When Levi didn’t respond, Stanton stepped closer to him, a hopeful look on his face. “You could quit tomorrow. You could go to law school, like you always wanted—”
“My parents wanted that, not me,” Levi said flatly. “You— Goddamn it, Stanton, you know why I became a cop. You know why it’s so important to me.”
This was veering into dangerous territory, skirting too close to things Levi would do anything to avoid talking about. If Stanton pushed him any further . . .
Stanton’s shoulders sagged. “All I want is for you to be happy. And I know that you’re not.”
A sharp flare of anxiety made Levi turn aside. “I can’t have this conversation with you right now,” he said, and then walked away like the coward he was.
Stanton knew better than to stop him, but Levi heard his frustrated groan all the way across the foyer.
When Levi had moved into the penthouse, Stanton had converted one of the guest rooms into a small gym for him, complete with a treadmill, free weights, and most importantly, a heavy bag. Levi went there now, changed into a T-shirt and shorts from the supply he kept in the bathroom, and strapped on a pair of MMA gloves.
He got right on the bag to work his striking—jabs, crosses, elbows, and kicks from every angle, with as much force and aggression as he could pour into them. After the first twenty minutes or so, he tossed the gloves aside so he could drill palm heel strikes and hammerfists with more precision.
He pummeled the bag until his arms were burning and his hands were red and sore. Even then, he didn’t stop; he simply picked up a jump rope and fell into a quick rhythm, varying the patterns of his feet to keep himself light and mobile.
He pushed himself to the point where he was shaking and pouring sweat, only calling a halt when he felt he was going to throw up any moment. He dropped the rope and stripped out of his drenched shirt, toweling himself off before grabbing a recovery drink from the mini-fridge and collapsing onto the square wooden box he used for plyometrics.
Despite the onset of massive fatigue, he felt calmer now, more clear-headed. He wasn’t quite ready to patch things up with Stanton yet, though. Maybe tomorrow, after they’d both had some time to decompress.
Once he could move without falling down, he took his time stretching and foam-rolling his abused muscles, then indulged in a long, hot shower. He didn’t head for the master suite until he was sure Stanton would be asleep.
Their bedroom was dark, Stanton curled on his side in the large bed. Levi flopped down next to him and closed his eyes.
Sleep wouldn’t come.
As exhausted as he was, Levi couldn’t turn his brain off. For years, Stanton had been his rock, his refuge from the outside world, but over the past few months, they’d felt increasingly like strangers. They had both changed over the course of their relationship—which was normal, everybody did—yet Levi couldn’t help thinking that those changes were pushing them in two different directions. The idea that Stanton might be slowly slipping away from him was terrifying.
Levi rolled onto his side. At some point during all of Levi’s tossing and turning, Stanton had shifted onto his back, his face tilted in Levi’s direction. Levi had a perfect view of Stanton’s long lashes sweeping his skin, the gentle movement of his bare chest beneath the comforter.
Swallowing past the ache in his throat, Levi reached out to press his thumb into the cleft of Stanton’s chin, something which never failed to make Stanton smile when he was awake. He smoothed his hand along Stanton’s bristly jaw and leaned in to softly kiss his mouth.
Stanton stirred beneath him. Levi deepened the kiss, his lips sliding against Stanton’s, his hand trailing down Stanton’s chest to squeeze his hip just above the waistband of his boxers.
He felt the moment when Stanton woke—a sudden startled tension followed by immediate relaxation. Levi lifted his head to meet Stanton’s eyes. Stanton smiled, threaded a hand through Levi’s hair, and pulled him back down into another kiss.
Now that Stanton was awake, Levi didn’t hesitate to push his hand inside Stanton’s boxers to stroke his cock. Stanton responded quickly, swelling to hardness against Levi’s palm as he moaned into Levi’s mouth. Turning onto his side, he reached down to cup Levi’s cock with his free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
They squirmed out of their underwear and pressed up against each other, trading messy, urgent kisses under the covers in their darkened bedroom. Levi rocked his hips, dragging his cock against Stanton’s and grasping greedily at Stanton’s skin—as if he could keep their crumbling relationship together with his bare hands if he just held on tight enough.
Stanton took both their cocks in his fist and began jerking them off together. Panting, Levi broke the kiss and let his head fall back so Stanton could nip at his throat.
“I want you,” he said.
Stanton’s answering groan was low and eager. Levi gave him one more hard kiss, kicked the covers to the foot of the bed, and pulled away briefly to retrieve the lube from his nightstand. It had been so long since they’d used it that the tube had rolled all the way to the back of the drawer.
They made a mess of things in their enthusiasm, dripping lube all over each other and the bed. Levi draped his top leg over Stanton’s hip so Stanton could work two fingers into his hole. His body resisted the penetration, tighter than usual after going a few weeks without, but that only made the pleasure sharper. He bit the ball of Stanton’s shoulder and tugged on their lubed cocks while Stanton opened him up with smooth, clever strokes.
“Good?” Stanton asked, once Levi’s hole was slick and relaxed. He caressed Levi’s prostate and chuckled when Levi writhed against him.
Levi nodded, gently pulled Stanton’s hand away, and then pushed Stanton onto his back. He swung himself astride Stanton’s hips.
They’d stopped using condoms a couple of years ago, except on the infrequent occasions when they were concerned with easy clean-up. Tonight, Levi didn’t want anything coming between them. Bracing himself with one hand on the mattress, he held Stanton’s cock steady and sank onto it.
It took a few rolling thrusts for him to ease himself all the way down. When his ass met Stanton’s hips, he changed tack and just ground his hips in slow circles, savoring the familiar weight and shape of Stanton inside him. Stanton watched him with half-parted lips, both hands massaging the tight, wiry muscles of Levi’s thighs.
Levi folded forward so they could kiss while he rocked back and forth, working himself faster on Stanton’s cock. Stanton’s hands slid from Levi’s thighs to squeeze his ass, and his own hips bounced against the bed as he braced his feet and met Levi thrust for thrust. The bedframe creaked and shivered.
Levi had been missing this physical connection—not just the raw pleasure of getting fucked, but the feeling of Stanton’s hands on him, adoring even in the throes of passion. The sound of Stanton’s heavy breaths and quiet gasps, the lingering smell of his cologne at the crook of his neck when Levi buried his face there to muffle a sharp cry. They were all comfortable, familiar reminders of years spent building shared memories together. Levi wasn’t ready to let that go.
He rode Stanton’s cock as hard as he could, needing it deep and rough. Groaning, Stanton arched against the bed, his eyes falling shut for a moment before he reached between Levi’s legs to jerk him off.
Levi fisted the sheet on either side of Stanton’s shoulders. The slick stroke of Stanton’s hand on his cock and the vigorous fucking pushed him rapidly toward orgasm.
“I love you,” he said, his body shaking as he neared his peak. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Stanton swiped his thumb across the head of Levi’s cock.
Levi cried out as he came, spurting over Stanton’s fist and onto his chest. He kept fucking himself on Stanton’s cock, only slowing a bit as he shuddered through the last couple of pulses, then picked the pace right back up.
Pressing desperate kisses to Stanton’s jaw and neck, he whispered, “Come inside me. Come on
. Let me feel it.”
“God,” Stanton said, moaning low in his throat. He slammed up into Levi several more times, catching his mouth in a bruising kiss as he pressed all the way inside, and came. Levi relished every overwhelmed quiver and jerky thrust of Stanton’s body beneath him.
Spent, Stanton relaxed into the mattress. Levi slumped atop him, resting his head on Stanton’s shoulder and humming contentedly when Stanton’s arms encircled his waist.
Levi kept Stanton inside of him for as long as possible; even when they separated, he didn’t immediately reach for the wet wipes the way he normally would. He snuggled up to Stanton with his back to Stanton’s chest and tangled their legs together. Draping an arm over Levi to pull him close, Stanton nuzzled his hair, his lips grazing the nape of Levi’s neck. Levi closed his eyes, soaking in the closeness.
They were just going through a rough patch. Everything would work itself out.
The next morning, Levi woke after Stanton again. He went in search of coffee and found Stanton in the breakfast nook reading the Las Vegas Review-Journal as usual.
“Morning,” he said with a smile, still feeling warm and relaxed from last night.
Stanton looked up, but he didn’t return Levi’s smile. His face was set in grim lines, his jaw tight.
Before Levi could ask what was wrong, Stanton folded the paper back up and laid it on the table, facing toward Levi so he could see the front-page headline.
SERIAL KILLER LOOSE IN LAS VEGAS
Three bodies confirmed victims of vigilante “Seven of Spades”
“When I find out who’s responsible for this, there will be hell to pay,” Wen said to the crowd in the briefing room.
Levi had never seen him this angry before. His hands were clenched white-knuckled on either side of the podium, his nostrils flaring as he glared around the room. Many of the assembled people looked down at their hands or the floor rather than meet his gaze.
Based on conversations he’d heard yesterday, Levi had a few strong suspicions as to the source of the leak—Jonah Gibbs chief among them—but he wasn’t a snitch. Besides, if Gibbs was responsible, the truth would come out sooner or later; the man couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.
The leak hadn’t been as bad as it could have been. Though the serial killer’s self-proclaimed “mission” had been shared with the press, along with the details of the playing card left at the scenes, the actual manner of death and the use of ketamine had been left out. If there were any copycat murders, they would be easy to spot.
Wen continued to chew them out for a couple of minutes before he ran out of steam and turned to new business. “Theft sent us the files on three burglaries of veterinary offices throughout the Las Vegas Valley that occurred over the past two weeks,” he said. “They were basic smash-and-grabs, took anything in sight with any value, so it didn’t seem at first glance that the ketamine was the main target. Taking our new knowledge into account, however, the timing is too coincidental to ignore.” He nodded to Levi and Martine. “Let’s review the cases for possible links to the killer.”
“Yes, sir,” said Martine.
“Narcotics also shared their information on local sources of illicit ketamine. Unfortunately, it’s pretty sparse—ketamine has never been a priority for the department. It looks to be mostly small-time dealers who supply raves and clubs. We’ll still need to look into it, though.”
“I don’t think we can rule out the possibility that the killer acquired the ketamine legally,” Levi said, a thought that had been itching at the back of his mind for some time.
Wen raised his eyebrows, inviting him to elaborate.
“Ketamine is a controlled substance, but it has plenty of legal uses. The killer could have legitimate access to it, in which case we’d be coming at this from the wrong angle. I’d like to pursue that possibility as well.”
“Good thinking. Just keep me updated.” Wen turned his attention back to the room at large. “If the killer keeps their word, we have until Sunday before they take their next victim. We’ll be using every resource at our disposal to make sure that never happens . . .”
After the briefing, Levi and Martine sorted through the burglary case files, spreading the information out across their joined desks while they pored over it.
“I think we need to re-interview the victims,” Martine said, once it became obvious that they weren’t going to glean much useful information this way.
“I was just thinking the same thing. I’ll call the first vet on the list.” As Levi reached for his desk phone, he caught sight of Dominic striding through the bullpen and muttered, “Oh, what now?”
Martine overheard him and swiveled her chair around to watch Dominic approach. “Hey, Dominic, what’s—”
Dominic tossed a small Ziploc bag onto the shared space between their desks. It contained a single playing card, face-up to reveal the seven of spades.
“What the hell is this?” Levi said.
“You tell me. I found this on the windshield of my car last night. And that’s not the worst part.” Dominic flipped the bag over to show them the back of the card—and the smiley face that was drawn on it in black marker.
Levi’s chair screeched against the linoleum as he jerked backward. “Whoa,” Martine said, her eyes wide.
“Is this from the killer?” Dominic folded his arms across his chest. “Did they leave this for me? Are they watching me?”
His voice was strained with tension, as if he was just barely holding his shit together. Levi and Martine held a brief, silent exchange that was all significant glances and microexpressions, in which he pleaded for her to take over and she emphatically refused. Levi knew why—Dominic was addressing them both, but only because he was too polite to ignore Martine when she was sitting right there. His body language made it clear he’d come here seeking Levi.
Yielding to the inevitable, Levi stood and picked up the plastic bag. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
He took Dominic to a comfortably furnished interview room, one of the spaces where victims and bereaved relatives were questioned. While Levi took a seat at the table in the middle, Dominic stayed on his feet, pacing up and down the length of the room. Levi didn’t dissuade him; better he worked off his nervous energy this way than find a more destructive outlet.
“I saw the Review-Journal this morning,” Dominic said, before Levi could get out any questions. “You’re giving this freakshow a name now?”
“That wasn’t my decision.”
Dominic made a frustrated noise and jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. Levi found his body shifting into a fighting stance in his chair, ready to spring up at a moment’s notice. Being confined in a small space with an obviously agitated man of Dominic’s considerable size and strength was kicking his training into gear, even though he was confident that Dominic would never threaten him physically.
“You found the card last night,” Levi said. “That’s before the news broke, so it wasn’t a copycat.”
“No. It had to be either the killer themselves or someone in the police department.”
“A practical joke, maybe?” Levi had to raise the possibility even if he didn’t believe it himself. “Someone who knew you were the one who found Goodwin and wanted to freak you out?”
Dominic scowled at him. “I was driving a friend’s car, not my own truck, and it happened at a gas station I’ve never been to before, after I’d been out driving for hours nowhere near where I live or work. Whoever did it had to have been following me to find me there.”
“Not necessarily. Did you check the car for a GPS tracker?”
Dominic stopped short in his pacing, closing his eyes as he rubbed a hand down his face. “No. It didn’t even occur to me that . . . shit. I have to warn Carlos—”
“Dominic,” Levi said, and waited for Dominic to open his eyes before continuing. “What were you doing last night when this happened?”
The guilty expression that flashed across
Dominic’s face told Levi he was on the right track. Whether Dominic had been followed in person or tracked via GPS, that was too much effort for someone to go to for a practical joke, especially since he hadn’t been driving his own car. It had to have been the killer, and they wouldn’t waste their time unless Dominic was some kind of threat.
After a small moment of hesitation, Dominic pulled a larger Ziploc bag out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. This one was crammed full of baggies of white powder and vials of clear liquid.
Levi pressed his hands to either side of his face, staring at the bag while he struggled to retain his composure. “Are you fucking insane, bringing this much ketamine into a police station? What were you thinking?”
“I’ve been trying to trace the flow of ketamine in the city. It required a few purchases.”
“You realize I could arrest you for this.”
“Do it if you’re going to,” Dominic said impatiently.
Levi propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands for a few seconds. Then he raked his hands through his hair and looked up. “Just put them away, and give me your word that you’ll destroy them as soon as you leave.”
“Consider it done.” Dominic scooped the bag off the table and stashed it back in his pocket. “I was able to get my hands on that much ketamine in a single night at Stingray just through small deals with multiple people. At first, I thought the killer might be doing the same—just jumping from one small-time dealer to another, which would make them almost impossible to find. But the more I thought about it, the less likely that seemed.”
“Go on.”
“If this person is planning multiple murders over the long term, and they want to anesthetize each victim first . . . that’s going to require a shitload of ketamine. The safest solution is for them to have one steady bulk source that won’t draw undue attention.”
Kill Game Page 9