Page 12 of Resist Me Not (Bloody Desires #4)

Walker shudders. The heat in my gut outweighs the heat from the bump on my head, as I grasp the back of his neck like last night and draw him in for a nibble at his lips.

Just a nibble. Just a taste. Just enough that I imagine him growing instantly hard again from my purposeful tease.

I move my other hand to the small of his back and am reminded of the tattoo hidden there, spiraling up his spine.

I am so very looking forward to seeing it in full.

“ Such a good boy,” I breathe against his wetted lips.

“Fuck…” he gasps.

The ring of a bike bell alerts us to no longer being alone in our canopy of trees. We dart our attentions down the path and jump to one side just as a cyclist nears. She is wearing a very knowing smirk as she passes us.

“I, uh, might need us to walk a little slower for a few paces.” Walker clears his throat, readjusting his grip on my hand.

Knowing how easily I can get him hard delights me, and it’s difficult to keep my eyes off him as we continue down the path. It’s only when we exit the tunnel of blooming branches that I realize my distraction in Walker made me forget my other purpose for choosing this location for our date.

A child rushes past us, giggling as she escapes the clutches of her mother, who is trying to seem nonplussed but is thoroughly irritated given the twitch in her cheek.

I had let Walker think he was steering us, directing us, while subtly ensuring we went the right way to end up at this location at the appointed time.

“Shit, is that the drunk from the other night?” Walker whispers, nodding at the man on a nearby bench, who is watching the mother and child.

“Small world,” I say.

It isn’t. It is , but this is a purposeful coincidence.

The mother of the little girl is not the wife from the other night.

The man meets his mistress and their two-year-old daughter here to keep things quiet.

The mistress isn’t all that great of a person either, considering she wants the child support more than the child and gouges him for money constantly, while threatening to go public with his infidelity.

He’s a minor politician on the city council, and VP of the local Saks Fifth Avenue.

It was easy enough to learn all that from just his name and following him home and around the city for the past few days.

Learning of this meeting was another opportunity to confirm what I already suspected.

These people are both scum, but perhaps only he is worthy of a reckoning.

The mistress is at least putting in some effort with the child, and there is an occasional fondness in her smile that proves she isn’t completely unfeeling toward her daughter.

The man on the other hand, Reginald Wayfair, actually flinches when his daughter runs up to him and tries to climb onto his lap. He adjusts her next to him instead like she is an unwanted lap dog or insistent cat rather than his own kin.

I like animals, by the way. I was never the type to “practice” on them like is so common among my peers.

What would be the point? Animals, pets, all serve a purpose, and are innocent in ways that people rarely are.

Unfortunately, animals seldom like me. They sense my…

wrongness, and so it is best to avoid dogs in particular.

People tend to not trust others who dogs shy from.

I like cats better anyway. Independent survivalists who kill as needed and don’t care what anyone thinks? How could I not?

“That is not the woman he was with the other night,” Walker recognizes the truth as the woman joins the disgruntled Wayfair.

“Too much to hope that it’s his daughter and granddaughter?”

“Definitely too much,” Walker snorts. “His wife wasn’t old enough to have a daughter that age. What is it with people? Is it really that hard to leave someone if you want to be with someone else, instead of cheating?”

“Maybe she’s his sister,” I continue to play dumb.

“You don’t believe that. I might suck at reading people, but even I can spot someone desperately trying to not be noticed.”

He’s not wrong. The real trick, as I have mentioned before, is to not try so desperately, but most people act extra suspicious when trying to be clandestine. Or breathe harder and stomp louder when trying to keep quiet and not alert the killer to their location.

Trust me, it never works. Human nature always betrays you.

I guess that makes me a little inhuman, but it keeps me from getting caught.

“Why don’t we ignore him and whatever vile behavior he’s up to today and take in one of the real reasons I chose this spot.” I stop us a good several paces down the path out of the canopy of trees to turn Walker around and look at the backdrop we have left behind.

It really is one of the reasons I wanted to come here. That archway of trees we left is like a magical entrance into a fairy world, mixing shades of green and different types of foliage and flowers with the juxtaposition of the tallest buildings in the city framed behind it.

“Landscape meets cityscape. Worthy of the hero image for my article.” I retrieve the camera from my messenger bag—the good one off its tripod, not just my phone.

“Wow.” Walker takes it all in beside me. “I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated this part of the park before. This time of year, it’s breathtaking. I bet when the leaves change, it’s even cooler.”

“An excuse for me to make sure I am back here in the fall.” I grin at him around the camera. As he bashfully looks away, I back up a few steps to better get Walker into some of the shots.

“Whoa, no, don’t get me in them!” he protests, hiding his face.

“But people are what make a location real.”

“Okay, but if you use any with me for the article, don’t show my face. I’ll end up looking stupid or phony.”

“If you insist, although you are doing a huge disservice to my audience.”

He laughs.

As I am rotating around Walker to get different angles, he keeps his face turned away, like he is focused on something in the distance.

Artistically, it does make for a better balance in the shots, but my favorite is definitely going to be the one I snap just as he shyly glances at me to check if I am still shooting.

I have also rotated around him enough to get Wayfair and his mistress in that final shot.

I don’t need photos for blackmail or for any personal collection I keep.

They’ll be destroyed or at least cropped once Wayfair is dealt with, but everything helps paint the picture of who he is, what he deserves, and when and where to best rid the world of him.

I jot a few things down on my notepad as well, both for the article and coded notes about Wayfair, while Walker drinks in the scenery and makes a better view of it by being part of it. When I am ready to move on, I slip up behind him and steal a snapshot over his shoulder.

“Jesus!” He laughs again. “Are you a ninja? And hey, what if that shot goes straight up my nose?” He pushes me in the shoulder.

“It won’t. Stealth is not exclusive to ninjas either.”

“Ah, so you’re just stealthy. You know, sometimes you give off Bond vibes more than… I don’t actually know any famous travel writers. Does Anthony Bourdain count?” he chortles.

That prompts a hearty laugh from me too, and I slip the camera back into my bag. “Maybe I am a secret agent in disguise.”

“So, if I found out the truth for sure, you’d have to kill me?” He bats his eyes.

The expression, our surroundings, it is all so beautiful to me that I wish I still had my camera out to capture it. I capture Walker instead with a hand on his cheek. “No. You, I would spare.”

Unless I have no choice.

We are not as secluded as we were in the tree tunnel, but I steal a chaste kiss.

We decide we will get that early dinner together, and I inquire about what we might do for our third date.

“Does mister ‘occasionally business casual’ dance?” Walker asks.

“Oh, terribly.”

“Perfect. We’ll go dancing.”

For Walker, I was willing.

In the meantime, later tonight and throughout the next week, I will continue to watch Wayfair and solidify my plan to make the world better by no longer having him in it.