Page 22 of Resist Me Not (Bloody Desires #4)

Chapter twelve

WALKER

T he rest of my day is basically a wash. It’s not like I could have studied. Or done something productive. I was lucky I didn’t have to. I had no plans for today or tonight.

Other than allowing my serial killer boyfriend to invite himself over for dinner.

And implied dessert.

Me.

How can I sleep with him again? How can I see him again? And why do I want to so badly, when everything about this is pure insanity?

It didn’t help that him sucking my finger in the coffee shop gave me a partial.

Fuck . What is wrong with me?

I had so many openings to tell that detective about Trey.

Even without evidence, I could have said something.

That would have at least started an investigation, right?

And then maybe they’d eventually find evidence, even if it took a while.

Trey has a public persona. He couldn’t hide forever.

He’d have to change his name, find a new job…

Hunt down the idiot who betrayed him and make sure my body is never found.

Fuck! This is so messed up. Though maybe the most messed up part is that liking Trey is more the reason why I didn’t say anything than fearing him. Because I do. I still like him. I’ve loved every second we’ve spent together—other than the sitting quietly while he cut up a body part.

I hold my hand over my mouth. I’ve just been sitting on my sofa.

I’ve barely eaten anything all day, because as soon as my mind starts spinning, no matter how many times I think about the good aspects of Trey, it’s impossible to ignore the one glaring bad.

I don’t think the ways he’s acted around me, the ways we’ve connected, the things we’ve bonded over and bantered about were faked.

There is something real between us. If there wasn’t, he’d have no reason to keep me around.

I know his secret. I’m a loose end for him.

And he’s on his way over, where we’ll be alone, in my home, and my body wouldn’t be found for weeks because everyone knows I’m on vacation.

No! No. Trey wouldn’t kill me. If he wanted to, he easily could have last night.

My boyfriend easily could have killed me last night.

I have to calm down. I don’t even want to guess where my blood pressure is at, and I’ve used my rescue inhaler too many times today.

I’ve managed to keep a full panic attack from ratcheting up, but for how much longer.

I can’t think clearly through all this without feeling my pulse and breath quicken.

It’s close to seven already. My eyes keep drifting to my FIRST DO NO HARM poster. Usually, looking at it comforts me. It’s a reminder of everything I’ve worked so hard for, and everything I want to accomplish as a doctor. Today, I have to wonder…

Is it harm to let my boyfriend get away with murder?

Is Trey my boyfriend after our culminating fourth date?

And being an accessory to murder.

My phone rings from where I left it face down on the coffee table, and my breath catches a little too much again. I have to stay calm, take in slow, even breaths, or I’m going to be passed out when Trey gets here. It’s probably him calling to tell me he’s on his way or already downstairs.

My hand is a little shaky when I turn my phone over.

Shit. It’s that detective again. Why is he calling me now?

My messages and missed calls from last night and early this morning were from him and a few of Curtis’s friends.

They’d all been called in to talk to the detective and were warning me he’d probably ask me too, which he had.

I knew he could tell how nervous I was the entire time.

I must have had guilty written all over me.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit!

“Um, hello? Detective Clancy?” I answer.

“Good evening, Doctor Hammond.”

I feel every muscle in my body tense. This guy has authority so bred into his voice, of course he became a cop. All the messages he’d left me made me feel the same spike of fight or flight. He’s just so classically hardboiled and grizzled like something out of a noir film.

“My apologies for bothering you again today, but while Mr. Van Kirk’s missing persons case is technically no longer active, pending evidence of foul play, a few things haven’t been sitting well with me.”

Fuck.

“I’ve done a little more digging today and wouldn’t you know it, there might be cause to reopen the case. Can you come back in tomorrow morning to answer a few more questions?”

I need my inhaler. He must know something. But I can’t very well say no. “O-okay. I can be there. What time?”

“How about nine? Looking forward to it, Doctor Hammond. You’ve been a tremendous help.”

A knock on my door almost makes me yelp into the phone. “U-uh huh. Of course. Anything to make sure Curtis is okay.” Even though I know he’s dead, and if Trey always uses the same tactics, he was disposed of in multiple trash bags, because Trey cut his body into pieces.

Oh, fucking Hell, what am I doing?

“Good night, Doctor Hammond.”

“Good night.”

Another knock does make me yelp this time, but the call has thankfully ended.

Do I tell Trey?

Or do I tell the detective the truth tomorrow after Trey has left town?

I have no idea, but I know I don’t need the anxiety of hearing another knock, so I hurry to the door to let Trey in.

Seeing him makes me feel weirdly better, even though he’s the reason I’ve been spinning out all day.

He looks prim and perfect as always in the same white button-down, khaki-colored slacks, and matching blazer he was wearing earlier.

He has a large roller suitcase with him with an attached carry-on.

He also has a bag of takeout from Saffron, my favorite Indian restaurant a few blocks away.

I told him it was my comfort food whenever I was stressed studying or had a rough day at work.

He remembered.

“You look awful,” Trey says with a furrowed brow and sweeps inside, leading me back to the sofa.

He does it all so fluidly, I don’t even see how or when he closes the door, or how he led me but still brought his luggage inside.

“Well, you never look awful, Walker, but you do look frazzled. Have you eaten anything today?”

“Barely,” I admit. “Kind of hard to imagine keeping anything down right now. Though that smells amazing. Butter chicken?”

“Of course. You said it was one of your favorites, and turmeric is good for nerves. The protein from the chicken and carbs from the rice and naan should help too. I’ll get us some plates to serve on. You relax.” Trey kisses my forehead before bringing the bag of food into the kitchen.

I do feel more relaxed. I was anxious all day worrying about him coming over and what I was going to do, and here he is taking care of me again. And he was doing that long before he needed to worry about me spilling his secret.

Was I going to? Do I want to?

He brought me my favorite food just because he knew it would help make me feel better. Because he knew I was likely losing my damn mind over all this and wanted to comfort me. He really is the perfect boyfriend.

If not for the serial killer part.

“You’re a good sort,” Trey says while plating our meal like a dutiful spouse. It dawns on me that this is the first time he’s been inside my apartment. As far as I know. I really don’t need to go down that line of thinking, but he’s certainly navigating my kitchen like he belongs in it.

Although that might just be Trey, jack of all trades and master of, well, many things, especially managing to charm me despite everything I know about him now.

“Your sensitivity and compassion are part of what enamors me about you, Walker. Sometimes, I think I encounter more vile people in this world than virtuous.”

“I don’t believe that.” The sofa faces away from the kitchen, so I have to sit sideways to watch him. “I mean, I know it can seem that way sometimes, but I do believe most people are good or mean to be good.”

“This may surprise you, but I believe that as well. Which is why the good need to be protected from the bad. Don’t you agree?”

Is he testing me? I forget that Trey has just as much to worry about as I do in this situation. He needs me to be on his side, but I also think he honestly wants me to understand. “Do you not believe you’re one of the bad despite what you do?”

“Society punishes bad people. Even kills bad people.”

“Not as much as we used to. Half of the states don’t have a death penalty anymore.”

“True. But the other half still do. Prison sentences, even life sentences, don’t ensure someone doesn’t become a repeat offender, and many of the worst offenders never see the inside of a jail cell.

Who punishes them? Who protects their victims if no one notices they are being victimized?

I simply cannot stand to see people like my mother, innocent, good people, brutalized and wronged when they deserve better. ”

“I get that.” I do. It’s almost romantic. For as many superheroes there are with no-kill policies, there are plenty that do, and we still glorify them in comics and movies. But it doesn’t work like that in the real world. If people were always taking matters into their own hands, it would be chaos.

“You get it,” Trey repeats, bringing our filled plates over to the coffee table, “maybe even respect it on some level, but you can’t condone it.

I understand.” He sits, not on the sofa with me but in the chair at my left, giving me space.

He needs to stop being so damn thoughtful.

But how much calmer I’m feeling around him is making me realize how hungry I really am.

I start to eat, and the first few bites are absolute heaven.

“The only real question, doctor,” he says in that low, husky, panty-dropping voice that first captivated me, “is whether you can accept it.”

That slows the chewing of my current bite, and it feels thicker when it slides down my throat. “If I can’t? I mean, if I don’t want to be with you anymore?”