by Jade Eby
She knows I’m Cupid, and now I’ve written her name in fucking blood on a door above a dead body. Even worse, I carved the damn name she gave me into his chest.
He blew out a long breath.
Fucking fantastic! Now she’s going to see the message and think I’m crazy!
“You are crazy,” his mother said behind him.
Shocked, he twisted around and yanked the rose from his ear. “Mom, what are you doing here?”
“Saving your ass as usual.” She fanned herself, took off the leather jacket she always wore, and captured him in her arms. “She won’t find out about you, Baby. I’ll make sure of it.”
“No.” He pushed her away. “No, I don’t need your help. I want you to go back to Paris.”
“But, darling—”
“No.” He pushed at her again. “I don’t need you this time.”
“No?” Her image rippled in front of him. “Are you sure, Honey?”
His chest filled with fear, but he nodded. “I’m sure.”
And in the next moment, his mother evaporated in front of him.
He stood there for a long time. Moments like that were hard for him to swallow. It was in those seconds when he realized that his mother was actually dead.
He didn’t like those times.
Yes. That’s right.
He released another long breath.
I killed Mother. I really have to stop forgetting that.
Nineteen
Diana
Diana paced back and forth in the bedroom she no longer felt comfortable in. Thoughts bounced around her skull like a pinball machine.
She’d slept with Asher.
And, Asher was Cupid.
Jesus!
Cupid was Asher.
And he’d killed Neil.
She didn’t think about Neil’s young life being taken from him by a bow and arrow. Neither did she give any thoughts to his dead mistress. Instead, she shook with fury that the hunt was over.
She’d barely gotten started. The ache to discover Cupid’s identity had burrowed so deep inside of her, and it had been ripped right from her grasp.
By accident.
Why had she snooped? Why couldn’t she have just laid in bed with post-sex bliss dripping from her dark, velvet skin? She would have been none the wiser and the thrill—that itch to do what she did best would still be there.
I’m going crazy. I just slept with the man that killed my husband, and I’m irritated that I found it out so soon. I should just escape away from him, and run right into a mental hospital.
What was she to do? She was certain Asher sensed the change in her. He’d given her a strange look, almost as if he could smell Diana’s mingling emotions emanating from her flesh.
She wasn’t as scared as she should have been. Perhaps it was because Cupid’s kills had always held meaning.
There was reason behind the murders.
Logical, decipherable justifications.
Diana truly believed, even after knowing the truth, that Cupid didn’t want her dead.
It wasn’t that she was scared of Cupid—it was more that she was terrified she had developed feelings for him.
She respected him.
Honored his code.
Anyone who killed a man that raped his daughter nightly, was no enemy of mine, but. . .what do I do? Too much has happened. This man kills people. He’s a psychopath or sociopath, or freaking both. I don’t know.
She’d held Asher in her arms. Kissed his lips in a hundred different ways. Seen the way his blonde curls fell over his eyes when he bent down to suck on her nipples.
Her visions of Asher and Cupid swirled together, until she couldn’t decipher who was who and how she felt about them separately. They were one in the same and the more she thought about it—the more anxious she became.
There was a part of Diana that wanted to expose him to the Ovid Island residents, for the sheer fact that he thought he could hide it. But there were other parts of her that dulled the rash decisions.
She wanted to ask him a hundred questions.
Had she always been part of his plan? How many more men had died at his hand? Why was he this way?
But how? How do you ask a man you’ve embraced and exchanged kisses with why he kills, as if it’s a completely natural question?
Had her cell phone not gone off, she would have spent hours circling the endless cycle of questions she wanted to know.
“Hello?”
“Diana, it’s Greg. There’s been another murder.”
Diana swallowed and for a brief second, she believed she made the entire night up in her head. If Cupid killed again, surely he would have been dealing with his mess. Not wrapped up in his lover’s arms.
“Where?”
“South Manhatten Avenue.”
“Are you sure it’s related to the Cupid murders? That’s below his comfort level for rich men.”
Her boss sighed. “I’m sure. Look, you just… really should get down here. There’s something you need to see for yourself.”
Diana’s heart raced. She’d was usually kept out of the crime scenes, not summoned to them. “Right. Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She hugged the phone to her chest after her boss hung up. She stayed very still and tried to detect the anxiety inside of her. The fear that should have course through her.
But Diana wasn’t afraid. She was thrilled. She would pretend the hunt was still on. If only for the night, so she could revel in the vibrations of discovery and uncovering. Tomorrow, she would decide what to do. But that night, she would feign ignorance.
She threw on jeans and a t-shirt, pulled her black curls into a loose ponytail and rushed down the giant staircase.
“Asher!”
His name echoed through the giant space and there was no trace of movement.
“Asher?” She called out, more of a question than a demand.
Again, only darkness and silence answered her back.
“Oh this is ridiculous. Who needs a house this big anyway?” She mused aloud, rushing through the main hallway to the kitchen.
His chef jumped when Diana swung the door open.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m looking for Asher. He’s not… well, to be honest, I don’t know where he’s at in this house.”
The woman was older, her eyes defined by the deep crows feet around them. Her gray hair slicked back in a bun only gave her a slightly professional edge, though her face reminded Diana of a grandmother’s. Sweet, docile, forgiving. Did she have any idea what Asher was doing?
No, probably not. He had hidden it well. Her discovery was a mistake she wasn’t meant to find.
“Oh Ma’am, that’s a complex question. Asher is a… complex man. He likes to be everywhere all the time. Would you like me to get him for you?”
Diana nodded. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
The chef walked a few steps to a grey metal box against the wall. Pushed a few buttons and leaned into it.
“Mr. Bishop? You busy?”
For a few seconds, there was only silence. And then the machine crackled and Asher’s voice filtered through the speaker. “What do you want Grace? Mother and I are having an important conversation.”
Grace turned to look at Diana, her brows knitted together, a frown on her face. Diana looked back at Grace, confusion rising up inside of her.
Mother? Was he being facetious? Sarcastic? Why would he want his chef to think he was talking to his dead mother?
Grace sighed and spoke into the box again. “Sir, your guest is requesting your presence. She’s come down to the kitchen looking for you.”
“Dammit, Grace. Why didn’t you just tell me this to begin with?” his voice was angry, but still controlled.
“I’m sorry, sir. What would you like me to tell her?”
The speaker crackled again. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
Grace turned around slowly, her mouth opened and clos
ed, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t form the words.
“Does he do that often?” Diana asked her.
“Ma’am?”
“Say things about his mother. As if he’s with her?”
Grace’s gaze met Diana’s. “I don’t think it’s my place…”
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”
It was barely perceptible, but Diana noticed the way Grace teared up. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“How long has it been since Miss Bishop passed?”
“Seven years, Ma’am.”
Diana stepped forward. “And he’s been talking to her ever since?”
Grace nodded.
“You’re a good woman, Grace,” Diana said. “Let’s pretend we didn’t talk about this.”
“Thank you Ma’am,” Grace said in a whisper.
The door flung open and Asher stood there in a grey suit, his blond curls disheveled, his expression sour.
“Diana.”
“Asher—”
Asher grabbed her wrist. “Come. Let’s let Grace finish her kitchen duties. Thank you, Grace, for alerting me to Miss Carson’s request.”
Grace nodded and met Diana’s gaze before Asher pulled her through the door.
“I thought you were tired,” Asher asked as he guided her to the sitting room.
“I was. But I just got a call.”
“From whom?”
“My boss. There’s been a murder and I need to get to the scene immediately,” Diana said, using all of her strength to remain calm and in control. She forced herself to look him in the eye.
“Are you sure that’s such a good idea? What if he’s waiting for you to arrive.”
Diana shrugged. “Then I would like to meet him. Ask him a few questions.”
She expected Asher to be stunned but instead he chuckled. “Only you would want to meet the madman going around killing people. You should be terrified of him. Whatever would you ask?”
She didn’t want to give herself away quite yet. She wanted to be sure of how she felt when she revealed what she knew. Her life might depend on it.
“The usual things. Motivation. Remorse. Those types of things.”
“Is that all? You’re not the least bit curious of anything else.”
Diana smiled, nervously. “Of course I am. But this is all hypothetical. And I haven’t got time for that. I need to go to a crime scene, remember?”
Asher nodded. “Yes, how could I forget. I’ll get my driver to take you.”
“How about you come with me? It’s your money at work after all. Nothing like seeing how it’s being used, firsthand.”
Asher shook his head. “That’s not necessary. I believe you’re doing a fine job. Besides… I have work tomorrow.”
Diana walked toward the door. “It wasn’t a question, Asher. You’re coming with me.”
Twenty
Diana
Thirty minutes later, Diana and Asher stared out of opposing windows in the limo.
The silence between them grew like a tumor. She hadn’t been sure if she would actually get Asher to come with her, but she was certain that once he was there, everything would become clearer.
She studied him as much as she could from the corner of her eye.
Okay. He kills people. The two scariest types of murderers are psychopaths and sociopaths. Which one are you, Asher? And how am I involved in your future?
She could go to the police, but she’d already ran that down in her head several times. He had the money and resources to cover it all up, or run off never to be found again, yet hidden in the shadows to take her life, whenever he craved her death.
She’d have to be careful, either way.
Every step in these next few days would have to be well-planned in order to trap him.
Asher turned her way. “I would like you to stay for two weeks, at least.”
She tensed.
Of course you want me to stay. Had you planned on having me leave at all? If I stayed would it make me safer? The staff is all around. Everyone knows I’m in his mansion. If something happens to me, Asher would be the first person suspected. Right? God, I hope I’m right. But just in case, I’ll fight it. Let’s see what happens if I say no.
She swallowed down her fear. “No.”
Shock laced his words. “No?”
“You sound surprised.”
He hid his face into the shadows of the limo. “I am.”
“That doesn’t mean that I’m done with Cupid. We can still work on that part.”
“Well, thank God for Cupid.”
“I’m sorry, but I told you that we couldn’t. . .have sex anymore.”
He got back into the moonlight, as the limo made it down Poet Lane. Pain creased around the corners of his eyes. “You’re done with me?”
“I-I’m. . .”
“Let me guess for you.” He spat out the words. “You’re mourning? Confused? Worried? Nervous?” He waited for a few seconds, and then just said it, “Scared?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe,” he muttered and went back to looking out of his side of the limo window. “Let me explain something to you, Mrs. Carson.”
She smirked. “We’re back at Mrs. Carson?”
He ignored the smart ass comment. “I’m glad you’re not done with Cupid.” His voice came out darker than ever before. “However, I’m certainly not done with you, either.”
“That’s too bad. I’ll have to disappoint you, if you try to make a move on me. The sex was a mistake.”
“No, Diana.” He turned to her and pierced her with a heated gaze. “The sex was only the beginning.”
Has he lost his mind? Uh. . .yes. He’s a freaking serial killer. He lost his mind long ago. He talks about his mother like she really exists. Why am I in this limo with him again?
She bit her lip and stared in front of her.
A quiet settled upon them as the limo sluggishly rolled through Ovid Island.
Hurry. I got to get out of this car. It’s getting hard to breath, and I don’t know if it’s fear or lust that’s coursing through my veins.
Even though a decent amount of space sat between them. His warmth radiated from his body and caressed her. She yearned to run her fingers through those blonde curls that she’d played with while they made love. Her tongue craved a lick of his skin and a wrestle with his tongue. Her teeth ached to bite the curve of his neck, and just taste him for one more time.
No. Get that out of your head right now. No. Damn it, driver. Hurry.
Diana was sure the vehicle drove at a regular speed and that it was more her impatience of wanting to see what Greg had summoned her to rather than her desire to escape his presence. Sex with Asher would not be something that she even allowed to play upon her mind.
She would not think about his dick
or the way it felt in her hands.
In her mouth.
Inside of her.
No, no, no.
Yet, the memory of his tongue’s sensations on her body, rocked her, right in that moment. A low moan fled her lips, before she could even stifle it.
And he had to have heard her, because he turned to her and raised the right side of his lip into a sneer, as if he was just as hungry for her, and just as mad about it.
Her face flushed like she’d been running. That was what he did to her, with just one night of sex, had her thinking about the things he did to her flesh, whether she wanted to or not.
And his cock,
so thick,
and just right.
She’d dreamed about Asher’s cock, earlier in her home. That night by herself, she toyed with her clit. She’d hoped for him to be inside of her, begged for it in the silence of her bedroom. From then on, she’d painted his cock onto her mental canvas in long strokes with her imaginary paintbrush.
But nothing had prepared her for the real thing.
And nothing would probably keep her from painting the reality in her head, in futur
e nights to come. Nothing would change that, not even the sad fact that this man was a deranged killer.
That very fact shook her all the way down to the core.
I need professional help. Something is wrong with me. After I take down Asher, I’ll get some help.
And then Asher’s words stopped her mental tangent. “What are you thinking about?”
“Hmmm.” She paused, rummaged for a quick thought, and blurted it out, “I’m wondering if Cupid is a sociopath or psychopath?”
A neutral mask slipped onto his face. “Interesting.”
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Surely, you would have an opinion,” she pushed further.
“Surely.” He sighed. “Is Cupid a sociopath or psychopath? That’s a hard one. Why does it even matter?”
“In order to catch a killer, I have to get into the murderer’s mind. In order to do that, I have to know something about his type of pathology. Some killers do it based on crimes of passion, those people tend to be narcissist and one-time murderers. They hate rejection. That isn’t Cupid, he had no real relationship with his victim’s women.”
“Okay,” he muttered.
“So we move on. Other killers are hit men commodifying death, or gang members doing it for loyalty to the group. These aren’t Cupid, either.”
“I agree.”
“Then we have the sociopaths and psychopaths.”
Asher shifted uncomfortable in his seat.
“That’s what I’m wondering.” Diana placed her hands into her lap. “Which one is Cupid?”
“I don’t know.”
“But do you know anything about psychopaths and sociopaths?”
“A little. I read a few books.”
“I know. I’ve seen your library. Most book worms would get an orgasm from just gazing at your bookshelves.” She forced a fake giggle.
He didn’t laugh, in fact, he didn’t seem happy with this discussion at all.
I should stop, but I’m not. If he thinks I’m just going to sit around and be scared of him, without pushing his buttons and analyzing him, then he’s wrong.
“But, what do you know about those types of murderers?” she asked. “Psychopaths and sociopaths.”
