Dominic frowned. “Ketamine isn’t usually dealt on a large scale—not like pot or meth. It’s something you get at a club from a friend of a friend, that sort of thing. Street sales are pretty rare.”
“I’m sure our detectives are aware of that,” Levi said dryly.
“I could help—”
“No. I let you in on what’s going on because you deserved some consideration after what you went through last night. It wasn’t an invitation to join the investigation.”
Dominic opened his mouth to argue but was interrupted by Martine’s return. She came into the bullpen swinging a white bakery bag from one hand, arching an eyebrow when she saw Dominic at her desk.
“Sorry, Detective.” Dominic got out of her chair and held it for her while she sat down. “I was just stopping by to say hello.”
Her eyes flicked from Dominic’s cup to Levi’s, no doubt noting the shared logo and drawing the logical conclusion. “I would’ve thought you’d had enough of us after last night.”
“Never,” Dominic said in a gallant tone. “I do have to get going, though. Luckily for me, Vegas is never short on bail jumpers. See you guys around.”
He toasted Levi with his coffee cup and made his exit. Once he’d left, Martine passed Levi a cranberry muffin from her bag.
“Why was he really here?” she asked.
Levi peeled the wrapper off the muffin, wondering what it meant that all the women in his life were constantly trying to feed him. “Why do you think? He wanted information on the case.”
“Did you tell him anything?”
“Yeah. It’s already all over the department anyway, and if he didn’t get it from me or you, he’d get it somewhere else. Besides, he’d never stop pestering us if I didn’t give him something. You know how annoying he can be.”
“Oh, yeah, men like him are the worst,” Martine said. “Big strong guys who chase down fugitives for a living but still make the time to bring you coffee in the morning?” She gave a mock shudder. “Gross.”
Levi balled up the muffin wrapper and pegged it at her while she broke into laughter.
Dominic parked at the curb in front of his childhood home in North Las Vegas. The street was lined with cypress and palm trees, the houses all simple desert ranches painted in shades of pale pink and peach with clay tile roofs. Hardy flowers that could be coaxed to grow in the arid environment bloomed cheerfully in front yards, and a hazy view of mountains was visible in the distance under a clear blue sky.
The colorfully embroidered welcome mat in front of the door read, If you forgot the wine, go home. He wiped his feet and let himself inside, unclipping Rebel’s leash once the door had shut behind them. She immediately took off at a gallop for the kitchen.
“I’m here!” he called out as he hung the leash on the coat rack.
“You’re late!” his mother Rita bellowed from the other side of the house.
Dominic rolled his eyes. Moments later, he was beset by a herd of stampeding children ranging in age from eight to two, all tugging at his arms and legs and clamoring to be heard over one another.
“Flip me, Uncle Dom!” his niece Natalie said.
“When’s the last time you ate?” he asked, the memory of cotton-candy pink vomit still fresh in his mind.
“Not since breakfast, duh.”
He lifted Natalie easily by the waist and helped her do a backflip in midair. Of course, this set off a round of begging from the rest of his nieces and nephews as they jostled with each other to be the next one flipped. After each kid had their turn, Dominic gently denied the pleas for seconds; he picked up his giggling two-year-old nephew and draped him over one shoulder as he waded through the crowd to the back of the house.
His four siblings and their spouses were already seated at the long table in the open space created by the combination of kitchen and dining room, as was his paternal grandmother, Silvia. The children abandoned Dominic in favor of Rebel, who rolled onto her back and wriggled in ecstasy at the deluge of tummy rubs.
“Sorry I’m late.” Dominic set his nephew down and kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “Hi, Nonna.”
She gave his cheek a firm, affectionate pat. Silvia had lived with Dominic’s nuclear family since her husband’s death twenty years prior; after Dominic’s own father had passed away six years ago, she and Rita had grown even closer, and a stranger would never know they weren’t biological mother and daughter despite their wildly disparate heights.
“What’s the matter with you, you don’t own a watch?” Rita said from the stove. Unlike small, slender Silvia, Rita stood close to six feet tall. Her hair—still jet-black at the age of sixty—was cut in a short bob, and she had an apron tied over the nice flowered dress she’d worn to church that morning.
Dominic crossed the kitchen to kiss her as well. “I had an appointment off the Strip, and traffic was hell coming back.”
“Well, you can help clean up afterward, then.”
He ambled back to the table and took his usual seat. Dominic was the third of five children, and the only one of his siblings still unmarried. Soon to be the only one without kids too, since his youngest sister Gina had just announced her first pregnancy a few weeks ago.
Angela, the oldest of the five, held up a bottle of wine. “Want some?”
“No, thanks. I’m working tonight.”
“Bartending or bounty hunting?” his brother Vincent asked.
“Bartending.” Dominic poured himself a glass of water instead from the pitcher on the table, and everyone returned to their previous conversation, which focused around the recent antics at his brother-in-law Howard’s office.
“So Bonnie’s newest kick is this scam where you send this company a few drops of your blood and they send you a complicated regimen of supposedly personalized vitamin drops.” Howard rolled his eyes. “Now her cubicle looks like a freaking apothecary, and I swear to God all the bottles are just colored water. But then, this is the same crazy woman who drove all the way out to Primm and waited in line for three hours to buy Powerball tickets when the jackpot was up to 1.5 billion—”
A frisson of tension raced around the table. Dominic’s sister Theresa elbowed Howard hard in the ribs.
“Shit, sorry, Dom,” he said, flushing.
“It’s fine,” said Dominic.
“No, it’s not.” Theresa glared daggers at Howard, who ducked his head.
The sale of lottery tickets was illegal in Nevada, but it was easy for Las Vegas residents to drive out to the Primm Lotto Store in California to get their hands on them. A few months after Dominic had been discharged from the Army, he’d spent almost a thousand dollars in one day on scratch-off lotto tickets there—he’d started with just a few, scratched them right there in the store, and then been driven back to the counter again and again by each loss or small win, unable to control the compulsion to chase the jackpot he’d just known lay in wait. In desperation, he’d had to call his brother for help, obliging Vinnie to make the fifty-mile drive and physically remove him from the store.
His family usually tried hard not to mention any form of gambling around him, but at the end of the day, they lived in Las Vegas, and gambling was a way of life here. Dominic had accepted the realities of that when he’d decided not to move despite the extra pressure it put on his recovery. Howard was probably more embarrassed by the slip than Dominic was himself, though he didn’t love the reminder of how out of control he’d been that afternoon.
The uncomfortable moment was broken by Rita calling for her children to help bring the food to the table, and forgotten altogether within a few minutes. The small house rang with laughter and the clink of flatware on china as they tucked into a lunch of pork loin, roasted mushrooms in garlic, and fresh salad tossed with oil and vinegar. Rebel lay at Dominic’s feet under the table throughout the meal, beautifully behaved as always.
After dessert, Dominic helped his mother with the dishes while everyone else adjourned to the living room to watch the Dodgers ga
me. Despite her children’s best efforts to convince her to leave the cleanup to them entirely, Rita didn’t trust anyone but herself with the fine wedding china she used for their regular Sunday family lunches. Accordingly, she washed while Dominic dried.
“I ran into Tony Shapiro at the market the other day,” she said once they’d been alone for several minutes. “He’s still got a job for you at his auto shop if you’re interested.”
Dominic took the salad bowl she handed him and wiped it with a dish towel. “I have a job, Ma. Two, actually.”
She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Bartending isn’t a job for a man in his thirties.”
“Why not? I enjoy it, and the money is great. Besides, it’s just part-time, to supplement the bounty hunting.”
“Don’t even get me started on that,” she said. “Do you ever think about your future? Are you still going to be hunting bail jumpers when you’re forty? Fifty?”
“That’s a long way off,” said Dominic, though her words had struck a nerve. He’d be lying if he said he’d never given the topic any thought.
“Not as much as you might think. The years have a way of rushing by before you know it.” She rinsed off another bowl and handed it over. “I just don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that you have no safety net to fall back on.”
“I’ve never really been the type to work with a net.”
She pinched his chin affectionately with soapy fingers. “Which was fine when you were twenty. But the older you get, the more dangerous that becomes. You can’t live life that way forever.”
That uplifting message stuck with Dominic for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, even after he left his mother’s house to return to the heart of Las Vegas. He dropped Rebel off at his apartment, changed clothes, and headed back out to the small LGBT neighborhood fondly nicknamed the Fruit Loop.
Stingray was a giant, extravagant nightclub, encompassing four different bars, a two-story dance floor, and a massive stage that hosted everything from drag shows to hot body contests. Blue uplighting bathed the sleek décor and floor-to-ceiling aquariums in a cool glow, and the place was packed from wall to wall every night of the week.
Sundays were always Latin Night; the DJ spun a mix of salsa, reggaeton, and Latin Top 40 that pounded through the speakers with enough force to rattle one’s teeth. Dominic slid into his prime spot behind the bar by the main dance floor—earned by virtue of both seniority and skill—and fell into the familiar rhythm of mixing drinks for a boisterous crowd of tourists and locals alike.
He’d always loved bartending, especially in a place that offered such a bountiful buffet of eye candy. Tonight, however, he had more important goals in mind than flirting.
He kept an eye on the dance floor while he worked, watching people’s hands as small baggies of pills and powders were passed around—sometimes so subtly that he almost didn’t catch it, other times seemingly without concern for discretion at all. Like most nightclubs, Stingray saw its fair share of party drugs. Many of the dancers were rolling on Ecstasy, or flying high on coke and poppers they’d snorted in the restrooms. Though strong hallucinogens like LSD and ketamine were less common here, there were sure to be at least a few people in the crowd who were carrying.
During a short lull, he leaned over the bar to speak to a woman he’d seen slipping sheets of candy-colored tabs in and out of her purse. “You got E?” he asked, nodding to the sparkly, crystal-studded bag.
“Yeah,” she said, unfazed. “You want some, gorgeous?”
“No, thanks. I’m actually looking for Special K—I’d rather have the shorter high.”
She nodded. “I don’t have any on me, but I know a guy. I can hook you up.”
He passed her a tequila shot in thanks and put it on his goodwill tab. After she’d tossed back the shot, she disappeared into the crowd. Minutes later, he was approached by a skinny man with shocking green hair who slipped him a tiny bag of powder in exchange for a couple of folded bills. Dominic made friendly small talk with him for a few minutes before he continued on his way.
As the night wore on, Dominic repeated the process multiple times, sending feelers out into the crowd and making contact with various people who were happy to cut him in on their stash—often at a discount, once they got a good look at him. Within several hours, he had amassed enough ketamine to completely anesthetize at least two of the serial killer’s victims, if not all three, and he’d barely expended any real effort. The killer could easily have done the same without ever drawing attention to themselves.
Still, he committed names and faces to memory. He wouldn’t snitch on people who were just out to have a good time, but all these clubbers got their product from somewhere. Maybe he could chase up their suppliers. If the killer intended to keep dropping bodies in the same way, they’d need ketamine in bulk; at a certain point, it would start causing ripples.
“Hey,” said a new voice at the bar.
Dominic abruptly set aside all thoughts of drugs and serial killers as he turned to face the man who’d spoken, an adorable dark-skinned Latino twink with slim hips and enormous doe eyes. He was young, likely a college student, and smiling up at Dominic with a coy expression.
“What can I get you?” Dominic asked.
“Actually, I was wondering if you could settle a bet I have with my friends.” The boy gestured to a group of young men and women clustered around a high-top beside the dance floor.
“Sure.”
“How tall are you?”
Dominic grinned. “Six five.”
“Damn.” He gave Dominic a slow, appreciative once-over. “I was closest—I guessed six four.”
“What do you get for winning?” Dominic said, propping his elbows on the bar and leaning forward a bit.
He was met with a flirtatious dip of the boy’s eyelashes. “I’m not sure yet.”
Anticipation tingled across Dominic’s skin. “I hope you guys weren’t also debating how much I weigh.”
“That wasn’t the next measurement I had on my mind, no.”
The southern direction of the boy’s eyes left no doubt as to his implication. Thoroughly captivated now, Dominic extended his hand across the bar. “Dominic.”
“Luis,” the boy said as they exchanged a lingering handshake. “Do you make a good mojito?”
“I’ll let you be the judge of that.” Dominic mixed the drink and handed it over, stopping Luis when he reached for his wallet. “It’s on me.”
Luis lifted the glass to his mouth, his eyes steady on Dominic’s while his lips grazed the rim.
“Oh, God, right there,” Luis said on a gasp as he writhed underneath Dominic. His knees pressed hard against Dominic’s sides. “Don’t stop, fuck, your cock is fucking huge—”
Dominic dropped his head to kiss the curve of Luis’s shoulder. He thrust into Luis at a steady, measured pace, savoring the slick heat rippling around his cock and the blissed-out expression on Luis’s face. The bedsprings creaked with their exertions, and he was careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows; considering their significant size difference, he could hurt Luis if he lost control.
“You like that, huh?” he murmured against Luis’s skin. He swiveled his hips in a deliberate circle to put more pressure on Luis’s prostate.
“Yeah, oh, oh . . .” Luis’s blunt nails raked through Dominic’s hair and down his back. “Come on, Daddy, give it to me harder.”
Dominic froze mid-thrust. Luis whined his impatience and squirmed closer, trying to fuck himself on Dominic’s motionless cock.
“Did you just call me Daddy?” Dominic said incredulously.
“Mm-hmm.” Luis arched up to kiss Dominic’s throat. “Gonna give it to me good, aren’t you? Gonna show me how it’s done?”
He squeezed his ass around Dominic’s shaft. Dominic’s hips jerked forward of their own accord, and he started moving again, unable to resist the siren song of Luis’s eager movements and his own body’s urges. He drove into Luis
faster than before, but he couldn’t shake his unease.
“I’m thirty-one,” he said.
Luis moaned, his eyes glazed with lust as he looked up at Dominic. “Yeah. You’re gonna take good care of me, right, Daddy?”
For fuck’s sake. There couldn’t be more than ten years between them at the very most—one thing Stingray was vigilant about was carding, and it was unlikely Luis could have gotten into the club with a fake ID. He had to be at least twenty-one. Did he really see Dominic as a daddy, or was it just a game?
Either way, it wasn’t something Dominic was into. So his choices were to stop, which he couldn’t do at this late point unless Luis told him to, or make Luis feel so good that he couldn’t form words at all, still less call Dominic Daddy again.
Luis wanted to be taken care of? Dominic could give him that.
Sitting back on his heels, Dominic settled Luis’s hips in his lap, held his legs wide open, and pistoned his cock in and out of Luis’s tight hole, using the angle to hammer his prostate relentlessly. Luis cried out, the sound ragged with pleasure; his eyes fell shut and his head thrashed on the pillow as he jerked himself off.
There were no more words from Luis after that, only gasps and moans that gradually built to rapturous wails until he came all over his own stomach. His mission accomplished, Dominic lowered himself over Luis’s body again and got in a few more hard thrusts before he came as well, his groan of completion reverberating through his chest.
Dominic kissed Luis’s cheek, pulled out, and tossed the condom in the trash without leaving the bed. Then he grabbed a handful of tissues from his nightstand and helped Luis clean up while he made drowsy, sated noises that Dominic couldn’t help finding irresistible. Carlos and Jasmine had probably been able to hear Luis near the end there, but turnabout was fair play—Dominic heard them sometimes through their shared bedroom wall.
Luis clearly intended to stay the night, and Dominic didn’t dissuade him. When Luis snuggled up to him, pillowing his head on Dominic’s shoulder and trailing his fingers through Dominic’s chest hair, Dominic settled an arm around his waist and gave him a gentle squeeze.
Kill Game Page 6