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And now, that includes attempting to masturbate.

I take my new toys and put them in the drawer of my nightstand.

Eh.

I take them back out and place them on top of my nightstand, take a step back, and smile. There. Maybe it’s weird to be this excited, but I can’t help feeling a sense of accomplishment just being a regular woman who owns toys. Who has them on her nightstand.

I skip a few steps away to my kitchen, humming to myself as I make some instant ramen and grab a diet cola. I hop onto the couch, setting my things up on the coffee table and flicking on the television. I could use a good reality show to put on in the background while I continue my research.

I may not be telling Crystal everything. I seriously can’t, because I believe her when she says she’ll have me committed.

And…okay. Maybe I’m a little too into The Hangman. But calling it an obsession just isn’t fair. How can you not be into someone like him?

He’s spent the last few years taking out evil men, the ones like my uncle. I had heard of the killings of course, everyone did, because a serial killer on the loose is going to get lots of coverage. But regular people shrug their shoulders and move on. I did too.

That was until I saw the news last year. Until I saw my uncle’s face on the screen in front of me, labelled as the latest victim of The Hangman. I thought I must have been dreaming. I felt like this huge weight had been taken off my shoulders and I needed to understand more about the killer; about everything he does.

I wasn’t surprised when I found all the online forums and posting boards about him. I always knew people were super into true crime—there are always some fun documentaries everyone ends up watching and gets hooked into the community. But this was personal to me, and I needed to know what everyone else knew about him.

I need to know him.

To meet him.

To thank him.

I did everything I was supposed to do. I told my family. I told the police. I filed charges. I told my story to everyone. My mother took her brother’s side of course, and that whole side of my family shut me out. After years of being abused, I needed them. I needed someone. I was barely sixteen, and my own mother kicked me out.

The public attorney told me that I’d have a hard time in court because I had no real proof, and it might be better for me to drop the case and cut ties with my family. But that felt so wrong to me. How could I let myself go unheard all over again? What if he did it to another girl? I wanted to fight, to be strong, and show him that I wouldn’t let him keep me the meek, quiet girl he tried to make me.

Facing him in court was daunting. No one came to support me, but he came with so many character witnesses. Even though he had been held by police on suspicion of raping me, the judge said that it just wasn’t enough to prove he had done it.

I was heartbroken. I would stare at the case status on the court’s public page and cry, trying to think of what I should do. I had no choice but to give up. I had let it go on for so many years, and it was just too late. But I don’t let myself play the “maybe” game anymore.

Then as if to answer all my prayers, an angel sent him to me. Somehow, someone had noticed me. Someone had heard me. He must be looking through public court records to choose his victims, and he chose mine.

He saw mine, and he saw that I had no justice. He fought for me, and no one has ever done that before.

So…okay. Maybe I’m a little obsessed. But I know I need him. I know someone like him could fix me. For the first time in my entire life, I wanted a man.

CHAPTER THREE

Okayyy Daddy!

KANE

It takes a few hours, but once I identify the problem and fix it for him, I finally get my ass up from the hard cement floor of the shop and wipe my greasy hands with an old rag. The dealership was definitely trying to scam the old guy, but I guess he’s one of their main targets.

When I call him up, he lets me know he’ll be picking it up soon, so now I’m stuck waiting around with the shop open a bit later than I’d like.

Bacon has already wound down for the night, napping on his dog bed that’s kept in the shop. I’m surprised he hasn’t realized it’s about to pass his dinner time.

I take a few minutes to clean up, move his car out front, and lock the garage as I move to sit on the uncomfortable wooden stool behind the counter of the shop lobby. I sigh and take out my phone when I hear that familiar ding, and I see a text from my buddy Mason. We met in the army, and he’s probably the only person in my life besides my family.

Mason

yo…did you see this? >link.NWSnews.com<

Great. Now what?