Only The Devil Knows by Katze Snow

I don’t paint with ink. I paint with blood. —My name is Max, but people call me The London Whipper. I’ve been silent for many years. Now I’m ready to make my final move.Nathaniel Harris, a psychologist who works with the criminally insane.Genevieve Knight, the Chief Inspector determined to find me once and for all.Wyatt Pearson, the beautiful boy who believes I’m a hero instead of a cold-blooded murderer.Each of these people has one thing in common—they all want me. But what happens when my whip tangles around them and distorts everything they believe to be true?I’ve kept my identity under wraps… until now. It’s time to show the public what I’ve been working on. After all, what’s a serial killer if he doesn’t have some artistic flair and his favourite boy at his side?
* * *
Max doesn’t kiss very often, but when he does, he burns me to ashes every time. I’m putty in his hands, and he knows it. He revels in it.
And so do I.