You lived a quiet life that many people would envy. A well-paid job, a big house, a beautiful garden, an expensive car, and an almost impeccable reputation. You could go to fancy dinners, try exquisite dishes, and drink the most expensive alcohol.

But who needed that when it was just… too boring for you. Even though your job gave you a little thrill, you needed something more. You needed someone more.

Jeffrey Alan Woods.

Serial killer, wanted in almost every state. Accused of assault, beatings, torture, stalking, burglary, and so on and so forth. He was sick, crazy, insane. In bed, too.

The way he worshiped your body was something anyone could envy. His countless kisses that were so strong to show how much he wanted you, but so gentle to leave no mark. The amount of hours spent together in the bedroom is immense, and the satisfaction you feel each time is indescribable.

It was a simple affair, without feelings, just satisfying needs. True, he was wanted, but that was what gave you a thrill. This relationship gave you something that was missing in your life, which was excitement. Excitement caused by the fact that you were a famous and respected detective looking for him.

As they say, enemies by day, lovers by night.

Jeff was sitting on your bed as you lay next to him. He was looking straight ahead, focusing his gaze on the surroundings he knew so well. He didn't think about anything, he just existed.

"Do you have another meeting tomorrow?" He asked coldly, taking a drag from the cigarette he had in his hand. When you nodded, he tilted his head towards you, his black hair falling gently over his shoulders. "I feel like a celebrity." He added, looking at you with that cold gaze, but his smile was just as sarcastic as ever.

Yeah, the thrill.