[ 11. Pillow Talk ]

Hayes the Killer was out of his fucking mind.

"You're not tying me to the bed," I said, placing my hands on my hips defiantly like I had any sort of choice on the matter. He stared at me blankly. "I'm not an animal."

With a smirk, he snorted a laugh. "You're right. If you were an animal, I'd have you in a collar and leash," he said. I swore I saw the color change in his eyes, though it was likely my imagination. "Just make this easy and lay down."

I took an unintentional step back. Hayes flinched, like he thought I'd run. "No. I want the chair," I said, this time crossing my arms over my chest. He sighed, teetering on his heels impatiently. "I don't have the lighter. I couldn't leave if I tried. You could even put the chair in here so you can keep an eye on me—"

"Are you seriously trying to bargain with me?"

My mouth shut. It was pretty ridiculous, right? Then again, so was this entire day. I should have been chopped into a million little pieces and burned in that chic fireplace by now, but instead I was trying to make a deal with the devil. Hayes wasn't budging, but neither was I.

I took another step back until my back was against the closet door. He looked frustrated. "I refuse."

"You don't have a choice," he snapped. I didn't move. He began approaching me with less aggression than usual, but still with an adamant look on his face, like this was the only way possible. "I'll be gentle with your wrist but you can't fight me. Come on, Vincent, get on the bed."

I shook my head. "No."

"Great, so we're not listening again?"

"No," I repeated, narrowing my eyes.

He took another step towards me. "This is your last chance to do this on your own accord before I make you," he said. When I made no move to obey his stupid commands, he closed the gap between us and lunged. This time, I acted.

I side-stepped and raised my fist, swinging hard. To his surprise, I managed to clock him in the cheekbone, earning a satisfying noise of discomfort from Hayes. I ran around to the other side of the bed with my hands still raised, ready to fight. He looked completely off guard, holding the side of his face in pain.

"What the hell, Vincent?"

"I want the chair," I demanded.

Hayes looked instantly more annoyed like a flip of a switch. I held my ground, glaring at him with flared nostrils and my chest heaving. There wasn't much fight left in me, but I was prepared to give it my all. Why I felt like I had any sort of choice in where I get tied up, I had no idea. But it felt like if I made my point clear enough, Hayes would listen. That probably made me naive.

He leapt around the foot of the bed, but I threw myself across the mattress. I clawed at the tangled blankets and sheets, surely a mess when Hayes woke up with a start to hunt me down.

I almost made it, but Hayes grabbed my calves and tugged me back. With one hand on my shoulder and the other on the side of my left thigh, he flipped me over. I tried to sit up and push him off of me, but he suddenly clambered atop of my body, pinning me to the bed.

We both caught our breath for a moment. His hands had found my wrists—really one wrist, because as soon as he touched the bandaged part of my burned arm, he instead circled his fingers around my hand—and held them over my head. I was all too aware of his body weight pressing me to the bed like a paperweight, flattening me under his abdomen and hips. His thighs straddled my waist, just the thin fabric of his sweatpants separating our bodies. Still shirtless, I could see a glimmer of a reflection from a silver chain dangling from his neck with a dog tag at the end shining over the skin of his breast.

"If you wanted to get me under you so bad, you could have just asked," I choked out, squirming beneath him.

Hayes stared down at me, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips slightly curled. "Is everything a joke to you?" he asked, tightening his grip on my hands. "I don't understand how you can be so..."

I waited, but he didn't continue. He looked down between our bodies, so I followed his gaze. It was somewhat unfair how fit he was. The vast size of his chest took up most of my view. On an objective level, he was very attractive. Even after a night like we'd had, playing cat and mouse through the suburbs of Albany. His hair was mussed, flat on his forehead, and his five o'clock shadow seemed to grow by the minute. With the dim orange light of his bedside lamp, his eyes were a much warmer chocolatey brown. I only noticed when we made eye contact.

"Can't believe you punched me," Hayes muttered. He surprised me by releasing his hold on my wrist and hand. I lowered them, accidentally setting one on his knee, but I didn't move it. "Are you done fighting back?"

I nodded slowly, my hair falling into my eyes as I did so. "Where are you going to sleep?" I asked, glancing around the room. True to his accusation that everything was a joke to me, I added on, "Are we going to have a cuddle?"

Hayes scoffed, making me smirk. He shifted his weight onto his knees and looked down on me, that dog tag landing in the middle of his chest right in the divot at the top of his abs. I felt an impulse to reach up and touch it, to feel the cool metal between my fingertips, but my hands stayed where they were.

"Head on the pillows, arms above your head," he said gruffly. With his weight off me, it was clear he was expecting me to obey. He was correct. I scooted from under him to lay normally on the bed, raising my arms to rest against the headboard over my head.

I watched him stand up and grab something off of the dresser. Being in this position, laying wide open, made me feel exposed. Especially when he turned around and paused for a split second with his eyes on me.

There was a slight breeze on my stomach where my shirt rode up. I wondered if he thought I was attractive. Then I wondered why I wondered that in the first place.

To nobody's surprise, he was holding more zip-ties in his hand.

"Don't you have, like, rope or something? The employees at Home Depot must think you're a kinky bastard," I said before I could stop myself. He returned to my side and started with one wrist at a time, tying me to the bed. "Did you purchase the extra large tarp at the same time? What about the ingredients for fucking chloroform—"

Hayes stopped his movements and stared at me for a moment. I shut my mouth and stared back with only one wrist restrained, the other resting on the pillow next to my head.

"You know, most men would be begging me to spare their life at this point," he said, one eyebrow raised. The exhaustion of the night's activities seemed to be coming down on him as well. His tone of voice dropped to a much grittier yet softer sound.

I shrugged my relaxed shoulder. "Most men probably wouldn't have gotten away," I said, glancing away, "twice."

"I guess I'm just confused as to why you're so nonchalant about this. You're going to die tomorrow. Did you just accept it that easily?"

The air felt like it tilted just a bit, like he'd broken the fourth wall. "I accepted that I was going to die young a long time ago," I said honestly.

He hummed and lifted my other arm to bind my other wrist—the burned one. I watched his face as he looped the zip-tie around the pole of the bed frame and then around my wrist. He clenched his teeth and parted his lips when he tightened it, as if he feared the pain it would inflict.

Who gets into the business of murdering people for money when they don't like to cause pain?

"How many people have you killed?" I asked when both wrists were bound and he sat up.

Hayes didn't say anything for a minute. He sat idly beside me, close enough that his leg was touching my side. I wondered if the number was so high that he had to think about it, that he had to count on more than two hands. The thought frightened me, but not enough to back down from staring at him expectantly.

"Two," he finally answered.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Only two? What did they do?"

He hadn't moved from the bed and was just looking down at me with his hands in his lap. I could smell the faintest lingering musk and a sweet, enticing tang of sweat. "One took a liking to my client's kindergartner and the other was a murderer awaiting trial." With that, he stood up and crossed the room to the bedroom door. He walked out before I could ask anything else.

Was what I did that bad to rope me in with actual felons? I tried to swallow the lump in my throat but it felt like it was choking me.

Hayes returned with the chair from the dining room. He placed it beside the bed and took a seat, leaning back in it with an uncomfortable expression on his face. "Any more questions?" he asked.

"Is the money worth... killing people? I know I'm a bad person and those two were clearly going to Hell regardless, but... You're no better."

I watched his face change. His eyebrows pulled together, lines forming on his forehead along with it, and his chin raised defiantly. "You're right. I'm no better," he said, eyes on me tentatively. "I don't think you're a bad person, but you also have no room to speak. You say you robbed the jewelry stores for money to help people. Was there no other, more ethical way to do so?"

"What do you need the money for, Hayes?"

"Does it matter?"

I closed my mouth. I supposed it didn't. After all, I'd be dead by Monday and this man was going to get away with it. He'd earn a quarter of a million dollars for taking my life.

None of those questions required answers. Learning about what made Hayes tick and his motivations wouldn't rest my weary soul. It was as though I was desperately grasping at straws, trying to cling to some form of life that didn't result in the lights going out forever. To live is to learn. Taking a deep dive into Hayes's mind wouldn't fill my grave, so what was the point of trying?

I threw my head back against the pillow. The ceiling morphed overhead like it was taunting me. If these were my final moments on Earth, I should be making the most of it.

Turning my head just far enough to catch his eyes, my heart throbbed intrusively. He sat there with his arms crossed over his chest as he observed me. I wonder if he was thinking the same thing: what's going on in that enigmatic mind of yours?

I let my eyes watch the light show on the ceiling for only a moment. Bethany was probably shaking her head at me. She'd say I needed to man up and not give up so easily. While she was right about that, I think she and I had different ideas about what it meant to man up.

Blowing air past my lips, I tugged at my wrists, hardly registering the dull sting of my bandaged wound. "So you tie me to the bed and then ruin the mood with all this serious shit?" I lamented, dragging my gaze to Hayes again.

He looked perplexed, his nostrils flared and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. I thought he'd let it slide like the rest of the jokes I'd made. There was a tension between us—always had been—but nothing like that, or so I thought.

"What mood?"