attractive, blond girls and it not be about sex?”

“Perhaps it is, but not in the way we’re thinking. Maybe he has an aversion to sex and these girls represent the reason for that.”

“But the files? Why’d he take the files?”

“I’m working on that.”

“You’re not buying a vigilante theory?”

“Not completely. There’ll be something else. I just have to look harder.”

Aaron picked up the photograph of Carly slumped at her desk, life drained, and he twisted it one way, then the other. He squinted, eyes closing in. “Is that a lip balm?” He pointed to the desk.

Kenny drifted in closer. “Looks like it. Why?”

Aaron stared a little longer. Then shook his head. “Nah. Nothing.” He sipped his wine.

“No. Go on. Tell me. That’s a gut hunch on something. What?”

“I don’t know. It’s stupid. I mean, every girl has lip balm, right?”

“Maybe.”

Aaron dipped closer to the picture, then chuckled. It was ridiculous. “Who even notices shit like that?”

“Someone who’s looking. What does it mean to you?”

“We sell it in the shop.”

“Okay…”

“Told you, it’s nothing.”

“No, you have a gut feeling. Don’t ignore them. Why did you notice it?”

“Cause it’s cheap shit. Never seen it sold anywhere else.”

“So she buys her lip balm from a student shop? ”

“Doesn’t sound likely, does it? Bird like her probably gets proper stuff. Clinique or some shit. Or at least Boots own brand.”

“Exactly. So…”

Aaron sighed, wracking his brain. “There’s this bloke… comes into the uni shop all the time and buys a bunch of those lip balms. Little tubes of them. It pisses me off cause I have to restock the box each time.”

“That’s unusual, but not suspicious.”

“Yeah, but the weird thing? He ain’t got no lips.”

Kenny blinked. “What?”

“I know. Weird, right? Maybe he needs them because he’s got no lips. I don’t know. But the brand is like a really shitty, cheap make. It’s not Vaseline or even anything half decent.” Aaron pointed to the picture. “And that’s one of them.”

“That’s a lead.” Kenny petted Aaron’s neck like a good little puppy. “Well done.”

Aaron couldn’t have prevented his grin if his life depended on it. He responded to praise as much as he did Kenny’s scent. And as Kenny stroked his fingers along the nape of his neck, Aaron found it hard to concentrate on anything else.

But Kenny pressed for more. “What can you tell me about him?”

“Not much. Late twenties, early thirties, maybe. Hard to tell cause of all the scars, and he keeps his hood up. Don’t talk much. Limps. It’s like he’s been in some freak accident or something. Could explain the no lips. Comes in most Wednesdays. That’s all he buys.”

“Wait.” Kenny bolted to a stand.

“What?”

Kenny didn’t answer. He just left the room.

Aaron listened to footsteps above the ceiling and he sipped on his wine, taking in the rest of the images on the table. When Kenny returned a short time later, his face pale, he fell back onto the sofa clutching a sheaf of printed out notes.

“What’s that?” Aaron asked.

“The Howell case file.”

Aaron clenched. The Howell file from upstairs? Kenny’s home office? The one he’d ransacked days ago? What had started all this? Had Kenny noticed it was out of order and bits taken? If he had, he said nothing. He just stared at the report, lines across his brow deepening as he read.

“Peter Middleton,” Kenny muttered under his breath.

“Who’s that?”

“A survivor.”

“Of what?”

Kenny looked at him. “Frank and Roisin.”

“Oh.” Aaron drank from his wine, glancing down at all the photographs, an unsettling feeling prickling his stomach.

“Age thirteen, lured from a playground where he’d been with his friends.”

“ Lured ?”

Kenny flicked his gaze to him. “Encouraged.”

“I know what lured means, you prick.” Aaron shoved Kenny’s leg. “Wouldn’t you say kidnapped, is what I meant?”

“Kidnapped eventually. But lured. Enticed .”

“By who? Roisin never left the house.”

Kenny didn’t respond. He kept reading. “Taken into the back of a car where Frank and…” He then stopped, cracked his neck from side to side as if omitting details. Probably for Aaron’s sake, and he was grateful. “Then taken to the house and…tortured.”

“Tortured? How?”

Kenny looked at him. “You really want to hear how?”

Aaron gulped, thought about it, then didn’t want to think about it and waved a hand. “Gloss over the deets.”

“He escaped after three days. A hiker found him crawling through the woods, bleeding and dehydrated, but alive. The psychological damage was as bad as the physical.”

“You think it’s him?”

Kenny stood, pacing the room, gesticulating with his hands as he spoke, voice shifting into that calm, authoritative tone he used in his lectures. But there was a sharpness now, an urgency beneath the surface making Aaron sit up straighter. And listen .

“He’s rewriting his story.” Kenny narrowed his eyes as he pieced it together aloud. “If it’s him, this Peter Middleton, he’s operating on a deeply fractured psychological framework. A combination of trauma bonding, dissociation, and displaced rage. He isn’t just targeting random victims for sexual gratification or because he feels inferior. These young, blonde women represent something specific.”

Aaron swallowed. “Roisin?”

Kenny looked at him. Well, through him. “He’s recreating the scene of his trauma to reassert control. Victims of extreme abuse, especially prolonged and ritualistic abuse, often feel a sense of helplessness persisting long after the events themselves. When they can’t process or overcome that helplessness, they sometimes fixate on re-enacting it. But in a way that places them in power.”

Aaron swished his wine glass. “So… he’s not just trying to kill people. He’s trying to rewrite history?”

“Yes,” Kenny said, pacing faster. “He’s moved from survival mode to a state of active dominance. He’s transforming himself from the victim into the predator. Turning his fear and pain into a weapon and wielding it over others who represent his pain.”

“But why go after the files? Why Carly? How did he even know there was a Child A?”

Kenny stopped pacing and folded his arms. “If he has unresolved rage toward the Howells, and I have no doubt he does, then Child A is the last remaining link to them which he can get to. In his mind, Child A isn’t a separate person. They’re a symbol of everything he endured.”

“So this isn’t just revenge. This is obsession? To get to…” He didn’t finish. Kenny would know exactly who this bloke wanted to get to.

Him .

“Obsession, driven by years of psychological damage. And Carly’s files were the key to finding Child A, or at least getting closer to them.”

Aaron swallowed hard.

Kenny crouched, grabbing Aaron’s face in his hands and kissed him. “You beautiful fucking creature.”

“What did I do?”

“You observed.” Kenny kissed him again, then stood and pointed at him. “Get your shoes on.”

“What, we going for a romantic stroll now ?”

Kenny didn’t answer. He already had his shoes and coat on, rushing out the door to the car.