Page 60 of Captive

She chuckles and rolls onto her side, patting him on the chest. “No. Let’s save that for another day—and like I said, when you do look it up, I want to be there. I think we’re going to need to watch some demonstration videos together.” Over her shoulder, she asks me, “You okay with that, Royal?” Based on the tone of her voice, she already knows the answer.

I say it anyway, because why not? “Fuck yeah.”

If this is how the rest of our lives play out, I’m totally okay with it. In fact, I look forward to it. This is the kind of life most people could never dream of, but now that we’re here, I never want to give it up. I’d do anything to keep it just like this.

Abby is ours.

Chapter Twenty-Four – Abby

We fall into a routine. It’s a routine that comes easily to me, and judging the others, to them, too. Even Hawthorne gets a new routine—the man actually joins me in the bed at night every once in a while, and even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, he’s definitely a happier, cheerier person the mornings after. Less grumpy. That’s what sleeping in a comfortable bed will do for you.

Or it’s the sex. It could definitely be the sex.

One morning I’m on the couch in the living room, eating cereal, watching some news clip on the TV about another serial killer the police haven’t caught, one who’s been around for years. Someone who the country forgets about until their next victim.

The Night Slayer.

Not much is known, although the FBI do think it’s a woman. There has been some camera footage showing a woman leaving clubs and bars with men who end up dead, but she’s never been identified, never caught.

Honestly, if the Night Slayer is a woman? Good for her.

It’s probably too much to assume, but it’d be kind of cool if the Night Slayer was a woman and she went after bad men, just like D.D.K. Either way, I’d love to meet her, whoever she is, wherever she is. That’s nothing more than a pipedream, but hey, that’s the whole point of dreams, right? To wish for things that might never happen.

I’m about done with my cereal when Ezra appears. He’s freshly showered, and he motions for me to follow him. “Come on,” he says. “Hawthorne just got word from the Benefactor.”

My heart skips a beat. “About Connor?” Though he doesn’t say anything in response, I can see it on his face: it’s about Connor. It has to be. I’ve waited for so long, and now… now it’s so close I can almost taste it.

My other two victims, it wasn’t personal. I didn’t know them. I just knew they were shitty men. Connor, on the other hand, is as personal as something can be. I’ve dreamt of finding him, of killing him, ever since I read my sister’s diary.

The not-so-funny thing is, I used to think he was an okay guy. Whenever she’d bring him around, whenever we’d be in the same room, he never gave off those kinds of vibes. If you took one look at him, you’d see a normal, if somewhat haughty-looking guy who clearly came from money.

But that’s the thing, ain’t it? They don’t come with warning signs. There are no neon, flashing signs hanging above their heads saying: Careful, I’m a son of a bitch rapist. You never know who could be staring at you and imagining doing whatever they want to you and then leaving you dead in a ditch somewhere.

It’s not all men, no. There are some good ones out there. But, that said, it is enough of them for us to never know. Too many.

And soon? Their numbers will be knocked down by one once we get rid of Connor.

I set my bowl on the coffee table and follow Ezra to Hawthorne’s office, where Hawthorne and Royal wait for us. Hawthorne is in the middle of explaining something when we walk in, and as we enter, he straightens himself out a bit before saying, “Good morning, Abby.”

Royal rolls his eyes, but that look softens when his gaze lands on me. He gives me a nod.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “What’s this about Connor? We going to make a move on him?” I can’t imagine it’s going to be easy; I kept tabs on him throughout the years, just to make sure I kept him in my sights.

He travels a lot. Timing things, making sure we’re careful, is going to be difficult.

“We have a plan, yes,” Hawthorne says. “We move on him next Thursday.”

Makes sense. Friday is his partying night. Even now, when the man is an adult, he goes out and parties like he’s still in college. Maybe he’s trying to relive those days, or maybe he’s taking the time to drug more girls and have his way with them. Doesn’t matter. He won’t be doing any of it soon enough.

As Hawthorne tells us the plan, my heart keeps beating fast. I swear, it’s so hard and loud I can hear it in my ears. It’s the same kind of anticipation that filled me before I made a move on my other kills.

“Around six is when he typically gets home when he’s not traveling,” Hawthorne says. “Fortunately for us, there is no family involved. He lives alone. A recon team has already been in the house to check for cameras—all you have to worry about is the camera on the gate that blocks the driveway.”

Makes sense his place wouldn’t be loaded up with cameras. If there were tons of cameras, there’d be evidence of his wrongdoings. I’d bet anything he likes to bring women back to his place, whether they’re one hundred percent willing or not.

“Your fancy little device will work on that, though, right?” I ask.

Ezra nods. “Yeah, but how do we get in if there’s a gate?”