Kissing the Killer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Barone Crime Family)

by Hamel, B. B.

  “It’s because of Easton. It’s always been because of him.” Jean laughed again. “After Easton got my father murdered, my family fell apart. Do you know what that’s like, losing a father like that?”

  I shook my head no. “He hated killers,” I managed to say.

  “I know. Ironic, right?” Jean seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. “I thought to myself, what would be the best way to get back at Easton? And it hit me all at once: revive the killer that had so destroyed everything about my life and had taken my father’s. Become Lester Seed and get revenge on Easton Wright.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said.

  His smile disappeared. “Maybe,” he said, “but it’s almost over. You’re the last victim before I destroy Easton.”

  “How?”

  He cackled wickedly, the smile coming back. “You know what’s going to happen now, don’t you? Are you just trying to keep me talking so that you don’t have to go through it?”

  He was right, but I just stared at him silently.

  “Either way, it’s just a delay.” Jean looked at his nails absently. “My father had a wealth of information, you see. Case files, books, basically a how-to guide for any up-and-coming serial killer. I simply studied and practiced.”

  “All those dead girls,” I said softly. “All of them innocent.”

  “Maybe, but death comes eventually anyway, doesn’t it?”

  I could see the madness in his eyes. Whatever had happened to Jean after his father’s death had pushed him well beyond the limits of a normal person. He wasn’t human anymore, not after all the killings. Maybe at one time he could have been saved, but the more he spoke, the more I knew that he was way beyond coming back.

  “Not like this,” I said. “Please.”

  “Sorry, Laney.” He began to unbuckle his belt, the wicked, twisted smile never leaving his face. “I like you, you know. You seem smart and kind. Easton likes you too.” He pulled his pants down. “He had a file on you. Described you as ‘sexy and brilliant,’ I believe. Plus those pictures were about as intimate as you can get.”

  He began to reach toward me, and I knew what was coming. I had read the case files, over and over and over, and now I was becoming one of them. I was becoming one of those poor, murdered girls.

  He reached up and unlocked my wrists. I tried to struggle, but I was so weak, he simple pinned me back against the wall.

  “I like you, Laney,” he said softly. “So I’ll tell you this. If you struggle, it will be worse, so much worse.”

  I began to cry.

  Suddenly there was a loud boom. It was almost deafening in its explosive force. Jean instantly stopped what he was doing, his face clouding over.

  “Fuck,” he said.

  Hope filled my chest.

  He moved back out of the cage and slammed the door shut. “Stay,” he said. “I’ll be back in a second.”

  He grabbed the lantern and left.

  My heart was beating like mad in my chest, but he hadn’t locked my hands back up.

  I waited half a second for him to disappear upstairs, and then I shifted around, my face toward the cage door. I pushed against it as hard as I could, but it was locked.

  I pushed and pushed and smashed with all my weight and strength, but it was making too much noise and doing absolutely nothing. I heard Jean stomping around upstairs.

  Then I remembered his pants. He hadn’t put them back on as he’d left.

  I reached out between the bars, groping blindly. My heart was hammering and sweat jumped up along my body.

  Nothing but concrete floor. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

  And then a cuff.

  I grabbed it, pulling it slowly toward me.

  It slipped through the bars and I quickly felt at the pockets.

  I almost wanted to scream. There was a phone in the pocket. I pulled it out quickly and powered it up. As the lock screen appeared, I began to cry again.

  It was my phone.

  Quickly, I unlocked it. I went into the map program and found my location. I dropped a pin and then quickly scrolled through the options to share my location.

  The door opened and the light returned.

  Frantic, I found the share option. I scrolled through the names, quickly, quickly.

  “Laney,” Jean’s voice came.

  Easton. I found Easton’s name, hit send.

  “I have a little problem up here,” Jean called. “But I will be with you very shortly.”

  I went into the text program, found Easton. I’m here. Come get me. It’s Jean Rodriguez, he’s the killer. I hit send.

  I heard Jean’s feet on the steps. I put the phone back into the pocket and slid the pants out of my cage.

  Jean turned the corner and stopped in front of my cage. “Have you ever made meth?” he asked.

  I shook my head, eyes wide.

  “It’s a pain in the ass.” He grabbed his pants and pulled them on. “Don’t worry, I should be finished cleaning up soon. Then we can get back to it, okay?”

  I backed up against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest.

  He smiled and waved as he walked away, plunging the room into darkness.

  It was just me again. Just me, floating in an empty space. Alone, terrified, and completely blind.

  But Easton knew where I was.

  Hope blazed up in my stomach.

  26

  Easton

  I was almost too deep into my own research to notice the text.

  It had hit me like a flash in Sloan’s office. And the more I read, the more it made sense.

  Jean Rodriguez would be about Laney’s age, maybe a year younger. He had behavioral problems even as a young kid and had been diagnosed with severe emotional instability. The file didn’t actually call him a sociopath, but it definitely implied it.

  Martin had protected Jean his whole life. When Jean began to act out, Martin used most of his money to pay for top care for Jean. Martin’s wife, Melissa, tried to help the best she could, and between the two of them they managed to keep Jean in check.

  Around Jean’s fifteenth birthday, he caught and murdered a neighbor’s cat. He did some time in juvenile detention for that, but only a month. Martin got him out early.

  Two years later, he got into an incident at school. Apparently, he had savagely attacked and brutally beaten another school boy over a girl. The details were pretty weak, but he managed to avoid jail time.

  After that Martin put Jean in a special school for kids with emotional problems.

  Martin did an amazing job protecting his son. I barely knew much about Jean, and I had never bothered to research him before. I knew he had issues, but I didn’t know the extent of his problems. Martin never talked about him, and he clearly went out of his way to try to keep Jean out of anyone’s mind.

  Martin was Jean’s biggest advocate and most powerful protector.

  When Martin died, Jean graduated from the school. Without Martin’s steady hand to guide him and the money he brought in, Jean was left in Melissa’s care. And Melissa simply wasn’t equipped like Martin was to handle him. Plus, she was working full time to support her other, younger children.

  Jean didn’t stand a damn chance.

  It was a tragic story. It was a story I should have been more familiar with. I should have known what was happening, should have been there. Martin had buried it so well that it took murders to dredge Jean’s story up. Plus, I was too busy wallowing in my own fucking self-pity to notice that shit. I vowed to help take care of Martin’s family as best I could.

  But I was going to catch and put Jean away for a very, very long time.

  I only noticed the phone buzz because I was thinking about calling Melissa and checking to see if she knew where Jean was.

  Of course, once I saw the message from Laney, I didn’t need to make that call anymore.

  It hit me like a knife in the chest. I’m here. Come get me. It’s Jean Rodriguez, he’s the killer. And the location was right there
.

  I opened it up in my maps app. She was just outside town, surprisingly near where Luisa had been found.

  I stood, rage flowing through me, and grabbed my gun. I was out and in the car, my engine revving, before I even realized what I was doing.

  It was like a year ago all over again. Except now I was Martin, ready to charge into danger alone.

  The thought hit me square in the chest.

  But as far as I knew, Sloan didn’t believe that Laney was missing. Then again, the text was pretty conclusive. Or at least it would be enough for him to send some troopers with me to check out the location.

  Still, I didn’t know how much time she had. I didn’t know how she had gotten her phone, if she was unharmed, or what. The faster I got to her, the more likely it was that she’d be safe.

  Or, I could get there and get both of us killed.

  I had the biggest decision of my life. I was given a second chance to try to do it right, but I couldn’t make up my mind.

  I was torn. I needed to move, to save time, but I also needed backup.

  My hands on my phone, I began to drive.

  27

  Laney

  Alone in the dark, floating in space.

  I heard Jean stomping around upstairs some more. I didn’t understand what he meant by the meth comment, or what had happened upstairs, but I knew that I was incredibly lucky. If he had been distracted a moment later, or if he hadn’t kept my phone in his pants, or any number of other possibilities, I’d likely be dead already.

  Instead, Easton knew where I was. I had gotten a message out to him, and he’d come.

  Hope bloomed weakly inside me.

  Again time passed. Hours, minutes, I couldn’t tell. I could only hear my breathing and Jean’s footsteps upstairs.

  Then, abruptly, his steps stopped. There was only my breath, the darkness.

  More time passed. My hope warred with my fear for control of my mind.

  And suddenly the light again, blinding. Jean descended the stairs.

  “I’m back, sweetie,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

  I cowered in the corner.

  “Took me longer than I thought. Lucky we’re not dead, actually.” He crouched down in front of the cage again, laughing. “Damn lab almost took off half the house.” He shook his head, smiling.

  “Please, don’t do this,” I whispered.

  “Come on, Laney,” he said. “I’m not so bad, am I?” He laughed.

  “Please.” I had to stall for time. “You’re not a bad person.”

  “Oh come on. I’ve always been rotten, you know. Now I’m taking my final rotten revenge on your asshole stepbrother. Or should I say boyfriend? Either way, you’re into some kinky shit, and I like it. I’m going to kill him slowly, and I’m going to make you watch.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Crazy, right? I just decided that. I’m going to cut his throat for you, Laney. I’m going to make you watch.”

  “He’ll catch you,” I said fiercely, not sure where the sudden confidence was coming from.

  “Probably,” Jean agreed, sliding off his pants. “But not before I have you.” His face got close to mine. I could smell his rotten breath. “Open your mouth, Laney. Scream for me.”

  Before I could answer, there was another bang from upstairs. Jean’s head snapped toward the door.

  “What the fuck now?” He stood and quickly walked away.

  More footsteps as Jean went upstairs.

  I was terrified but hopeful. It had to be Easton. It had to be him.

  Screams, yelling. And then, gunshots. They rang through the air loudly, more than I would have guessed.

  I was floating, alone, in the dark, listening to bullets fly above me.

  28

  Easton

  I looked over at Sloan. “This is it.”

  He nodded. “We’ll go in together.”

  The troopers had surrounded the old abandoned farmhouse. Smoke was rising from one window, though we had no clue why. It didn’t seem like a fire was raging.

  “You should stay here,” Sloan said.

  “Not a chance.”

  “We can handle it. You’re a civilian now.”

  “Sloan,” I said, staring at him, “I’m coming.”

  “Fine. Stick with me.” He held up his radio. “Everyone in position?”

  The troopers all confirmed their positions and their readiness. I took my gun from its holster, chambered a round, and prepared myself.

  “Shoot only if you have to,” Sloan said.

  “I got it.”

  “Easton.” He looked at me for a second. “Be careful.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. You too.”

  We began to move toward the house, the other troopers moving in unison.

  I had made the right choice, even if it was the hardest decision I had ever made in my life. Every inch of me had wanted to drive out here alone and go thundering in with my guns blazing, but I knew that was the wrong choice. I had to be smarter, more measured. Otherwise, people died.

  I wasn’t letting anyone else die because of me.

  Sloan had been easy to convince. Frankly, he figured that even if it was nothing, they hadn’t lost anything. And if it really was Laney with the killer, well, it would all be over.

  Even the desk sergeant I had slugged agreed that we should go.

  Five minutes later, four state trooper cars plus Sloan and I were on our way, tearing down the roads, heading toward the location Laney had sent me.

  I felt more dread than anticipation. The last time I had busted into a killer’s house, my partner had been brutally murdered in front of me.

  Back then, I had been fighting for my own obsession. I was so deep in the case that I could barely see Martin. Now, though, I was fighting for a completely different reason.

  I was fighting for Laney, to save the life of my stepsister, of the woman I wanted more than anything else.

  I followed Sloan as we moved fast and low toward the house. Two other troopers moved ahead of us, one holding a heavy battering ram. We stopped just outside the door and listened.

  Absolutely silent. My heart was beating fast in my chest, nerves eating at the edges of my mind. But I had never been more sure about anything in my life.

  The trooper swung the battering ram, hammering it into the door. It splintered and then exploded inward on the second swing. We moved inside.

  The place was mostly barren. I followed Sloan down a hall as the other troopers burst in through the back. We went room by room, calling out clear.

  In the kitchen, we found the source of the smoke. Apparently Jean had been making something, maybe a poison or some kind of drugs in a large makeshift chemical setup. From what I could tell, the thing had exploded, and relatively recently.

  “Empty,” Sloan said. “But someone was here.”

  I nodded. “What is that?”

  “Best guess is meth. Popular stuff around here.”

  “Probably how he’s getting money. Making and selling the stuff.”

  Suddenly I heard a sound around the corner. I stepped forward, gun up, to check.

  Standing ahead of me, framed in a doorway, was a young version of Martin. I gaped, almost as if I were seeing a ghost, and then quickly shook my head.

  “Easton,” Jean said, his eyes bugged open. “How?”

  “Jean Rodriguez, you’re under arrest,” Sloan called out.

  Jean took a step toward me. “Stop,” I said.

  The other troopers were yelling and moving around. Jean reached into his pants.

  “Don’t do it,” I called to him. “You don’t have to do this, Jean.”

  It was almost like we were alone in that room. I was standing face to face with the killer that had been haunting me. Worse, it was my past there, too. Jean represented every single failure that had ever happened to me, all wrapped into one.

  “Easton,” he said, “I hate you.” There was almost no expression on his face.

  “Give yourself up, Je
an. Please.” I paused then added, “Think of your dad.”

  His face twisted into a mask of rage. “I think about him every day.” He pulled a gun from his pocket.

  “Stop,” I yelled, but it was too late.

  Jean leveled the gun at me.

  An explosion of bullets met him.

  I couldn’t tell who had actually hit him, whether it was me or any of the other troopers that had fired. But in the end, Jean’s body crumpled backward, riddled with blooming red bullet wounds. He tumbled down the basement steps.

  I moved forward, ignoring Sloan’s warning. I flipped a switch but the light didn’t come on.

  I moved carefully down the steps, my gun forward. A beam from a flashlight danced from behind me, probably held by the trooper that was right on my heels.

  Jean’s body was gone.

  “He’s still alive,” I said.

  “Easton!”

  I paused, recognizing the voice. “Laney?”

  “I’m here!”

  I ran down the steps, two at a time, hitting the bottom landing and running into the basement.

  The trooper couldn’t keep up with me.

  I felt the knife first. It slid into my side, slicing into me. I let out a grunt of pain.

  “Die,” I heard, a wet whisper from my right.

  I pressed my gun against Jean’s head and pulled the trigger. He fell to the ground, not moving.

  “Fuck,” I said.

  The trooper appeared at my side. “We need an ambulance!” he yelled. “We have a stabbing!”

  “Easton!” Laney yelled. “Easton, what’s happening?”

  I pushed past the trooper and dropped to my knees. Laney was huddled in a cage, manacles dangling above her head. She stared at me and was unhurt.

  “Laney,” I said softly. I could feel the pain, feel the bleeding, but I didn’t care.

  I had her. I had her. She was safe and the killer was dead.

  Suddenly, the world tilted.

  “Easton?” she said, pushing against the bars. “Somebody help!”

  “Laney, this was for you.” I smiled at her weakly. I saw black coming into the edges of my vision.