Page 5 of Kiss Me Honey Honey (To Love a Psycho #2)

Chapter fou r

Toxic

“You’re still teaching him, then?” Jack said after the lecture theatre door swung shut behind Aaron’s exit.

Kenny perched on the edge of his desk, arms folded. “That’s what you start with?”

Jack turned to face him. “Hmm?”

“You come to my place of work, my lecture, and you question who my students are?”

Jack gave him a look. “He’s not any student. You know it.”

“But he’s certainly none of your business.” Kenny narrowed his eyes in afterthought. “Unless you’re here to tell me otherwise.”

Jack held up his hands in surrender. “No. My bad. Sorry.” He then sighed.

Kenny recognised Jack’s stance. He knew the look, too. A fresh case was troubling him, and Jack was here because he couldn’t shake a feeling. It was as if the events of last year had set them both back on the path of being reliant on one another for support. They’d become sort of friends again. Not friends who confide in one another about certain secret lives, but surface level enough for Kenny to feel guilty about that .

“How was Greece?” Jack asked, obviously trying to return to safer ground.

“Crete’s a nice place. Recommend Mount Ida. But maybe don’t tackle it when it’s forty degrees.”

Jack chuckled. “Will keep that in mind. Fraser’s a red-haired Scotsman, he’d burn alive.”

“Still no ideas about the honeymoon?”

Jack was now a married man. His wedding to Fraser had been an intimate ceremony in August, held at a cozy hotel and spa in a village just outside Ryston, attended only by close family and friends. Kenny, a last-minute addition to the guest list as his and Jack’s friendship was still rekindling, had brought Heather. Not as a date, more because they had a friendship. And Kenny’s guilt over what had happened last year with her daughter keeping her in his life. She and Jack had hit it off immediately, though. So much so they now messaged each other on WhatsApp. Kenny suspected it wasn’t only because of her curiosity about Jack as his ex-boyfriend and coming to terms with his bisexuality, but Heather still carried the scars of what had happened to her daughter, Alice. Knowing the detective who’d overseen that case, now as a friend, seemed to give her some sense of security.

It gave Kenny a sense of discomfort.

“Not yet. We’ll make a firm decision over the weekend.” Jack stepped in closer. “Which reminds me, Heather invited us to hers on Friday. She said she would invite you and that old school friend of hers you know. Has she?”

Kenny’s phone pinged on his desk, and he slanted over to check the display. Heather . “She has now.”

“I’ve said yes. Fraser’s looking forward to it. Will make the dessert. Might be nice to get together? I like her.”

“Maybe.” Whilst that might be true, he also knew Heather was probably hoping Kenny might want to date her again, having broken things off last year, pleading he hadn’t been ready for commitment. “But I take it you’re not here to match make?”

“Ah. No.” Jack ensured no one else was lingering nearby before tugging out a slim folder from his satchel bag. “I’m actually here for your consultancy.”

“Seriously?”

“Afraid so.” Jack handed over the file. “Connie Bishop.”

Kenny inhaled sharply. “I thought that was a random death from natural causes? At least that’s what the Vice Chancellor’s office filtered down to SLT. Hence no announcement to the students to be vigilant. Are you telling me otherwise?”

“Afraid so. I imagine your VC doesn’t want another PR nightmare. Especially with the state of higher education at the moment.”

“You believe the media too much. We’re fine.”

“If you say so.”

Kenny took the file with apprehension sparking in his gut and he opened it carefully, the first sheet revealing the basic information: Connie Bishop, 20 years old, Ryston University student, found deceased. No obvious trauma, no external injuries, nothing hinting at why a young woman would collapse without warning.

“Preliminary reports show no signs of struggle, no recent injuries.” Jack’s tone remained factual but laced with a gravity Kenny hadn’t heard in a while. “Scene was clean. If you can call it that. Found slumped in the bar clutching a single red rose.”

Kenny snapped his head up. “A rose?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s related to the Howells this time. It was one of those flowers you can buy in any bar to give to a date.”

“Who gave it to her?”

“No one knows. No one saw anything or suspected anything was wrong. And before you ask, the CCTV was down. ”

“Course it was.” Kenny scanned the initial pathology report. “So not a spontaneous heart attack, then? As SLT claim.”

“No. She was a netball player. Exceptionally healthy. No underlying health issues.”

“Nothing in her system? Alcohol? Drugs?”

“Nothing we didn’t expect to find, no.” Jack perched on the edge of the first row of desks opposite Kenny, rubbing his jaw. “Ready to hear the odd part?”

“This is already odd, but go on.” Kenny’s eyes never left the file. The photo of a young girl, dressed up for a night out, slumped in a corner, cold, dead, extinguished.

“Tox screen came back clean, at least for the usual suspects. Little alcohol, no common recreational drugs, no prescription medication that could have interacted. Blood toxicology ruled out overdose, but her organs…they showed signs of something. A reaction to something foreign.”

Kenny felt a knot form in his stomach as he turned to the detailed pages. “So, what’s the cause of death?”

Jack shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Nothing concrete. Forensics identified elevated levels of an unknown compound in her blood. Lab’s still working on it, but they’re stumped. Pathology pointed out it resembles the symptoms of a neurotoxin, possibly something synthetic, but it’s unlike anything they’ve come across. It’s quick, subtle, and, well, deadly, as we’ve seen. They think it was likely ingested, but we’ve got no source. You can imagine the panic. We sealed off the scene, checked all others to see if anyone else was unwell. Nothing.”

Kenny set down the file, a feeling of foreboding settling in. “And you’re asking for my take because…”

“Because this isn’t the first time we’ve seen it.” Jack pulled out a second folder. “We did a search. Two more came up in similar ways. Debbie Hess. Not a student. She was an influencer. Found dead six months ago in a café over in Coventry where she was meeting a date. Apparently, the date never showed. Bloke was contacted, said he had cold feet and never went. Her autopsy was inconclusive, no visible trauma, no obvious cause of death. But tox reports showed something off. Slightly different compound, but close enough to make us wonder. And Charlotte Mountburrow, an aspiring actress, dead in a cinema in Nuneaton where she would go by herself regularly. Liked horror films. Her friends didn’t. They were certain she would have been alone.”

He passed the second file to Kenny, and he flipped through it, eyes catching on the few phrases jumping out. Unknown substance. No apparent signs of physical distress. Unusual levels of neurotransmitter depletion.

Jack watched him, face hard, unyielding. “Look, I know this isn’t exactly your field. But your particular understanding of psychology and motives, especially ones that fall…outside the norm, could help us here. We can’t ascertain why these victims were targeted other than they all have a similar…look.”

“Blonde. Pretty.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t look to me obviously sexual in nature. None were violated. Or assaulted. Charlotte was a virgin. Chong said it would have been a rather bland death in that sense. And they were healthy, outgoing individuals with no connections to any dangerous activity. We’ve ruled out everything we can think of. What’s left is that someone did this intentionally. And it’s the same someone. The rose? Also found at each scene.”

Kenny peered up from the file, brow furrowing as his mind raced with possibilities. “So you’re thinking we have a serial killer?”

“You tell me.”

“If we do, it’s someone who’s using something precise, calculated—a controlled substance meant to evade detection?”

Jack nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking, yes. We need a perspective that goes beyond the technical and focuses on motive. Why would someone choose this method? These girls? Why poison and leave no trace, almost as if the act itself was more important than the consequence? There’s no struggle. And no one seems to see anything odd.”

Kenny scratched his beard as he considered Jack’s words. “If this is a pattern, we could be looking at a unique form of intimacy, perhaps even a psychological compulsion. The subtlety of the toxin suggests a need for control, but without leaving a calling card, without taking responsibility. Almost as if… they want to create a commotion without anyone knowing who’s responsible. That points to someone with a certain amount of clinical detachment, maybe even someone who thinks they’re above being caught.”

“So it’s not rage or personal vendetta?”

“No. Certainly, if these girls aren’t linked. Don’t know each other?”

“Not that we’ve found. All in different parts of the midlands. Here. Coventry, Nuneaton. Far enough away from each other to not immediately make the link, but also within travelling distance for someone who knows the area.”

“Then it sounds more like an experiment or ritual.” Kenny flipped through the pages again. “Controlled, restrained, and the lack of direct contact with the victims suggests someone who doesn’t need to feel the thrill of seeing them suffer. Rather, they might be more focused on the outcome , on the power of knowing they’ve taken a life undetected.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll admit, it aligns with our suspicions. We suspect it could be someone with access to specialised compounds. A scientist, a medical professional. Someone who’s no stranger to manipulating physiology.”

Kenny closed the file, setting it down, expression grim. “A person with a need for power, for control over life and death, but who can’t stand the intimacy of direct contact. The act itself may be their only sense of connection to others, even if it’s through something lethal.”

“We’re hoping you’ll take a closer look. Maybe speak to pathology and help us pinpoint the mindset. If there’s anyone who can pick out the psychological nuances here, it’s you.” He hesitated, then added, “Frankly, Kenny, I’ve got a feeling we’ll have more before we figure anything out. With how clever this is, we’re fucked.”

Kenny exhaled a weary sigh. “Never ends, does it?”

“Not for me.”

“All right.” Kenny scrubbed a hand down his face. “Send me the full report when it’s ready, and I’ll get in touch with pathology. If this person is following a pattern, we may be able to establish a motive. And, hopefully, predict their next move.”

Jack extended his hand, gratitude and tension in his grip. It was still strange. To be so formal when they’d once been so much more, regardless that Jack was now a married man and Kenny…well, Kenny’s status was ‘it’s complicated’ .

“Guess I’ll see you Friday at the dinner.”

Kenny stood from his perch. “Yeah. Guess you will.”

“You should reconsider.” Jack searched his face.

“Going to the dinner?”

“No. Heather. You wanted to have something normal. To take you away from all this shit.” Jack gestured to the file. “It works wonders to have someone not involved in it all. Trust me.”

Jack squeezed his arm, then left the lecture theatre. Kenny stayed where he was for a while. Sat back at the desk and did some work from there, where it was quiet. He had no idea how long it was, engrossed in his emails and checking through historical cases of undetected substance death, before the doors burst open and in walked another academic.

“Dr Lyons?” Professor Vijay Menon checked behind the door at the timetable for Lecture Theatre One. “Am I in the wrong place?”

“Ah. No.” Kenny stood, slapping his laptop shut. “Was just finding a quiet place to work. Podium’s yours.”

Kenny gathered up his things, stuck his pen between his lips, unplugged his laptop, and clutched it all to his chest as he made his way to the exit, ready to vacate the room for the next class—year one Introduction to Natural Sciences. Using his back to push the door open, he stumbled out into the main student centre. The noise hit him, louder than usual. The lunch crowd must have swarmed the building. He’d been squirrelling away unnoticed for two hours. Information booths and activity stalls for the new fresher cohort took up every corner, making navigating the bustling space quite the challenge for an academic juggling a bunch of stuff and late for his next appointment.

As he manoeuvred through the thick crowd, he awkwardly tried to check his watch, worried he was now late for his PhD student’s mentorship, and he was about to slip through the gathering crowds when a sudden break between groups gave him a clear view of what had caught their attention.

His mouth dropped open, pen falling to the ground.

Because there, in the centre of the corridor, was Aaron— pole dancing.

In a loose T-shirt and tight fitting Lycra shorts, Aaron claimed that pole with fluid, practiced ease, lean muscles flexing under the sharp lights as he twisted and wrapped himself around the fixed retractable pole provocatively slowly, and Kenny watched, unable to look away as Aaron arched his back, slithering down before swinging back up with effortless grace. His mouth dried as Aaron then hooked his legs around the pole, body rising and stretching out horizontally, as if defying gravity, expression confident and teasing.

Then Aaron turned, dipping into a slow, tantalising spin, latching on Kenny through the crowd. He paused, upside down, T-shirt ruffling down to expose his pale, defined torso and that utterly mouthwatering barbell clamped through his left nipple. His lips quirked up in a daring smile. One that could undo a person in a heartbeat, and it sent a pulse of heat through Kenny. He felt his control slipping, lost in how Aaron commanded every single eye in the room.

Most notably, his .

Aaron slid down the pole, landing lightly on his feet, and tilted his head as if questioning Kenny’s presence. Before Kenny could do or say anything, the crowd moved again, everyone gathering in to sign up to the bloody Pole and Aerial Society.

Kenny used the moment to get himself in check and left.

* * * *

Aaron ached in muscles he hadn’t even known existed.

After a full afternoon demonstrating pole moves in the student centre, enticing first years to join the Pole and Aerial Society, he was ready to collapse. It had been relentless. He’d shown off spins, inversions, and climbs, switching out occasionally to let some girls take a turn on the pole, but mostly it had been him on there. Cause, apparently, he drew in the crowd. The only crowd he was interested in had been when Kenny had watched.

He still thrummed at the look of hunger in Kenny’s eyes.

But sadly, Kenny hadn’t returned and Aaron had to help a few nervous freshers go upside down, holding them steady while they fumbled for balance. By six o’clock, they called it a day, and as the last crowd trickled away, Aaron pitched in, helping pack up the stall and retract the pole with the other committee members. Somehow, Sade, the society president, had convinced him to be Social Secretary. Laughable, considering his social life comprised Mel, this pole dancing club, and the occasional car ride with Kenny. Oh, and Taylor. He always forgot about Taylor…But being on the committee would at least look good on his CV, maybe even help bolster his case for the bursary he’d applied for .

“Thanks for today,” Sade said, cramming the last of the pamphlets and sign-up sheets into a cardboard box.

“No problem.” He helped her lower the pole into the duffel bag she’d either cart home or stow in the Student Union’s storage. “Was all right, in the end.”

“Bet you loved it.” Sade winked as she scraped her curly hair up into a severe bun.

Sade was a final year biochemistry student. A total science nerd by day. By night, she rocked the pole like a pro. Aaron suspected she worked part time at a club, bringing in cash from patrons who liked their entertainment a touch more risqué than what university students could demonstrate in a communal corridor. But she never mentioned it, and he knew better than to ask. Coming from a strict Christian family, she kept her university life under wraps from her parents. Like he did.

Or, well, not exactly like he did.

Sade eyed him with a smirk. “You know, you could get paid for it.”

Aaron handed over the duffel bag. “What, the committee pays now? Thought this was a ‘volunteer’ gig?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not here. At an actual club. They do that at gay bars, don’t they?”

“Wouldn’t know.” He splayed his hand over his chest in mock chaste horror.

“Uh-huh, sure.” She gave him a knowing look. “You know what you should do?”

“Go on.”

“Get on TikTok. Upload vids of you working the pole. You’d get a fuck ton of followers and we might increase our membership. We’d get Club of the Year at the Ryston Summer Ball. You know it always goes to the netball team.” A group of girls crying and huddling together around a stall caught her attention. “Speaking of which.”

Aaron followed her line of sight. “What’s that about? ”

“You didn’t hear about Connie?”

“The girl who dropped dead?”

“Yeah. Can you believe it?”

Aaron could believe it. Death and destruction followed him around like a foul smell. Would he get blamed for this one, too? He feigned his shock by shaking his head. Playing up to those all-important expectations again.

“It’s awful.” Sade watched the scene up ahead, the netball girls all consoling each other. “Connie was in the B team, but still one of the best. No health problems, nothing. Just…gone. Collapsed at a bar. Her friends thought she was drunk, so they just left her in a booth to sleep it off.”

Aaron frowned. “They left her?”

He wasn’t exactly best friend of the year. Had very few people he bothered to talk to let alone check in on. But even he knew leaving a mate drunk at a bar was asking for trouble. They might not have expected her to be dead, but she’d have been a prime target for—

Shit .

Sade gave a bitter laugh. “Netball girls can be ruthless. Figured she’d passed out and abandoned her. By the time anyone checked…too late.”

Aaron watched the group take down a framed photo of a girl he assumed was Connie, her memory already immortalised on poster boards, smiling and carefree, at odds with her tragic end. It caused an unexpected lump in Aaron’s throat, thinking back to Rahul. About what he went through. He hadn’t had anyone checking on him, either. Apart from him. For a place that housed thousands of people each year, university seemed rife with loneliness.

“Did you know Connie?” Aaron asked.

“Not really.” Sade hoisted her bags onto her shoulder as Aaron scooped up the boxes of pamphlets.

He followed her out of the student centre and into the crisp evening air, heading around the building toward the storage units where student societies stashed their gear. The campus was darkening, and a cool breeze carried the scent of freshly cut grass. Aaron’d had free rein of the campus when everyone else had gone home for summer and he’d had to remain in Halls, considering he had no family or home to go to. It wasn’t all bad. He had a part-time job at the campus shop which kept him occupied serving the staff who remained on site, with even a visit or two from Kenny buying up the leftover Cadbury’s Crème Eggs, plus he’d utilised the sprawling lawns where he sunbathed without interruption other than the occasional groups of summer school participants.

And Kenny had taken him for their weekly sessions.

Until his holiday in Greece had ruined it all.

Sade shrugged. “I joined the netball club in my first year and got to know her back then. She was nice. Quiet. Unassuming. No drama. Not like the others.” She shook her head. “But she wanted to fit in with the popular crowd. Whereas me? I couldn’t give a fuck.” She grinned, giving a little curtsey. “Kinda tragic, though, right? That she was so desperate to be in a crowd who couldn’t be bothered to check if she was still alive before they wandered off and left her.”

Aaron dropped the boxes near the storage container door. “Yeah… that’s rough.” He helped Sade pack the pole into the container, clanking metal reverberating around the quiet campus as he stacked the last of the pamphlet boxes inside.

“You want me to walk you to the bus stop?” he asked, watching her lock up.

“Aw, worried I’ll drop dead on the way?”

“Maybe.” More than maybe. This university had a history of dead students. Usually ones close to him. As if he were a bad omen. He kinda wanted to stop that from happening. For his own sanity, if not the lives of his fellow students.

“Nah, I drove today. Dad finally caved and got me a rust bucket over the summer so I can get to and from campus and work.”

“I’ll walk you to the car park, then.”

“Very chivalrous.”

She called it chivalrous. He called it, delaying his slope back to his room and staying out long enough to maybe, possibly, bump into Kenny.

On reaching the main car park, Sade clicked open the doors to a battered blue Peugeot. “I know it’s old as hell, but I love it.” She patted the roof.

“Hey, it gets you where you need to go.” Aaron had a pang of envy at the thought of his own lack of transportation. Unlike Sade, he couldn’t just hop into a car whenever he wanted. He relied on public transport, especially now he’d shot himself in the foot by telling Kenny he didn’t want to be in a car with him.

He did. Quite a lot.

And wanted to be able to touch him while there.

Thoughts of Kenny had Aaron scanning the rows of parked cars, landing on a familiar golden Discovery, neatly parked in its usual spot with the staff permit sticker defacing the front windscreen. Kenny was still here. He hadn’t left yet. Aaron’s heart gave an involuntary jump. Maybe he was working late, or at the gym working up a sweat….

Or maybe he was somewhere on campus with Jack, reigniting whatever they’d once had, fucking him over the desk in Kenny’s office. Aaron’s gut twisted. Sharp and biting.

“Night, Aaron,” Sade called from her rolled down car window, snapping him out of his thoughts. “And don’t forget, you’re in charge of organising our first social.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Sade waved as she drove off and Aaron waited for her taillights to disappear, then lingered by the edge of the car park. Hoping, praying, wishing to catch sight of Kenny. He could pass this off as an accidental meet. Until time dragged on and darkness shrouded him with only Kenny’s car and a couple of others left in the lot.

Resigning himself to a solitary evening of eating Super Noodles and reading up on research methods while his flatmates blasted party music down the hall, he headed toward his building when his phone rang. Foolish hopefulness sparked in his gut before he saw the name.

“Hey, sexy,” Taylor drawled over the line.

Aaron forced himself to be a decent boyfriend…situation friend. “Hey. How was your first day?”

“Not bad. They’re letting me run the department’s social media. Gotta do a story on that netballer. You hear about her?”

“The girl who dropped dead in a bar?” Seemed she was all everyone was talking about. Certainly popular now. He wondered if Rahul had been talked about this much.

“If I were gonna go, I’d want it to be in my best getup and properly drunk too.” Taylor chuckled.

Aaron didn’t know how to respond to that. Because even though he didn’t know Connie, never met her, had no clue about her thoughts, feelings, desires, he was sure she wouldn’t have wanted to die alone, surrounded by people who hadn’t cared.

But what did he know?

“My editor-in-chief mentor said she wants me to up their clicks. Local news is a bit boring. It’s always some uptick in bike theft or how the council plan to refurbish a derelict building to house mental cases. She’s working on one about care kids at the moment. Hey, reminds me, she’ll be in touch with you about it.”

“What? Why?”

“I told her my boyfriend had been in care. She asked to contact you. Didn’t think it was a problem.”

“Didn’t think to ask , either . For fuck’s sake, Taylor!” When would he learn? Even revealing just that small piece of his past—that he’d spent most of his life in care—was enough to attract people looking to exploit it. Some wanted to make a quick quid, others saw it as a chance to boost their own status by pretending they cared. But if people genuinely cared about the kids stuck in the system, there wouldn’t be any fucking kids stuck in the fucking system.

“I’ll tell her not to call you. But she wants me to find a story that’ll draw in the young crowd.” Taylor then stopped, probably waiting to see if Aaron was listening. “Max said he saw you pole dancing today.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Yeah. For society sign-ups.”

“Should have done a story on that. You’ll draw in the crowds. Why don’t you bring the pole ‘round here now and give me a private show?”

“Already put it away.”

“Funny, cause I just got my pole out. Palming it right now. Could use a little company.”

Aaron was grateful Taylor hadn’t video called him and couldn’t see his reaction.

“You on your way?” Taylor pressed.

“I’ve got a ton of reading to catch up on tonight,” Aaron lied. “I’m beat. But I’ll see you this weekend, yeah?”

“The party’s Friday. Changed it from Saturday ‘cause Max got a night shift at the warehouse. They’re still starting early, though. Soon as he gets back, probably. Midday ish. But I’ll be home around seven. You can come over whenever. Unless you’re working?”

“Nah. Only doing Wednesdays and Sundays.”

“Guess I’ll see you at my place Friday when I get home then?”

“Sure.”

He had nothing else to do, might as well get drunk with Taylor’s housemates.