Page 73 of Kiss Me Honey Hone

He knew that posture. That helpless retreat inward. Because he’d been there many times, years ago, in the suffocating loneliness of foster homes, his small world collapsing under confusion and fear. He knew what it felt like to bethatscared. That insecure. Until the armour had hardened around him. But unlike Aaron, Taylor had never needed protection before. This was his first taste of how cold and cruel the world could be. It was just a stupid, sensational video to him. For clicks and giggles. And serial killers were sexy, right?

No. They weren’t.

Taylor’s head jerked up, bloodshot eyes wide with terror as they locked on Aaron. He scrambled back on the bed, slamming himself into the headboard as if he could sink through it.

“No!” he choked out. “Not you! Go away!”

The panic in Taylor’s voice clawed deep and uncomfortable. But Aaron forced himself to stay composed. “Too late for that.” He stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him.

“What are you going to do to me?” Taylor squealed, the words breaking apart like glass.

Aaron exhaled sharply, the sound halfway to a laugh. “Talk to you.” He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Taylor flinch as if his presence might hurt him. “Jesus, Taylor. If I was going to kill you, don’t you think I’d have done it when you were naked, desperate, and trying to crawl up my arse after I’d told you no about fifty times?”

Taylor gripped the duvet like a shield. “Fuck.” He hung his head. “Oh, my God. Did I… did I sleep with a fuckingHowell?”

Aaron cocked an eyebrow. “Think of the bragging rights.”

“Oh, my God.” Panic overtook Taylor, and he hyperventilated.

“Jesus, Taylor, breathe.” Aaron dragged a hand down his face. “At least you can say you roofied a Howell.”

That did it. Taylor sank into the mattress like a deflated balloon. “I… it wasn’t me,” he stammered, voice cracking as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. “I swear it wasn’t me. It was Max!” He flapped a hand at the door. “He said he could get the stuff from some bloke at the uni. All it was supposed to do was make you a little sleepy, so you’d stay up here. Then when I got home…”

“You’d fuck me.”

“No!” Taylor’s voice broke as he shook his head. “No, not really. Just… so I could comfort you! Make you feel better, then maybe you’d want to. You never let me take care of you.”

“I didn’t need you to.”

Taylor’s eyes glossed over. “Now I know why.”

“Not because I’m a fucking Howell. Because I’ve been taking care of myself since I was nine years old. You think you’re the first one who’s tried that? There were others. One even succeeded. And that’s exactly why I don’t let people get too close. When you grow up being screwed over just for existing, you grow layers. You make damn sure people like Max don’t get one up on you.”

Taylor buried his face in his hands. “So… it’s true. You’re Child A.”

Aaron said nothing.

Taylor looked up, trembling, eyes filled with dread. “Did they really do it? Your parents? All those horrific things?”

Aaron shrugged. “Apparently.”

Taylor gagged, barely suppressing the urge to retch. “Did they… do stuff to you?”

“No. They kept me away from it.”

Taylor’s fear twisted, almost accusatory. “But did you? Did you—was it you?”

Aaron frowned. “Was what me?”

“Rahul. Connie.My boss.”

“Why the fuck would I kill any of them?”

“I don’t know!” Taylor cried. “You’re a Howell!”

“So that automatically makes me a murderer?”

“I don’t know!” Taylor’s voice screeched. “Does it?”

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