Carl nodded, quick sharp bobs of the head that hurt his neck.
“So never forget what I just said, right? And now you understand why I gotta do what I’m gonna.” Kevin wrenched the covers back, widening his eyes, his mouth gaping at Carl’s midsection. “You gone and pissed again, kid?”
A sob left Carl, and snot shot out of his nose onto his top lip. With his balled hands over his mouth, he bit a knuckle and closed his eyes tight.
“Lift your damn arms,” Kevin said.
Carl obeyed.
It’s coming, it’s coming, it’s coming…
The sound of the belt whizzing through the air reached him a millisecond before the leather cracked across his chest. The burn killed, and he instinctively raised his knees to his chest.
“Knees down, kid.”
The belt slapped again and again, until Carl peed once more and sobbed, his knuckles bleeding from his bite. After the last strike, tears streaming down his face, Carl opened his eyes. Kevin was gone, but the filthy stench of him remained—his sour breath, his fetid body odor. Carl blew out through shaky lips and, wincing, got out of bed. His chest ached, throbbed, and as he walked to the closet, fresh tears spilled. He opened the door then gingerly bent down to take a clean sheet off the wardrobe floor. Once he’d stripped his bed, he went out onto the landing and dumped the wet sheets in the laundry hamper then collected a towel from the airing cupboard. Back in his room, he laid the folded towel over the piss and remade the bed, every movement agony.
He kneeled beside his bed and clasped his hands together, closing his eyes.
“Please, God, let me be just like my daddy. If I’m not, he’ll hurt me some more.”
Carl fisted the tears away, angry that his past still had the ability to affect him this way. He should be over it by now, god-fucking-damn-it! He got out of bed then stomped into the bathroom. He set the shower to hot.
The hotter the better. Burn those bastard memories away.
He stepped inside the cubicle, bracing himself for yet another reminder of the past as the hot spikes of water seared his torso. He thought of Paul, how his chest must have burned last night, how he would have pissed the bed just like Carl used to do if Paul hadn’t gotten free. Tears mingled with the water splashing on his face, and he swallowed past the lump in his throat.
‘When you get that special person in your life, you’ve gotta take away every danger, every other person that threatens your relationship, ’cause if you don’t, they’ll fuck you over and screw with you. Leave you broken…’
He ground his teeth and grabbed the shower gel, washing away the grime of his childhood, the way the memories made him feel. He stared as the lather disappeared into the plughole, wishing every horrible thing he’d endured went down there right along with it. He closed his eyes, and Paul’s face danced on the insides of his eyelids.
I can’t be without him. He’s got to see how much I love him. He took in a deep breath and forced all the shit away, concentrating on what he had to do next. I’ve removed six threats, six men that could have possibly taken Paul from me, but there’s one son of a bitch who poses a greater threat than anyone.
He shut the shower off then toweled himself dry as he walked into his bedroom to dress. Once clothed, he sat on the bed and pulled on his boots, then strutted downstairs to the hallway to shrug into his coat. Pausing at the door, he contemplated the scenario of whether the police had found the credit card he’d dropped. Had the last two murders made the news? The ones before hadn’t, and he’d been angry about that. If they made the news, Paul would see how much Carl cared, what lengths he went to, to show his love.
It would only take a moment to check. He rushed into the living room and turned on the TV, flicking to the news channel. A presenter waffled about the economy and the state of the country’s finances, and he jabbed a button on the remote to change to another channel. Once again, the anchor gassed on, but Carl wasn’t listening. He was too busy reading the words streaming from right to left across the bottom of the screen, white words on a red-banded background.
He smiled, punched the air then switched off the TV, elation surging through him that his love for Paul had been spelled out on screen for all to see. A man had been arrested, hopefully Paul.
A wave of determination propelled him back to the front door, and he swung it wide, snatching his car keys from the side table next to it. Outside, he climbed into the driver’s seat then gunned the engine, ready to eradicate one more motherfucker from their lives.
The drive there proved pleasant, with little traffic, which gave him time to think over exactly what he was going to do. Yes, his actions would prove Paul wasn’t the killer they were after, but when Paul got released, he’d run to Carl for comfort. Yes, Carl had it all worked out.
He slowed to a stop at a set of lights and drummed the steering wheel with his fingertips while he waited for them to change.
Man, you’re gonna wish you’d never met me, and when you see my bad side, after I’ve explained why you’re the next one on my list, you’ll understand why I gotta do what I’m gonna.
Maniacal laughter erupted from him at the realization that he’d thought some of his father’s words, and he threw his head back, setting the hilarity free. He composed himself quickly and glanced inside a car that pulled up beside his. The woman driver gave him a frightened stare, and Carl laughed again, power infusing his bones, his muscles, his whole goddamn body. He whipped his head around to face forward, saw the lights had switched, and sped off toward his destination.
Outside the apartment block, he eyed the place and parked between two other cars hogging the roadside. Before getting out, he looked around, conscious that he played a dangerous game here. Too many people could see him if they stared out of their windows, but he didn’t have a choice. He had to do this. Had to see it through. Sighing, he got out of the car. Locked it, keeping his head down as he made his way into the apartment block. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the door he needed and pressed an ear to it. The tinny sound of a TV at low volume filtered out, as well as the shuffle of feet belonging to a lethargic person.
Yeah, he’s lethargic all right. Big old bastard’s tired from screwing that drip of a dick he calls his boyfriend.
The man’s height and size gave him reason to pause. Could he do what he had to do? Could he overpower the big guy quickly enough to slit his thick throat?
Fuck yeah!
Carl raised his fist then rapped on the door, the action paining his knuckles.
The door opened, and Brian stood on the other side.
“What do you want?” Brian said, his wide frame almost filling the space between each jamb. His scowl showed his displeasure at seeing Carl, and his mouth formed a thin, tight line.
Carl held back laughter. “Mind if I come in?” He barged past Brian before he had a chance to protest and stalked into the living room. The door slamming irked him, and he spun to face the big man as he entered the room. The thrill of what he had planned sped through him, and he smirked at Brian’s thunderous expression. Fucking jerk. “No girlfriend around?”
Brian narrowed his eyes. “If you mean Lil, then no. He’s at work. What the fuck do you want, Carl? Say what you have to say and get out.”
“That’s not very charitable behavior, now, is it?” Carl shoved his hands in his pockets, curling the fingers of one around his flick knife.
“You don’t deserve charitable behavior. Not after what you did to Paul.” Brian crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet wide apart.
Bully-boy pose. What a prick.
“And what did I do to Paul, exactly?” The knife warmed from his skin’s heat. He’d have to bring it out soon or risk losing his grip from the sweat forming on his palms.
“Don’t piss me about, Carl. You know what you did to him. I’ll ask you once more. What do you want?”
Carl smiled and strolled out of the living room and back into the hallway. He faced Brian, who turned and s
tepped forward, leaning on the doorjamb. Swiftly, Carl brought his hand out of his pocket and flicked the blade free, lunging toward Brian with such speed, the blade pressed to the big brute’s neck before he had a chance to react. The point jabbed into his skin, and Brian raised both hands, eyes wide and wary, cheeks flushing red.
“Whoa! Calm it, will you?” Brian said, darting his eyes left then right and finally focusing solely on Carl.
Adrenaline whooshed through Carl, and he savored the lightheaded sensation, the feeling almost like a drug. The sweat of power broke out over his back and forehead, and he pressed the blade harder, the point breaking the skin. Blood trickled, a meandering path that glossed over Brian’s Adam’s apple and into the hollow beneath.
“Calm it? Calm it?” Carl itched to flick the knife to the right and watch the bastard drop to the floor. “You’ve been nothing but a fucking thorn in my side ever since I met Paul. Poking your damn nose in, giving unwanted advice. Do you want some advice?”
Brian didn’t answer. He widened his eyes further as the blade dug deeper, and his hands shook.
“Do you?” Carl shouted, pulse thudding in his ears.
Brian nodded slightly, lower lip trembling, and his eyes watered.
“Don’t fuck with me and mine. I don’t like it. Don’t tolerate it. Won’t put up with it.” Carl moved one step closer, blade hand steady, the other gripping the jamb to give him the brace needed when he drew the knife across.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Brian asked, voice steady and low.
“Me what?” Carl clenched his teeth, hatred for Brian snatching his breath and infusing him with strength.
“You who…who killed those men.” Brian’s eyes closed momentarily. He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
Carl jerked the knife, and a fresh drizzle of blood seeped down Brian’s neck.
“Damn fucking right it was me.” Carl glared at him, memories of every time the man had butted in leaching into his mind. Ire boiled, bubbled over, and he gripped the knife handle, ready to—
The sound of a key sliding into the front door lock sounded, and Brian darted his eyes in that direction. Carl moved to slash, but Brian lowered his hands then brought one up beneath Carl’s arm, jerking it upward and away. Brian reared up a bit and pushed Carl’s chest. Incensed beyond measure, Carl sprawled backward, thumping against the hallway wall as the front door opened, shielding him from view.
“Behind the door! Lil! Be careful!” Brian yelled. “He’s got a knife!”
“What?” said Lil. “I come home early, and you—”
“Lil!” Brian shouted.
Lil strode into the living room, and Carl stepped out from behind the door, charging forward, knife raised, poised to plunge it into Lil’s back.
“Lil!” Brian leaped forward, shoving Lil out of the way, putting himself between Carl and Lil.
Mistake.
Carl grinned, lunged, and felt the satisfying sensation of steel sliding into flesh. He pulled back and stabbed again, this time meeting resistance almost immediately.
Brian lurched away with a howl.
Landing on his side, head almost hitting the coffee table edge, Lil turned to face Carl, eyes wide and face blanched of all color. “You fucking…” He scrambled up, reaching for the phone on the coffee table.
Brian approached, and Carl reversed out of the front doorway.
He was supposed to stay down!
The knife was slick with blood now, too hard to grip.
“Fucker,” Carl said, turning quickly then running for the main block stairwell.
Hard footsteps followed him, and he sped down the stairs, almost tripping, the squeak of his shoe soles loud in the confined space. At the bottom, he burst outside, racing toward his car. Clicking his key fob to unlock it, he dove inside, hands shaking as he inserted the key into the ignition. He slammed the door closed and revved the engine, glancing to the side to see Brian thundering toward him. He cursed parking in such a tight spot, and his foot slipped on the accelerator. The car shunted forward, smacking into the rear bumper of the car in front. He reversed, pranging the car behind, and stared at Brian, who slapped the driver’s-side window with his palms, his face red and eyes blazing, leaving behind a smeared, bloody handprint.
Attention back on maneuvering his car out, Carl ignored his fast-thudding heart and pulled out, heedless of a car coming his way. He floored the gas pedal and slewed across the road, narrowly missing the other moving vehicle. Fear and excitement pumping through him, he swerved out of the street then around the corner, the realization that he couldn’t return home slamming into him.
That bitch Lil will have called the police. Shit.
Out on the main road, he took deep breaths to calm his speeding heart and soothe his stretched nerves. He spied a woman getting out of her car outside a large residence and failing to lock it as she carried paper grocery sacks to her front door. Carl brought his car to a stop a few feet away then shut off the engine. The woman went inside her house, and Carl exited his car, running to the woman’s. He slid inside and thanked his lucky stars that keys swung in the ignition. Quickly, he started the car then drove away slowly so as not to alert the owner with screeching tires. As he prepared to turn the corner at the end of her street, he glanced in the rear-view mirror. The woman stood on the sidewalk where her car had been parked, hands on hips, a look of confusion on her face.
Carl turned right and laughed his adrenaline-fueled ass off.
Chapter Six
Vic, I mean the cop—why I thought we were on a first-name basis eluded me at the moment—didn’t speak as he’d maneuvered the car away from Brian’s building. His facial expression was grim then blank—except his eyes. They were too deep, too intent. That look sent shivers through me, like he was trying to memorize my face, trying to see into my head, trying to…
“What?” My question came out harsh. Yeah. It had sounded surly. Fear did that to a person.
I shifted, trying to ease the ache of shoulders held at an awkward, humiliating angle by the cuffs. The metal bit right through the bandages Lil had applied, and the pain cleared away some of the fog of shock. “You keep staring. What’s your problem?”
“What do you see in him?”
“Brian?” What the hell was going through his head? “He’s my best friend. We’ve been—”
“No. Not Brian. I know that. I know how long you’ve known him. I know…” He wove through traffic, chewed on his lip, glanced at my reflection, and seemed to come to some decision that eased a bit of the tension out of his grip on the wheel. “I know about you. Your mother died when you were twelve, your father turned mean. Brian protected you. You both swam on the varsity team in high school and won a lot. You went to college with him, and now you coach an inner-city kids’ swim team. You have one kid on the team who could be Olympic standard if he can get funding. Two years ago, you started culinary school but dropped out when Carl came along, and what the fuck do you see in that jackass?”
I blinked. “You a cop or a stalker?”
He sighed, and his focus drifted back to the road and the red light he’d stopped at. For a few minutes, he didn’t say anything. His hands on the wheel, ten and two, were stiff again, like holding it kept him grounded.
“Too fucking close,” he muttered.
“What?” I leaned forward, shifting to find a clear view through the mesh separating us.
He tightened his lips into a pinched line. The light turned green. Seconds ticked by. A horn sounded impatiently, and he jerked, a miniscule quiver of his entire body. The car rolled forward, and he loosened his fingers. He glanced over his shoulder, searching out my face, rather than settling for my reflection in the rear-view mirror. “People want to protect you,” was all he said before swiveling back around and concentrating on the road again.
My spine began to ache with the strain of leaning forward. I sank back into the seat and glared out of the window. “Carl used to say that. Never knew what he t
hought I needed protecting from.”
Maybe himself.
“Maybe himself?” Vic voiced my thought.
My heart flipped over, and I shot a look into the mirror. Vic was watching me again.
“He’s a dangerous man, Paul.”
“You think?”
Vic drew in a deep breath. There was something loitering just under the surface. Something he wasn’t saying. Something he wanted to say, but wouldn’t let himself, I guessed.
“Do you know anything about his past?”
I shook my head. I’d told Carl a few things about my dad once, and he’d shut me up about it. “We didn’t talk about our childhoods. He didn’t…”
I shivered. Saying ‘didn’t like to’ was an understatement. He’d about gone ballistic when I’d told him some of the out-of-control things my father had done when he drank.
“He had an ugly childhood,” Vic stated.
“Huh.” I’d figured that much out on my own. After that first violently aborted conversation, I hadn’t asked for details. That wasn’t the kind of thing a person like Carl relived with impunity, and his pain never translated to something I could bear much of.
“Do you love him?”
Vic’s question caught me off guard. His voice had changed—gone from cop to something else.
“What the fuck business is that of yours?” I should have been more angry, felt more violated he’d ask something like that. I was sitting in cuffs, on my way to who the hell knew what, and we were talking about goddamn fucking Carl. That indignation eclipsed a bit of my fear.
“It isn’t any of my business,” he admitted.
Yet he met my eye in the mirror, and I had the feeling he was still waiting for an answer. And I didn’t have one. Carl had beaten me and, I had to admit, Lil was right. For all I hadn’t resisted Carl, I hadn’t wanted that last round. It hadn’t been sex, just a form of violence that hurt less than fists or his belt. And he’d left me helpless and in danger. How could I love a man who did that?
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