Dead of Summer

“Planning on drugging yourself to sleep through this?” he only teases, and doesn’t give it back as he tugs on my hand again, until I’m following him up the few stairs, across the creaky wood, and into his cabin.

“No,” I snap, probably too sharply as I stumble over the doorframe and into the small space beyond. He closes the door and locks it with ease, then holds up the gummy again in the light, as if to contradict my statement. “Kinsley gave it to me right before I came here. I haven’t taken it already because…” My voice is soft as I wave my arms around in explanation. “Because you.”

“Did she give it to you for any reason, or…?”

“She said I look like I haven’t been sleeping.” My answer comes after a short hesitation, and I shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “She knows they make me sleepy, and said I looked like I could use a good night’s sleep for once. That’s all, okay?”

“How long do they take to kick in for you?” Kayde sounds curious, instead of mad, and I search his face in the light from his bedside table for a moment before answering.

“About an hour, give or take. That’s when I start to feel it. Normally I last another thirty minutes or so before I’m actually sleepy, though.”

“Okay then.” He holds it out to me, his palm flat as he stands there, waiting. “Go on and take it.”

I blink, sure I’ve misheard him. My brain is definitely turning against me, because he has to know what he’s offering me. “I umm. I’m not exaggerating,” I tell him slowly, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “It’ll knock me out, Kayde. Or at the very least I’ll be a sleepy mess who you won’t get much out of.”

“I know what being high is like, sweetheart.” Kayde chuckles. “So take it.”

This feels like a very bad idea. Still my fingers inch forward, especially when his eyes narrow just slightly enough I know it’s not a kind offer or a suggestion. If he’s telling me to do something, I have to do it.

Including this, though at the moment it feels like it’s for my benefit, not his.

My fingers curl around the small gummy, and I pop it in my mouth while he watches. In seconds I’ve swallowed it, though the edible seems to slide down my throat slowly, without any rush, and threatens to choke me.

“I’ll admit I’m kind of selfish, though,” he adds, once my mouth is empty. “I want to see what high, sleepy Summer looks like. And how she responds when I play with her.”

Suddenly, I wish I could vomit on command. My stomach twists, trying to reject the THC infused gummy, but it’s no use.

I really should’ve fucking thought this through.

But it’s too late to do anything other than feel the bone-aching regret that flickers through my body, and I distract myself by looking around the small, minimalist room that’s so similar to mine. The only difference is the extra blankets piled on his bed, and I tilt my head to the side, eyes slanting his way. “You making a nest?” I ask, before I can tell my stupid mouth to stop it.

“Hmm?” He follows my gaze to the bed, and grins wolfishly, a tinge of something like embarrassment shining in his eyes for only a fraction of a second. “Something like that.” He chuckles. “I just like sleeping with a lot of blankets, I guess.”

It’s almost endearing. Not that I’m ever going to say that. It humanizes him in some way, though I keep that thought locked in my brain and behind clenched teeth. How can I treat him like a boogeyman, when he does something so…normal?

Easily, I remind myself. Because he’s a serial killer. Even though I don’t know that for certain, I know he was at least planning on it.

I jump when his hands find my throat again, though he only pulls me against him, my back flush against his front as he sighs happily. “The shower was so much fun,” he purrs against my ear, slotting his hips against mine until there’s absolutely no room between us. “But sweetheart, all it really did was make me want to fuck you so badly I could barely think about anything else today. You want that? You want me to fuck you? Fill up your pretty cunt and leave you begging for more?”

I should be able to stop myself by now. I should have a better handle on my nerves, my anger, and my disdain for the man behind me. But I don’t. That’s clear enough when I lean back, my head on his shoulder, and turn slightly so I can look at him. He gazes at me expectantly, and a beatific smile cracks across my lips.

“I wanted…” I begin, and his mouth ticks with either amusement or annoyance. “For you to fall out of that tree today and break your neck.” I say it just as sweetly to him, feeling his grip tighten on my neck and where his other hand is wrapped against my waist. “But, as they say, you can’t always get what you want.”

For a moment, Kayde Lane just stares at me. I can’t read his expression; it’s somewhere between incredulousness and bemusement, though I don’t know which he’s really leaning toward. I know I shouldn’t have said it. That was clear the moment it came out of my mouth. But if I’m going to die, or if Kayde’s going to break me like he says he wants to, then I’m absolutely going to speak my mind about it.

“Well, they also say if you want something done right, you should do it yourself,” Kayde points out, lifting his hand to slip his fingers under the waistband of my shorts. “So I think, Summer, if you want me dead that badly, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”

Before I can reply, Kayde walks me forward, not stopping until my knees hit the bed and he can shove me forward. Not that I get a chance to do more than bounce against the old bed before he’s manhandled me onto my ass instead, so I have to look up to see his face.

“But what would you even do, hmm?” he asks, shucking his shirt over his head and tossing it to the top of his dresser. Just like last night, it’s impossible not to look at the perfection of his upper body, or the way that it’s clear he doesn’t spend the rest of the year lounging on a sofa like I do.

Still, I refuse to let my eyes dip to the sharp v of his hips that points downward in a way that, on anyone else, would make my mouth water. Fuck, it’s unfair that God let him be so attractive.

The lord should be positively ashamed of himself, frankly.

“Would you stab me?”

“Without hesitation.” He kicks off his shoes as I answer, and rewards me with a flick of a smile in my direction.