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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SYDNEY

I ’m surrounded by heat and hard bodies, and I’m too hot. I throw my arms up and over my head in an effort to escape the suffocating heat coming from Roman and Blake. It’s not enough. I flick the quilt off me, and subsequently them too. Cool air hits my skin, and I blow out a relieved breath.

Raising my head, I see a tangle of limbs, but as my eyes climb upwards, I’m met with tanned skin and an array of ink against my pale and blank skin. The contrast is stark. And for a moment, self-consciousness taps at me, but I swat it away as I remember last night.

These two men chose me, whether by design or fate. Either way, I don’t care. I don’t regret it. I don’t feel any shame or guilt. What I feel is alive. The binding ties that started to fray after Paul have finally snapped, freeing me. I plan to embrace it. Starting now as my eyes rove over Blake’s body from his tight backside, peaking out of the top of the quilt, and up to his ink covered back. When I’ve had my fill, I turn to Roman the other side of me and find him watching me as he lays on his side facing me.

“Morning,” I say as he smiles at me.

“Enjoying the view, huh?” he asks with a wink. “It’s a nice view.”

“Yes, it is.” I have so many questions flying around my head, but most of them will ruin this moment right here, but I don’t want to go there yet.

“How are you feeling?” Roman asks.

“That’s a difficult question to answer,” I say, and I know it’s vague, but it fits with what I was just thinking.

“Okay, let me be specific. How are you feeling about last night?” There’s a thin thread of trepidation in his tone.

“Are you asking me if I enjoyed it?” I tease.

“No, I know you did. What I’m asking is if you regret it.”

“We’ll ignore your giant ego and skip to the main part. No, I don’t regret it.” I pause, then add, “I think it’s the first time I haven’t regretted a decision.”

“That’s sad, Sydney.”

“I know, but I’ve had a very different life to you.” A small part of me wonders how our differences will impact our relationship—if there is one. That’s another area I want to avoid discussing, so instead I ask, “What do you and Blake really do, you know for work?”

He shifts, rolling onto his back. “That’s a difficult question to answer,” he says, using my words from moments ago.

I roll to my side so I can watch him and prop myself up on an elbow. “Try,” I tell him, making sure to keep my focus on his face and not his dick, which I can see out of the corner of my eye.

“I’m not sure you’re ready for this conversation, Sydney.”

His answer pisses me off. “Hey, that’s not for you to decide. I don’t need someone else making decisions about what’s best for me, Roman.”

“It’s not about making decisions for you. It’s about whether you’re ready to hear and accept it. You said it yourself, we’ve lived different lives.”

“He’s worried you’ll run when you find out who we really are,” says a muffled voice.

I laugh. “Really? I mean, it’s not like you’re murderers, so how bad can it be?” I say, looking at Roman. But his serious face and the deathly silence stop my humour in an instant. I sit up, pulling the quilt around me and spin to face them both. “You’re not serious?”

Roman sighs and sits up, resting against the headboard. “You’re a fucking idiot, Blake. And to answer your question, we don’t go around just murdering anyone, but?—”

“You’ve killed people?” I blurt out. “Oh my god!” I scramble down the bed away from them, almost falling off the end as I become tangled in the quilt.

“For fuck’s sake! This is exactly why I said she wasn’t ready for this conversation,” Roman says, getting up, his semi-hard dick swinging between his legs, and storms off into the en suite.

“Explain,” I demand, whirling around to face Blake, only he’s still face down on the bed, leaving me staring at his arse.

His hot as hell arse.

“Blake, what do you mean. What do you do? Who are you?” I demand again, and this time, I slap his bare arse to make sure he understands.

He groans. “Do it again,” he says, his arse cheeks clenching.

I huff, throwing my hands up in the air. “I’m serious, Blake.”

“So am I,” he says, lazily turning his head to look at me. His eyes are half closed, and his cheek and one side of his lips are squished against the pillow. He groans again as he rolls his hips.

I growl in frustration, toss the quilt over him and leave.

“Ridiculously infuriating men!” I moan to myself as I enter my room and head straight for the shower.

After showering, I get dressed and find my phone. There are several missed calls from Sheila at work, and a couple from Suzi too along with a message.

Suzi: Sydney, where are you? I hope you’re okay. Have you heard about Cress?

I drop down on the end of the bed and stare at my phone, unsure what to do. It’s not like I can call Suzi and tell her that the killer sent me a message. Then again, maybe I should warn her. She might be in danger if this JC guy is going after my family and friends.

I begin typing a reply, just letting her know I heard and she should be careful. I also let her know that I’ve not been around as Pa was attacked. Then I call Sheila.

I’ve just finished my call with Sheila, who was surprisingly understanding, and devastated about Cress when I hear raised voices coming from downstairs.

“What’s going on?” I ask as I step into the kitchen. Roman and Blake are standing on opposite sides of the room, yelling at one another.

I look to Blake as he is the one most likely to give me answer. “Well, someone going to tell me what all the shouting is about?”

Roman steps forward and jabs a finger into some papers on the counter. “This. This is what all the yelling is about.” He then picks some of them up and begins spewing names at me like I’m supposed to know who these people are.

“Wait, wait. What is all this?” I ask, stepping up to the counter and picking up one of the sheets. It’s a police record, or at least part of one. There’s a thumbnail sized image of a young girl in the top left corner, then her details; name, eye colour, age, description etc. As I scan over the page, it starts to make sense.

“These are all the unsolved rape and murder cases of young women over the last twenty years that match elements of JC’s MO.”

My eyes snap to Roman’s. “There has to be over twenty cases here.”

“And this is not including the ones we already know about,” Roman snaps, dropping the papers back onto the counter.

“That means he’s a serial?—”

“Killer…and rapist. We know,” Blake says.

“But why aren’t the police looking for him, or warning the public about him? We have to tell them.”

Roman shakes his head. “They aren’t looking for him because he’s smart and never kills in the same place twice, and he doesn’t have a set MO like most serials. The police look for patterns, hunting area, things to link the murders or rapes, but JC’s are all different.”

I pick up another sheet, scanning the document, but like Roman just said, there is nothing to connect these women or link them to one killer. “So how do you know these are all him?”

“We don’t. Not for certain,” Blake says, joining me at the counter. “But after speaking with your father yesterday, Roman thinks that JC picks each victim based on women that interact with your father.”

“I don’t understand. How would JC know what women he speaks with?” I feel like I’m missing something here.

“He tells your father where he’ll be and gives him twenty-four hours to save his next victim.”

I feel sick to my stomach. This is a messed-up game to this man. A man my pa used to be friends with. I place my hands on my hips and turn away in disgust. After pacing back and forth for a few minutes, I turn back to them. “We have to stop him. How can we stop him?” I ask the question, but my mind is already running scenarios. None of which are possible or ethical. And I’m even more surprised at the direction my mind has gone in.