Chapter 2

NATALIA.

“You coming out tonight?” Gail, my best friend, purred as she gave me those longing eyes when she stopped by the door of the bathroom in our dorm. It was the type of look where she asked a question even though she already knew the answer. I wished I could go out with her, but I couldn’t, as much as I was dying to.

“Remember? I have that blind date thing. You know, the guy I met online.”

Her dark hair was tied up in a bun, something she did before she would be ready to hit the town when we had the funds, but most of the time we went to frat parties. She pouted, making her green eyes appear sad. “Oh.”

Then it was as if she had a light-bulb moment and lifted one finger up. “Wait. You mean the one guy who loves serial killers and shares your crazy obsession?”

I felt a little weird telling her about the group I joined and this guy that I met online. I didn’t tell her that he was a jerk; one who claimed to have enough information to say that all the stuff they said about Ted Bundy was bogus and there was no correlation between serial killers and the inner workings of their brains.

They were psychopaths who loved to bring harm to others, that was all there was to it. That idiots like myself wanted to believe that it had to do with mother nature or the way their brain was wired.

He insulted my intelligence, which should have told me to stop talking to him from the start.

They were sick.

Fucked up.

All the screws were loose.

However we wanted to sugarcoat it, it all boiled down to the same thing: We lived in a world where there were good people and bad people. Serial killers were the bad ones, and we could glorify it, but it was as simple as that. He liked to think of the world as being so cut and dry, but my world was completely different. I joined for a reason; a reason no one knows. A secret I was holding on to, the real reason I left Russia.

And just in case this turned into a fabulous date and I got lucky, I had to make sure I took my medication beforehand because if I didn’t, I’d feel super horny. Whenever I got too wound up with a guy, it would be like I had a terrible stomach flu and I’d have to leave, to crawl into my own bed until the horrible cramps and nausea ended. The downside was that it left the side effect of me not being remotely interested in sex.

At times, I wondered if I’d ever be with a man intimately.

And then this guy I was meeting from the online chat. He intrigued me and I wanted to meet him in person after the long conversations we’d had about serial killers.

I needed to see him tonight to prove that his theory was wrong, that it wasn’t as simple as that. And supposedly he had the proof to show that it was, whereas I had the opposite.

Her green eyes gave me the look, not the begging one that she’d given me moments ago, but one of terror as her eyes widened and she froze like she were in shock.

“I don’t want you to meet this guy. I mean, you being in this group freaks me out enough, but the idea of you meeting someone who is in it worries me. I mean aren’t these groups full of copycats?”

I chuckled as she said it, not realizing what she was implying about me.

“I’m twenty-one, I can handle myself. Besides this means I am a copycat too. And if I were, then I would have been done with you already!” I said as I jumped in front of her and started to tickle her.

“Stop it! Stop it!” she protested, so I moved away from her, back to applying my makeup.

We started college as roommates and clicked from day one. We vowed to always be roommates because it was clear that we were BFFs. Everyone said we were always together, and she was the friend I never had in high school because I had to keep people away back then. Some knew my history and background, and there were others who knew part of it and were too scared to be close to me.

“Right. If there’s anything that you’re not comfortable with, you just get out of there. No going back to his apartment or anything like that. You get me?”

I turned and saluted her. “Scout’s honor.”

“Not funny. You were never in the Scouts!”

Every time I felt sexually attracted to or desired someone, I lost my body and mind. I hated not being in control, but it’d happened a few times. I would decide to go all the way, then I would get frustrated and a heat would build-up inside of me so strong it would scare me, making me want to run away. When I tried to force it, make myself continue, I would get so sick I’d have to stop. I worried I wouldn’t lose my V-card, and something horrible would happen to not only him but me too.

So sex was off-limits for me.

I’d asked my BFF in high school if she had ever felt that way, and she told me I was funny. The problem was she was the only one laughing. It didn’t make me want to laugh, scaring the living crap out of me instead.

Once I finished getting ready, I checked my makeup, pinned up my dark locks elegantly, and spun around to face her.

“How do I look?”

“Like a million bucks. But I would feel a lot better if you were wearing sweatpants, instead of heels and the red number you bought last week. I thought was for the party tomorrow.”

“I can wear the same dress twice. I’m not rich.”

“Whatever!”

Then, as interested as she was about my night, she turned around like she wasn’t, but I knew that wasn’t the case. It was her way of hiding her disappointment. I took my keys, phone, and mace, which I promised I would take with me, and then I was on my way.

I didn’t know if this was a good idea, but I kissed her on the forehead and she hugged me like this was the last time she would ever see me. I squeezed her back and gave her a reassuring smile, which wasn’t returned.

I would be back tonight, and tomorrow we would go to a frat party—the same thing we did each and every weekend.

So that she wouldn’t see all the color had probably drained from my face, I turned away from her. There were too many frat parties. The guys were half-drunk, stoned, or both. If you claimed to have slept with any of them, they treated it like a trophy and just went along with it.

They loved the attention, and their ego being stroked, especially when you told them how good they were the previous night.

Once the door closed behind me, I could breathe again. I hoped I’d done the right thing by lying to my best friend and everyone else too.

Half an hour later, nerves jangled inside me as I stood outside the café. I was overdressed for the occasion and wished I had just put on something else like leggings or jeans.

We’d decided he’d wear a black rose on his shirt and I’d wear a red dress, which was the real reason I bought it last week. I didn’t have a red dress, so I told Gail I’d bought it for the party tomorrow.

I smoothed a hand over the material and took a shaky breath. This could go one of two ways: fantastic, or I’d have to deal with a stalker. Either way, I wasn’t dumb. This was a public place and I hadn’t told him my last name or anything he could use to track me down later. Online I was JDT and he was Theodore30. Two strangers meeting in person for the first time.

I pushed aside my anxiety and opened the glass door. The scent of coffee and pastries tickled the back of my tongue. Quickly, I checked the place out and spotted a guy in the back with a black T-shirt. I squinted in his direction. Did he have a rose? I couldn’t tell from here, so I pushed farther into the cafe.

Then a man with dark hair, dressed in a crisp, buttoned-up shirt stood with a bow of his head, and I swear my heart skipped a beat. He wore black jeans and boots.

When his gorgeous dark eyes met mine, a blush heated my whole face. It couldn’t be.

“Theodore30?” I gaped. No, he couldn’t be my blind date. Not him from high school. I left Russia to come to America to pretend my past didn’t exist, but it was right in front of me.

He moved toward me, just slightly, and I could feel the heat and the danger wafting off him in waves. I should’ve ignored him, kept going to the back and the restrooms, and waited until he left. But I couldn’t make my feet move.

A black rose was pinned to the pocket on his shirt.

“JDT?” he asked, raising a dark eyebrow with a look that said he knew exactly who I was.

I cleared my throat and shook my head to clear it as I realized it wasn’t so much of a blind date when you know the person to whom you’ve been talking to.

“What the hell are you doing here, Tomas? How did you leave Russia?” I whispered in an angry, strained voice.

He chuckled, “The same way you did, on a plane!”

He gestured toward the booth and I backed up a step. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

His eyes darkened, but he gestured to the empty booth. “My treat, since if you knew it was me, then you wouldn’t have agreed to come.”

So, if he knew, then why trick me? I felt humiliated as every word which we’d ever exchanged flashed through my mind.

“Did you join the group because you knew I was in it?” I hissed, not moving from my spot.

“No.”

A few people glanced our way, and embarrassment flooded me.

I slid in across from him, my heart rattling in my chest like a wild bird. He sat down. We hadn’t seen each other since high school.

This close-up, his lips were plush and his smile held a hint of danger. It was the kind of smile you’d find on a pirate; the kind of smile that could seduce and pillage.

His eyes were the deepest shade of onyx, the darkest I’d ever seen, not just in color but in intensity and brilliance. A hint of a spicy cologne, not too strong, tickled my nose, just enough to make me think he not only smelled good but that he was a man who took care of himself.

I shook my head. No, this man was an irritating bully.

“What can I get you, sweetie?” a waitress asked as she stepped up to our table.

“An espresso.” As good as he looked now, I’d learned that handsome packaging could be deceiving. Best to have something that I could drink and leave quickly.

The waitress gave him a smile and turned away because he already had a drink.

“I heard they were planning to reenact the Ted Bundy case,” he said in a sexy voice I don’t remember him having before, and goosebumps broke out across my skin at the sound of it.

My heart rate picked up again and I wished I could stop staring at his mouth. “Oh?” I managed to say, as though disinterested.

He leaned forward, tracing his fingers along the paper napkin on the table.

“They’re romanticizing him. Women think that he’ll fall in love with them and they go on dates, thinking that they can change him. Make him fall in love and fix him.”

“That’s not true.”

“Of course, it isn’t. It’s a myth.” He licked his lips. “What about you? What do you do nowadays?”

“I study psychology.” I shrugged and thanked the waitress when she brought my espresso. I added two sugars and motioned to him. “What about you?”

“The same.”

I glanced at his hands. He didn’t have any tattoos that I could see. Had he dropped out of the motorcycle club he was in? Or did he hide his markings?

“Why was your screen name, JD? For Jeffery Dahmer?” He brushed a hand through his hair, his gaze studying me.

There was the one case, according to all sources, where there had been a connection with one of his victims—Tony.

“Like Jeffery thought, at first, Tony could cure him. And it seemed like it was reciprocated because Tony stayed and didn’t flee when he should have, and it intrigued me. None of Jeffery’s other victims had me curious like Tony, because I thought he loved Tony, but it became clear he was incapable of empathy.”

His lips curled into a smile. “Or it could mean there was a good director and the true story of their relationship was Hollywoodized.”

I thought back to our texts and realized as far as he was concerned serial killers were sick. It had nothing to do with their brain make-up, nor their environment, he came here to tell me they weren’t made that way, just born to kill. I came here to tell him he was wrong.

“Bundy was so fucked-up his ego was challenged by strong women.” He chuckled.

“You think he was shallow?”

“Yes.”

His eyes bored into me. I shouldn’t have been turned on or even sitting here talking to the guy who back at high school made my life a living hell. I added another pack of sugar to my espresso, stirring it with the tiny plastic spoon, as it wasn’t sweet enough even after two packs.

“But how does the old saying go? Men are afraid of women laughing at them, but women are afraid of men killing them.” I added.

“But that’s not the case with all serial killers.” He rubbed his chin. “Jeffery Dahmer killed only men.”

“And yet, women are fascinated with him and others.” It was dangerous, wasn’t it? The unknown? Everything clicked, the pieces falling together. Ted’s murderous rage had been insatiable. Just like many other serial killers had been.

I shivered.

“You ever witnessed a murder or someone die?”

Shit, he knew. I suspected he, like most in high school, knew the true nature of my family, but he’d confirmed it with a question. He leaned back, stretching out an arm across the back of the booth. “Cause it’s not as glamorous as they make it out in books and on TV. Or is it?”

I flushed as he asked, confirming what I’d already suspected. He knew about my family. I needed to leave. Meeting a stranger was bad enough, but meeting someone who knew my background was even worse. The short time I’d spent talking to him had taken up all my energy. No more was I sipping on my espresso but letting the hot coffee burn my throat as I downed it in one gulp.

“What do you get from our group… about killers?”

I chewed on my lip for a second, not knowing how much to confess to this guy. Sure, we had chatted online, but the intimacy and intensity of sitting across from Tomas, who shared something on an intellectual level with me, had me flashing him a sarcastic smile. “I guess it’s the same reason why people watch horror movies, visit haunted houses, or even jump out of a plane. It’s the thrill of the danger. A morbid curiosity.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “So should we craft a story about you? She was kidnapped by some crazy guy who loved crime stories and actually planned to kidnap, not an heiress, but a girl in a café?”

Panic hit my chest and his eyes locked with mine, and for a moment I thought he was going to charge across the table after me. He sounded like he was quoting something a news headline had said about my dad. I sucked in a breath. He was going to lift me from my seat and carry me out of here. He’d chain me to the wall in his basement and force me to do all kinds of things with him. I wouldn’t put it past him.

“Great. Well, I’m just glad she wasn’t hurt. That the guy turned out to be joking and a jerk but not a psycho.”

“So you’re not interested in a little abduction?” he asked with a sexy grin.

“I’d have to have more to go on. Like what would motivate him to do such a thing? And in public?”

“What if the sugar you’ve added to your espresso isn’t just sweetener? What if I’ve drugged it?”

I let out a nervous laugh and my gaze darted to the sugar packets lying on the table.

“Not enough to kill you. Not yet.” He rubbed his thumb across his lower lip. “But enough to have you pass out and docile enough for me to take you out of here without any protest.”