Chapter 2: Dangerous Temptation

Natalia

"Out tonight?" Gail, my ride-or-die roommate, purred from the bathroom door of our dorm, giving me those puppy dog eyes she knew I couldn't resist. But resist I must. I was booked tonight, a date of the blind variety, with some faceless guy I'd met online.

"Remember? Online guy. Serial killer enthusiast?" I reminded her.

Gail’s dark hair was tied up in a bun, ready to hit the town or any frat party on the menu. She pouted, making her green eyes look all sad and shit.

"Oh." Then it clicked cause her eyes lit up. "Wait, that guy who's into the fucked-up minds of serial killers, like you?" She said it like it was a hobby, like collecting stamps or something, not delving into the twisted minds of psychos.

This guy had claimed all the theories about serial killers, like Bundy and the like, were bullshit. No connection between the evil they did and their grey matter. Just monsters who got off on hurting others, nothing more, nothing less. Sounded like an arrogant prick, but I'd let him keep thinking whatever he wanted. He didn't know shit about my world, about why I really left Russia. A secret I kept close to my chest.

And if this date turned out to be a hit, I had to make sure to pop my meds. Without them, I'd go from zero to insatiable for sex in no time. But before anything got hot and heavy, I'd be running away and to my bed to ride out the nausea and cramps. Fuck, it was like having the flu, and an unexpected outcome was the total suppression of my “Listen, I don't think it's a good idea for you to see this guy," Gail warned, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of fear and concern. "Those groups you're into, they're crawling with wannabe killers. Just promise me you'll leave if anything feels off. No going back to his place or anything like that, okay?"

I laughed, "You realize you're calling me a wannabe killer too, right?" I responded with light-hearted banter, lunging in her direction to poke her ribs playfully. "If I were so easily swayed, we'd have parted ways our freshman year, wouldn't we?"

We'd been tight since our first day at college. We'd sworn we'd always be roommates because we were more than friends, we were sisters. Not everyone knew my past, why I kept people at arm's length back in high school.

She narrowed her eyes, “Promise me, you’ll be careful.”

I saluted her. "Scout's honor."

"You were never in the Scouts!"

Although she found my antics amusing, I couldn't share her amusement. A cold knot of dread was forming in my stomach.

The thing was, every time I wanted someone, every time I was ready to go all the way, my body would betray me. Heat would surge through me, scaring me shitless. I'd get so sick I'd have to stop, always stuck with my V-card.

My best friend thought it was hilarious that I was still a virgin and in college, but I wasn't laughing. Not even a little. The whole thing scared the absolute crap out of me. After finishing up my makeup and twisting my dark hair into a neat updo, I spun around to face Gail. "Well, how do I look?" I asked, giving a little twirl.

"Looking like a million bucks. But wouldn't you be more comfortable in sweats instead of those killer heels and that red dress you bought last week? Thought you were saving that for tomorrow's party."

"I can rock the same dress twice, Gail. I'm not dripping in gold, you know."

"Whatever!" She attempted to shrug off her concern, feigning indifference about my evening plans. But I could read her like an open book. The disappointment in her eyes was unmistakable.

I grabbed my keys, phone, and mace - a promise to Gail that I was taking precautions.

“Hey, it’s not too late to bail and come with me.” She gave me a watery smile, her arms pressed to her side.

To comfort her, I shoved aside all my doubts and hesitations and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. Then I wrapped her up in a fierce, tight hug, hoping it would reassure her. But she clung to me desperately, her vice-like grip conveying her bone-deep fear that this could be our last goodbye forever. I flashed her a bright, cheerful smile, trying with all my might to set her mind at ease. But my efforts were futile - she didn't return my smile for even a second.

“I’ll be back tonight. Promise.” Tomorrow we'd hit another frat party - the same old, same old we did every weekend. I turned away quickly so she wouldn't see the color drain from my face. The frat parties were too much. The guys were always half-baked, drunk, or both.

And if any guy dared boast about hooking up with a girl from our crew, he'd parade it around like some shiny trophy. He'd bask and preen in all the attention, puffing out his chest at the ego boost another notch on his bedpost provided.

I sucked in a deep breath as the door clicked decisively shut behind me.

Guilt gnawed at me, an unbearable weight I couldn’t seem to shake. But I clung desperately to the wispy hope I was making the right move. After leaving the dorm behind, I set off on a brief stroll to the café. That's where I was supposed to meet the faceless enigma I'd connected with online.

My feet felt heavier with each step as I drew closer to the meeting spot. I prayed I wasn't walking straight into a death trap. Gail's shrill warnings echoed through my mind, her fearful expression seared into my brain.

She thought I was being reckless. Maybe I was. But the dangerous temptation of the unknown beckoned me closer.

The bustling city around me faded into distant background noise. My mind churned, conjuring up endless possibilities for how this night might unfold. Would he be as witty and charming in real life?

Or would our chemistry fizzle and pop like a wet firecracker? I rubbed my sweaty palms along the silky material of my dress. My carefully crafted outfit suddenly felt all wrong and overdressed.

Turning the corner, I spotted the cheery neon sign of the café up ahead. My pulse thundered, my mouth going dry. This date was getting real in a hurry. In mere moments, the mysterious stranger would have a face. A face that might dredge up unwanted ghosts from my past. I hesitated, wavering. Was it too late to turn and run?

My fellow students littered the sidewalks, laughing and joking boisterously as they migrated in packs to various parties and hangouts.

Moving through the crowd, I let my mind run over the evening's possibilities.

As I drew nearer and the cheery lights of the café came into view, my heart began hammering violently in my chest. I was seized by a swirling mix of nervous anticipation and cold dread. This whole date concept was no longer an abstract idea - it was about to get extremely real.

I turned the corner and the aroma of piroshkis drifted from a tiny Russian bakery, whisking me back to the cramped, bustling streets of Saint Petersburg. I remembered my grandmother's hands, dusted with flour, as she meticulously prepared the dough. The harsh winters, the warmth of our small kitchen, the stern, unyielding faces of the people - all memories of a past life I'd long since left behind. Along with the danger of my family ties.

Half an hour later, I found myself outside the café, drawn by some dark magnetism to the mysterious stranger despite my nerves jingling like a keychain in a fidgety hand.

Feeling overdressed, I wished I'd just stuck to my usual leggings or jeans.

We'd agreed on a signal - he'd wear a black rose, and I'd be decked out in red, the real motivation for buying this scarlet dress. Drawing in a trembling breath, I pushed the door open. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods enveloped me.

Quickly, I scanned the place, spotting a guy at the back in a black tee. I squinted. Was that a rose? I couldn't tell from here, so I pushed farther into the café.

And then there he was, a man with dark hair in a crisp shirt and black jeans, his eyes meeting mine. "Theodore30?" I stuttered. The sight of him took me aback. I had left Russia, running away from my past, only to find it standing right before me here.

He moved toward me, just slightly, but it was enough to feel the heat and the danger radiating off him in waves. I should’ve ignored him, kept going to the back and the restrooms, and waited until he left. But I couldn’t make my feet move.

A black rose was pinned to the pocket of his shirt.

“JDT?” he asked, with a twisted grin and a look that said he knew exactly who I was. “Surprised to see me, princess?"

"What the fucking hell brings you here, Tomas? How did you manage to leave Russia?"

He chuckled. "Same way you did. On a plane."

He gestured towards the booth. I took a step back. "Don't make a scene."

"And what's to stop me?" I retorted, folding my arms defensively over my chest.

His eyes darkened, but he gestured to the booth again. "My treat. Since you wouldn't have shown up if you'd known it was me, right?"

That was the understatement of the century.

I felt like a fool as all our online exchanges flashed through my mind. "Did you join that group because you knew I was in it?" I hissed, not budging an inch.

"No."

A smattering of curious glances our way led a wave of humiliation to crash over me. I slid onto the seat across from him, my heart pounding in my chest.

Being so close to him exposed new details - he was ripped now, looking like a model from a motorcycle ad. Nothing like the boy who'd trailed me with puppy eyes.

His lips were full, and a rogue-ish smile that held a hint of danger played at the corners. It was the kind of smile you would expect on a swashbuckling pirate, capable of seduction and plunder in equal measure.

His eyes were a haunting shade of onyx, the most profound I'd ever seen. They were more than just a color; they held an intensity, an almost overwhelming brilliance. A whiff of his cologne, spicy and tantalizing without being overbearing, teased my senses, hinting at a man who took pride in his appearance.

But I shook my head in denial. No, this man was nothing more than an exasperating tormentor from my past.

"What can I fetch you, sweetie?" the waitress interrupted our silent face-off, her notebook poised for my order.

"An espresso," I replied. As much as I couldn't deny his good looks, I knew that an attractive exterior could hide a multitude of sins. I needed a quick drink, something I could finish and flee if necessary.

The waitress, acknowledging that he already had his drink, flashed him a quick smile before leaving us alone. Tomas filled the silence that her departure left behind.

"I heard they're planning to reenact the Ted Bundy case," he said, his voice low and seductive. I didn't remember him sounding so... alluring. Goosebumps prickled my skin at the sound, my heart rate spiking as I struggled to keep my gaze off his lips.

"Oh?" was all I could manage, striving for an aloof tone.

He leaned in, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the paper napkin in front of him. "They're romanticizing him. Women harbor fantasies about being the transformative force in his life, about making him fall head over heels in love and rectifying him."

"That's a falsehood," I interjected, but my protest fell on deaf ears as he continued. "Naturally, it's a fabrication," he rebutted, a smile playing on his lips. "And you? What keeps you occupied these days?"

"Psychology. I’m majoring in it," I shared, lifting my gaze to meet his. "What about you?"

"The same," he replied nonchalantly. My gaze dropped to his hands, devoid of any ink. Had he left the motorcycle club he once belonged to? Or was he just concealing the evidence?

"JD... like Jeffery Dahmer?" he inquired a hint of curiosity in his eyes. His question startled me, bringing to mind a particular case where a victim, Tony, seemed to have an unusual connection with Dahmer.

"Like Jeffery thought, at first, Tony could cure him. Tony didn't run when he should have, and that intrigued me," I explained. His lips curled into a knowing smile.

"Or it could be a good director and a Hollywoodized version of their relationship," he suggested. His opinion of serial killers was clear from our online interactions. He viewed them as sick individuals, not shaped by their environment or brain chemistry, but inherently evil. I was here to challenge that belief.

"Bundy was so egoistic that his pride was hurt by strong women," he chuckled, his dark eyes meeting mine. I shouldn't have been sitting there, let alone feeling any sort of attraction towards the man who made my high school years a nightmare. But here I was, stirring in a third packet of sugar into my espresso, trying to sweeten the bitterness of the conversation.

"Yet, there's an old proverb, isn't there? Men live in fear of women's laughter, while women are haunted by the threat of men's violence," I retorted, struggling to maintain an air of nonchalance.

"However, not every serial killer sets their sights on women," he interjected, his fingers tracing his chin in thought. "Jeffery Dahmer killed only men."

"It's the enticement of the unknown, wouldn't you say?" The realization of my own words struck me then, like the pieces of an intricate puzzle aligning perfectly. The insatiable rage of killers like Ted Bundy echoed in the minds of many other serial killers. An icy shiver ran down my back.

"Have you ever been an eyewitness to a killing, or beheld death firsthand?"

His inquiry sent a shockwave of dread coursing through me. I had always harbored the suspicion that he was aware of my family's sinister past, and his question seemed to validate my unease.

He leaned back, stretching his arm across the back of the booth, studying me with an unnerving intensity.

"Cause it's not as glamorous as they portray it in books or on TV, is it?" His question led to an uncomfortable silence. A hot flush spread across my cheeks. He was privy to too much about me. I felt an urgent need to flee, to distance myself from his intrusive scrutiny.

I drained my espresso in a single gulp, the hot liquid scorching my throat.

"What do you get from our group... about killers?" His question hung in the air.

I chewed on my lower lip, debating how much I should reveal to this virtual stranger. Despite our online banter, sitting here in person with Tomas felt dangerously intimate. An unsettling sense of vulnerability washed over me in crushing waves. I was in over my head, I just knew it. But I forced a sardonic smile onto my face anyway. "I guess it's the same reason people watch scary movies or jump out of planes. It's the thrill, that edge of danger, the morbid fascination with the dark and macabre."

A half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "So, should we craft a story about you? A girl, not an heiress but a regular girl in a café, kidnapped by a guy who loves crime stories and has meticulously planned the whole thing?"

My heart hammered against my ribcage as a wave of alarm washed over me. His words resonated with an eerie familiarity, echoing a news headline about my father. I gasped for breath, envisioning him lunging across the table, carrying me out of the café, and chaining me to a wall in his basement. The thought was terrifying.

"But what if it turned out to be a joke, and the guy was just a jerk, not a psycho?" I forced out the words, my voice shaky.

"So, you're not intrigued by the idea of an abduction?" he asked, a teasing grin playing on his lips.

"I'd require more insight. For instance, what would propel him to act in such a manner? And in public?"

"What if the sugar you added to your espresso wasn't just sweetener? What if I drugged it?" His words chilled me to the bone. I glanced nervously at the discarded sugar packets on the table.

"Enough to plunge you into darkness, but not quite send you to the grave. At least, not yet." His thumb grazed his lower lip in a slow, deliberate motion, his intense gaze unwavering from mine. "Enough to make you docile, so I could take you out of here without any protest."