“So he could stalk my account from your profile and creep on my bikini pictures,” Freya said, gently elbowing his side.

  “Exactly,” Dec said. “And once I saw her, that was it. Couldn’t get her out of my head.”

  “He sent me a follow request later, and then he DMed me,” Freya added. “Then we started chatting, and one thing led to another.”

  I looked between them again, heart warming. “Why didn’t you guys tell me sooner?”

  Dec’s grin faded slightly. “Honestly, I was worried about jumping into another relationship, because I was still fresh off a divorce,” he said. “I thought it was better to take things slow and move quietly. So we didn’t tell anyone at all.”

  “We both thought it was for the best,” Freya added. “Because I wasn’t sure if I was ready for anything serious either. But then we just couldn’t help it. Things ended up… happening.”

  “There were other reasons for hiding it from you, too,” Dec said. “We figured you might think it was weird, seeing as I’m your stepbrother and all.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think it’s weird.”

  “Well, it wasn’t just the fact that you guys are family,” Freya said. “We also thought you might think the age gap was weird.”

  I smiled and glanced over at Malachi, who was still waiting at the bar. “My boyfriend is almost nine years older than me. So don’t worry, I think I’m all good with age gaps.”

  “Yeah, but we’re nine and a half years apart,” Dec said, grinning again. “That’s totally different, right?”

  I snorted. “Oh, sure, massive difference there. A total scandal.”

  Freya laughed softly. “So… you’re not mad?”

  “Of course not! I’m happy for you guys,” I said. Then I leaned in, lowering my voice a little. “But hey… don’t let him have too much beer. He might break into your house and fix your car.”

  Dec groaned. “Never gonna let me live that one down, are you?”

  “Not a chance.”

  He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “All right, I’m going to leave you two to roast me while I grab another drink,” he said. “And don’t worry, it’s just soda water and lime. I’m the designated driver tonight.”

  As soon as Dec wandered off toward the bar, Freya turned back to me, her smile faltering just a little. “Are you sure you’re okay with it? Me and Dec, I mean.”

  I didn’t hesitate. “Yes! Seriously. Whatever makes you happy makes me happy. You’re my best friend.”

  A small, relieved smile curved up her lips. I reached out and squeezed her hand.

  “You’re also kind of a genius, you know,” I added. “Best overall podcast, remember?”

  She shrugged. “Hey, you did just as much work on it as I did.”

  “No way! The show was your idea, and you’re the one who got everything going at the start,” I said. “To me, you’re the real MVP.”

  Freya grinned, then swept her gaze slowly around the party. “Speaking of the podcast… people here keep asking me what we’re doing next,” she said. “Are we covering a new case? Sticking with the Carver Five? Doing another season at all? But I don’t know what to tell them, because you might not have much free time soon. Right?”

  She was referring to a job offer I’d recently received from Eastview Community College in Corwin Bay. They’d asked me to teach an intro to history class.

  The offer had come as a real shock, because I didn’t think any schools or colleges would touch me with a ten-foot pole now that the entire internet knew I was the daughter of a prolific serial killer. Not to mention the fact that I was one half of a famous true crime podcast with my face plastered all over the place. But apparently, Eastview didn’t mind my infamy at all.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, smiling. “The job is part-time, mornings mostly, so I’ll still have afternoons and weekends free.”

  Freya’s brows lifted. “So we’re not breaking up the band yet?”

  “Not a chance.”

  She beamed. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” she said. Then her eyes flicked toward the bar, where Malachi and Dec were deep in conversation. “Oh, I forgot to ask. Are you guys coming to the afterparty tonight?”

  “No, sorry. I’m going on a ride-along with Malachi after this.”

  Freya blinked. “You guys are seriously working tonight?”

  “Well, he has to train a new recruit, and he offered to bring me along to see how things work. I figured it might give us some good material for the show.”

  “In that case, I’ll allow it.” Freya gave me an impish grin. “Make sure you grill him about interesting cold cases, by the way, because I bet he’s got some killer ideas for us. Pun totally intended.”

  The awards party began to wind down an hour later. After more congratulations, too many photos, and another glass of champagne, Malachi laced his fingers through mine.

  “Ready?” he murmured.

  “Always.”

  We said our goodbyes and slipped out into the cool Boston night. The city buzzed loudly around us, but inside the car, it was quiet and comfortable.

  “Where are we picking up the new recruit from?” I asked as I buckled in.

  “That got canceled,” Malachi said, pulling onto the busy street. “Something came up.”

  “Oh.” I frowned, then glanced sideways at him. “So… what are we doing instead? Afterparty?”

  He gave me a sly smile and shook his head. “I’m taking you somewhere I think you’ll like. Might even be podcast-worthy.”

  The way he said it made something stir in my chest. Curiosity, excitement, and the kind of thrill I only got with him.

  The rest of the drive passed in a comfortable hush, broken only by the occasional hum of music on the radio and the rhythmic flick of the turn signal. Eventually, Malachi pulled onto a quiet, industrial road flanked by chain-link fences and warehouses long forgotten by the city.

  “This place is kinda creepy,” I said, peering out the window.

  “Creepy might be an understatement,” he replied, easing the car to a stop in front of a large, crumbling warehouse. Most of the windows were shattered, and rust streaked the metal siding. “This building used to be a serial killer’s lair.”

  I turned to him, intrigued. “Really?”

  “Yup. The Reaper. Over two years, he abducted and killed eleven people,” he said. “According to witnesses to the abductions, he always wore a black and red mask and carried a hunting knife.”

  “Wow. I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this before.”

  “Last confirmed Reaper sighting was right here, five years ago,” Malachi said, nodding at the warehouse. “The cops on the case found all kinds of stuff inside. Photos, notes, trophies. But by the time they raided it, he was gone. Vanished. No leads since.”

  “No more killings either?”

  “None. We think he left the city. Maybe even died.” He unbuckled his seatbelt, brows rising. “Anyway… want to take a look inside?”

  “Sure.”

  I stepped out of the car and followed him over to the rusted door. He reached for the handle, then dropped his hand. “Shit, I forgot my flashlight. I’ll just run back and grab it.”

  I nodded. “I’ll wait here.”

  He jogged back toward the car, and I turned to face the warehouse door. A sliver of unease snuck under my skin, but I told myself it was just the atmosphere. Just the story. Like Malachi said, the Reaper was long gone.

  Two minutes passed, and the breeze shifted, stirring grit across the cracked asphalt beneath my feet. I turned around again, wondering what was taking Malachi so long… and then I froze.

  A figure stood around ten yards away. Tall. Still. Wearing a black and red mask. Hunting knife brandished in one hand.

  My heart stuttered, and I took a faltering step backward.

  The figure started walking toward me. Then running.

  I turned and bolted around the corner of the warehouse, gravel skidding beneath my sneakers. I went straight for the chain-link fence, but it was too high for me to climb.

  Shit.

  A wall loomed on my left, boxing me in, and I couldn’t go back the way I’d come, so I pivoted and slipped through a gate on my right, heart slamming against my ribs. Footsteps pounded behind me, fast and relentless.

  I didn’t dare look back. I darted inside the warehouse through a half-open side door, letting its darkness swallow me whole. Then I backed up against a support beam, trying to quiet my breathing as I strained to listen.

  A creak came from somewhere to the left, followed by a soft shuffle. My blood turned to ice. The masked man had followed me inside… but he was no longer running after me. Instead, he was toying with me. Hunting me.

  I started moving again, feeling my way through the dark with my hands. A moment later, my fingers grazed cold metal. Some sort of rusted shelving unit. I moved past it, edging deeper inside the warehouse.

  Slivers of moonlight spilled through broken panes high above, casting fractured shadows on the floor, and my heart leapt into my throat when I thought I saw one of the shadows move. A second later, a sound came again, and this time, it was right behind me.

  I turned, but there was no one there.

  I started walking again, faster this time, weaving through the skeletal remains of old machinery and crates. The warehouse was bigger than it looked from the outside, with rows and rows of forgotten junk.

  A sudden crack of thunder reverberated through the space. I jolted from the shock of the noise, stumbling forward, and my shoulder clipped a hanging chain, making it rattle violently.

  Shit. I’d just given away my position.

  I froze, listening. Nothing. Until… another sound, getting closer. A low, deliberate scrape, like a boot dragging across concrete.

  I ducked into a narrow aisle between two rows of shelving and pressed my body against the cold metal, heart racing hard enough to make me dizzy. I was sure the masked man wouldn’t spot me before I had a chance to slip away and double back to the door, because there were so many other hiding spots nearby. But then the air shifted, and suddenly he was right there, silhouetted body at the end of the aisle.

  He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Just moved toward my frozen body like a shadow stretching through the dark until he was only inches from me.

  The hunting knife in his hand glinted in the low light as his other hand braced against the rack beside my head. “That didn’t take me long, did it?” he said, deep voice dripping with triumph.

  “P-please…” I said, voice coming out in a broken whisper. “Let me go.”

  He grabbed my wrist and pinned it above me in one fluid motion, his body pressing into mine, hard and unyielding. Then his head dipped, lips brushing the shell of my ear through the mask. “You really think I give second chances?”

  “Please,” I begged. “I… I’ll do anything.”

  “Oh, I know you will, baby. I know.”

  His hand moved to my throat. Not squeezing, but just resting there, heavy and possessive, as if to remind me exactly who was in control.

  “Did you really think you could get away from me?” he asked in a low voice.

  His knife slipped beneath the hem of my silk blouse, the blade grazing my skin as he dragged the fabric up to expose my stomach. As the cool air hit my bare skin, I swallowed hard, breath catching in my throat.

  “I could never outrun you, Malachi,” I murmured. “And I’d never even want to.”

  He huffed out a dark chuckle. “I know, baby.”

  The blade swept upward as he sliced right through my blouse, leaving me in nothing but my bra. Then his mouth found the skin above my heart, teeth grazing as he licked a slow, dangerous path across my chest through the hole in the mask. The fabric of it scratched against my skin, but the friction only made me hotter.

  I arched into him, gasping when he dropped the knife and grabbed both my wrists, shoving them high above my head again. He held them there with one strong hand while the other unhooked my bra, letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle.

  “You were dripping wet the second you heard my footsteps, weren’t you?” he asked as he slowly sank to his knees in front of me.

  Heat flamed through me, but I couldn’t speak as he ripped off my shoes and dragged my pants down, taking my underwear with them. I shakily stepped out of them, skin burning under his stare.

  When his tongue finally dragged up the inside of my thigh, I nearly buckled.

  “Stay still,” he growled. “Hands right there.”

  I obeyed. I always did when he used that tone.

  Then he buried his face between my legs, and I forgot the rest of the world. Everything but the wet sounds of his tongue and the filthy praise he whispered against my skin.

  He didn’t let up. Not when I begged, not when I cried out his name. Not even when my knees gave out and he caught me effortlessly, dragging me down into his lap so I was straddling him, naked and breathless and shaking.

  His mask stayed on. It always did during this part of the game.

  He fumbled with his belt, finally freeing his cock with a groan of relief, and I whimpered as he guided me down onto him, stretching me inch by thick, pulsing inch until I was full and yet still aching for more.

  I rocked my hips, and his fingers dug into my ass.

  “Easy,” he bit out. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

  “Then fuck me harder,” I whispered, mouth at his ear.

  He didn’t need to be told twice.

  He grabbed my hips and slammed up into me so hard the metal shelving rattled behind us. My cries echoed through the warehouse as he fucked me like he owned me, and I clung to him like I’d fall apart if I didn’t.

  He came with a ragged growl, burying himself deep inside me as I shattered in his arms, head thrown back, stars bursting behind my eyes.

  We stayed like that for a long moment, tangled in sweat and breath and heat. Then his gloved hand cupped my jaw, lifting my face to his.

  He stripped the mask away and claimed my mouth in a deep kiss. The shift between Malachi and my masked fantasy man was effortless for him—one moment a dangerous predator, the next a man who would burn the world for me. He could always tell exactly which side of himself I needed, and I loved them both. Because together, they made up the man I could never live without.

  I cocked my head. “Just to be clear, the Reaper story was totally made up, right?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I was worried my local serial killer knowledge was getting rusty. Not a great look for a woman with a true crime podcast.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry, you haven’t lost your touch,” he said, slapping my ass. “Now let’s get you home so I can fuck you again.”

  The drive back was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the silence between us as streetlights swept through the windshield in long, golden streaks, casting Malachi’s jaw in shadow. Every so often, he glanced over at me and smiled in a knowing way.

  Halfway onto the highway, his voice broke through my thoughts. “My place is only thirty minutes from the city,” he said, eyes still on the road. “But Corwin Bay’s an hour. So do you want to stay with me tonight instead?”

  I glanced at him, but he didn’t look over, just shifted his grip on the steering wheel.

  “Yes,” I said quietly.

  His mouth twitched. “You sure? You haven’t been there since… everything.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, firmer this time. “I don’t even know why I’ve waited so long.”

  When we pulled into his drive, it was well past midnight, and the ocean wind was sharp enough to carry the salt to my lips. Malachi’s house loomed against the cliffside, its windows spilling soft golden light into the night.

  He cut the engine, then reached into his jacket pocket and held something out to me. A key.

  “I know you love Corwin Bay,” he said, watching me closely, like my reaction mattered more than he’d ever admit. “But I’d like you here with me. Every day. And Corwin Bay isn’t far. So what do you say?”

  My fingers closed around the key. “Are the window bars gone?” I asked, brows rising.

  He chuckled. “Of course. And that room will be ours. Not just yours.”

  I smiled. “Then it’s a definite yes.”

  The moment we stepped inside, I stopped in my tracks.

  A huge bouquet of crimson roses sat in the middle of the coffee table, and a giant platter of chocolate-dipped strawberries sat to their left. A banner hung along the balcony doors directly opposite from where I stood. It said: ‘Welcome Home, Kennedy’.

  I turned to Malachi, one brow arched. “Wow. You were that sure I’d say yes?”

  His mouth curved in that slow, dangerous smile that always made my stomach flip. “Yes.”

  I stepped over to the roses, breathing in their sweet scent. “You know, for a serial killer, you’re actually pretty damn romantic,” I said, glancing back at him.

  “Well, a lot of people say romance is dead, but I don’t believe that,” he said with a devious gleam in his eyes. “I only believe in people I don’t like being dead.”

  “Oh my god, that’s so cheesy,” I said, laughing softly. “But I love it.”

  Malachi laughed with me, and then his expression shifted into something more serious. “I actually have a second proposition for you tonight,” he said. He dipped his chin toward the coffee table. “There’s a file in the drawer right below the roses. Take a look.”

  Curious, I stooped to yank out the file. I opened it to see a folded map covered in red circles and scribbled notes, grainy surveillance photos, a glossy headshot of a smirking young man paperclipped to what looked like a copy of his driver’s license, and a few pages of printed emails.

  “What am I looking at, exactly?” I asked, brows furrowing.

  “I found the Birnie Creek Slasher.”

  My gaze snapped upward. “That’s the guy who’s been killing all those teenage girls in New Hampshire, right?”

  Malachi nodded. “He’s the son of a senator with ties to the mayor’s office and half the police force. That means he’s practically untouchable. So it’s very likely he’ll get away with it.”