Page 51 of Lust

“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.Howcan 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.

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