Untamed Bad Boys: Gay Series Box Set

by Aaron Riley

  “Do you know when the last classes of the day end?” he asked.

  Randall scratched his goatee. “I believe 10:00 pm.”

  Christopher stood up and stretched his back. “So it's entirely possible that she could've been here attending a class.”

  Randall nodded.

  “I'd like to see the body now.”

  “But the captain told me that nobody is to see the body.”

  Christopher flashed his badge. “Do you see this, Officer Higsby? This is my I-Get-To-Do-Whatever-The-Fuck-I-Want Badge.”

  Randall didn't even try to argue.

  –

  The morgue was small and cramped with dead bodies. Even though the town had grown in the past years, the morgue had stayed the same.

  A short bald man with a gray apron on pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “But officer, I'm not allowed to let anyone in here.”

  Christopher pushed past him and shoved his badge in his face. He did it with a smile too because this was the best part of his job. It made all the hard training at Quantico worth it.

  He squinted at the coroner's identification. “You're going to let me in, Mr. Kipper. And you're going to let me in right now.”

  The FBI badge did its job. Kipper took Christopher and Higsby to a body draped with a white cloth. He flipped the sheet off the corpse and revealed a young girl with grayish skin. The smell was bad but Christopher had been around enough dead bodies to be used to it.

  Higsby bent over and puked his breakfast all over the clean floors.

  “Well that wasn't very nice,” Kipper said.

  “Higsby, go outside and get some air.”

  He nodded, holding a hand over his mouth.

  Christopher returned to the body and pulled the rest of white cloth off her. Felicity was skinny and definitely in shape.

  A dark purple slash across the neck was the only visible wound on the corpse. “What can you tell me about the victim?” Christopher asked.

  The coroner walked to the other side of the table. “Victim was killed was a single slash across the neck.” He flipped over her arms and revealed black bruises. “The victim was being held against her will but there are no defensive wounds on her hands.”

  Christopher looked closely at her hands and concurred. “What does that mean?”

  The coroner took off his glasses and cleaned them. “In cases like these where a knife is the primary weapon, the victim will put up their arms in defense to stop the blade.” The coroner put his hands up to mime the position. “The fact that she has no defensive wounds means that the knife was a surprise.”

  “Any signs of rape?” Christopher knew that it was common in serial killers of women. Especially when they were younger.

  “Not in any of the victims.”

  Christopher tried to picture what would've happened the night Felicity died. He imagined Felicity walking home after class ended. It was night time, not very many lights. A man in the shadows followed behind her. She turned to confront him and that's when they struggled and he bruised her arms. A knife came out of nowhere and cut her across the throat.

  She died almost immediately from bleeding out.

  “Is there anything you can tell me about the knife?”

  “This wound was done by a long blade. Could be a hunting knife or large kitchen knife.”

  “Seems more likely that the killer wouldn't be caring around a kitchen knife in the middle of the night.”

  “Is the school going to be closed?” the coroner asked.

  “That was going to be my next call. Four women from the community college are already dead. That should've happened before I even arrived here.”

  Chapter Five

  “I don't think you're understanding what I'm saying, Principal Reeves.” Christopher switched the cellphone from one ear from the other. “Four girls from your college have died. There's no indication that this is going to stop.”

  “I don't think you understand what you're proposing. Closing the college down isn't something that can just be done with a flip of the switch. If we close the school down, students are going to go somewhere. Even the ones that stay are going to be afraid of returning. Not to mention, the school wouldn't get the money it needs to continue. It just can't be done, Mr. Taylor.”

  Christopher pulled the phone away from his ear and took in a deep breath. This guy was turning out to be a complete asshole. He didn't give two shits about the wellbeing of his students. He only cared about money.

  “Let me put it this way, Principal. If you don't close down the college, more girls are going to die. The newspapers would love to hear that you had a chance to stop it but instead allowed the killings to continue.”

  Christopher could hear the man changing his mind over the phone.

  “I will notify the school that we will be closing tomorrow for just a few days. That way nobody will freak out. It will be easier to convince the parents.”

  “Fine do whatever you have to. But make sure the school is closed until this case is solved.”

  Christopher hung up and collapsed onto his bed at home. The twin-sized mattress hadn't been changed since he was a kid.

  His mom was already asleep for the night when Christopher got home. The house was quiet and Christopher was exhausted from the day but his mind was still running a mile a minute. He needed to get his mind of these girls. He needed a drink.

  Christopher grabbed his wallet and the keys to the rental car the FBI had provided him.

  –

  The only bar in town was the Eight of Spades. Christopher had been too young to drink when he still lived in Jimstown. There was no better time than now to try it out.

  The parking lot was packed with trucks and rows of motorcycles. The one-story building needed to be condemned. The roof was about to collapse in on itself and many of the windows were boarded up. A neon sign with an eight of spades playing card blinked brightly. They definitely didn't have bars like these back in Washington DC.

  Christopher was almost ready to turn around and go home. This wasn't his usual scene. But the heaviness of the day couldn't be escaped.

  He pushed through the creaky wooden door and was bombarded by the smell of cheap liquor and ear-splitting loud rock.

  The Eight of Spades was the only bar around Jimstown and was a safe haven for the criminal and undesirables. There were no tables or chairs, save the stools at the small bar on the far side. Everyone gathered around pool tables, holding large beer steins.

  Christopher was definitely out of his element but nobody seemed to notice as he walked through the crowd of bikers with their leather jackets. Peanut shells crunched under his shoes. He shouldered his way to the bar and caught the attention of the blonde bartender wearing a short leather skirt and only a bikini top.

  The deafening music made it hard to hear but Christopher understood that the bartender was asking what he wanted to drink.

  This wasn't the type of place to order a fruity cocktail. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Whiskey on the rocks.”

  The female bartender nodded and got to work. Christopher spun around and looked at the crowd. These definitely weren't the type of people that he normally would associate with.

  The bartender handed him a short glass filled to the brim with whiskey and ice. Christopher took a sip and tried not to cough. He wasn't used to drinking straight alcohol and he'd have to baby this one or else he'd have to be carried home.

  Christopher went to take another sip when a man bumped his arm and the drink spilled on his white blouse. The cold icy liquid was a shock to his system as it was definitely going to stain. He was about to curse until he saw who bumped into him.

  The man was huge with a closely shaved head and blue eyes. He had the perfect amount of stubble that framed his square jaw. A white wife-beater barely contained his bulging pecs.

  The man leaned over to Christopher's ear. “Sorry about that. Let me buy you a new one. What are you drinking?”


  Christopher tried to speak but couldn't. His brain wasn't sending the right signals. The man just stared at him with a smile as he eyed Christopher up and down. Christopher gulped and replied, “Whiskey please.”

  The man snapped his fingers and the bartender was able to hear it over the music. She came over and the two of them shared some pleasantries. The bartender laughed and slapped his shoulder. Christopher felt a jealousy that was foreign to him.

  How could he possibly feel jealous over someone he only knew for a few seconds? All he knew was that he wanted to know more about him.

  The man came back with a glass of whiskey and handed it to Christopher. “Want to talk outside?” he shouted into his ear.

  Christopher smiled and nodded. The unnamed man parted a way through the crowd and Christopher followed. He took many sips of whiskey until they made it outside.

  The cold air and silence was a nice departure from the inside. The alcohol began to hit Christopher right in the head.

  “What's your name?” he asked, drinking from his tall glass of beer.

  “Christopher,” he replied, flushed from the liquor.

  He put his hand out. “Joshua.”

  Christopher switched his glass to his other hand to shake Joshua's hand. He didn't need to do that and it led to an awkward moment.

  “You aren't the normal type of guy that walks into this bar.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

  Joshua scratched his stubble. “Your attire for starters.”

  Christopher swayed from side to side and looked down. “What's wrong with this?” he asked, pulling on his black suit jacket.

  Joshua laughed. “Nothing wrong. I actually like it. I'm sick of the men around here flaunting their leather.”

  Christopher smiled. He tried to think back at the last time he had a good conversation with a guy and he couldn't remember. Probably all the way back in high school when Jason told Christopher he liked him right at the end of senior year. It was too late. Christopher went away and never looked back.

  Joshua took a step forward. “I've never seen you around town before.”

  Christopher was very aware that he was moving in closer. “I'm just visiting. Used to live here actually.”

  “Well I'm glad you walked in here.” He inched his way even closer.

  Christopher knew what he wanted. Normally Christopher wouldn't even let things go this far. He didn't have time for relationships. He didn't even have time for one-night stands.

  Christopher tried to pump the brakes. He put his hand on his chest to stop him from invading his space.

  But that was a bad idea.

  Joshua was insanely in shape. His hard chest only made the blood pump through Christopher faster. He could smell his manly scent as he wrapped his hand around the small of Christopher's back. His lips parted and he closed his eyes.

  They kissed outside the Eight of Spades, their tongues dancing with one another. Christopher felt like jelly in his arms as he held him close. Joshua reached up and tugged on Christopher's hair, snapping his head to the side. He nibbled on Christopher's neck, leaving a bright red mark.

  Christopher knew this was going to lead down a dangerous path. He was weak and it wouldn't take much to end up in Joshua's bed.

  Christopher had bigger things to think about than Joshua's massive hard-on beneath his tight jeans. He was able to push away Joshua for just a moment to catch his breath.

  Joshua wiped his mouth of saliva and revealed a cocky smile. Christopher might dress differently but he was no different than the guys he always picked up at the bar. He knew he'd be moaning under his sheets to his touch soon enough.

  “Want to go back to my place?” he asked. It wasn't even really a question. More of a demand. So when Christopher declined, he didn't even know how to process it.

  Nobody ever said no to Joshua Scott.

  “I'm sorry, but I'm working on a case right now. I don't have time for a fling right now.”

  Joshua took a step back. His face turned to horror. “What are you a cop?”

  Christopher shrugged. “No, FBI.”

  “Son of bitch,” Joshua replied.

  Christopher didn't know how to take that. “What's wrong with that?”

  “You trying to use me just to get close to the MC?”

  “I don't even know what you're talking about.”

  Joshua walked away without saying another word and left Christopher all alone in front of the Eight of Spades.

  He walked to his rental and sat in driver's seat, thinking about the interaction over and over again. Even though he rejected Joshua first, he didn't like that it was ultimately something about him or something he did that turned him off.

  “When are you ever going to win, Christopher?” he asked himself before turning the ignition.

  Chapter Six

  Joshua stood by his bike with the rest of his MC in the middle of the desert at night. The air was cold even after the blazing hot day. He put on his leather jacket and proudly wore the new sgt-at-srms patch on his chest.

  “The Devil Hearts are late. What do we do now, prez?” Cameron asked, sticking his tongue through his missing teeth.

  “Give them time,” Flash replied.

  “Give them time? We've been freezing our asses off for hours now,” Jett, the prospect, said.

  “Not our fault your mommy didn't pack you a warm set of clothes,” Flash said

  The entire MC erupted in laughter and Jett quickly shut up.

  Joshua pulled out his black Sig Sauer P220 and checked the magazine. The gun felt good in his hand. He felt like nobody could touch him. He put it back in the waistband of his jeans.

  Headlights appeared in the distance. The Devil Hearts MC rode through the dirt on their bikes until they arrived at the meeting place.

  Each member took off their helmets and stowed them on their bikes. The Devil Hearts were armed to the teeth. Every single of them carried either a shotgun or machine gun. Like they were expecting a big firefight.

  And with these two rivals, a firefight was likely.

  Flash broke away from his group and walked to the middle of the circle. The president of the Devil Hearts did the same.

  Aiden was one of the ugliest motherfuckers to ever ride a bike. There wasn't one thing that you could point to that would give away the ugliness. It was more like the whole painting itself didn't work together.

  Flash shook his hand and they hugged each other. An outsider would think that the two of them were lifelong friends instead of lifelong enemies.

  “You got our money?” Flash asked.

  Aiden nodded and snapped his fingers. An Irish member ran to the middle with a large duffel bag. He threw it on the ground between the two presidents. Flash used his foot to kick it open and saw the stacks of green bills.

  Joshua put his hand on the butt of his gun. This was usually when things went sour.

  “Bring out the guns,” Flash announced.

  Jett jogged to the middle with two long duffels on each shoulder. He had a hard time balancing with the heavy bags. Jett set them down and ran back to the rest of the MC.

  “Let's see what we got here,” Aiden said. He opened up each bag and started pulling out guns. Pistols, shotguns, and machine guns of every variety.

  “Like what you see?” Flash asked.

  “These look like they will work.”

  “Good, then we have a deal?” Flash put out his hand.

  Aiden looked down at it. “I never thought I'd be making a deal with the Dog Soldiers. But desperate times.” He grasped his hand.

  “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  “Let's roll out, boys.”

  Joshua watched as the Devil Hearts rode out one by one, their tires kicking dust into the air. He took his hand off his gun and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Aren't they just going to kill us with the same guns we just sold them?” Jett asked.

  Flash put on his bucket helmet and fastened
it under his chin. “The Devil Hearts have bigger things to worry about than us. The Asian gangs are seizing their territories. If we're lucky, they'll wipe each other and we only have to clean up the mess.”

  “Sounds like a good deal then.”

  “Let's get back to the bar and celebrate. The Dog Soldiers have some money to burn.”

  Joshua dreamed about how many men he could buy with all the money he made tonight.

  Chapter Seven

  Christopher sat on the floor of his childhood bedroom, files and photos spread about. It was a couple hours past midnight and he wasn't close to tired enough to go to sleep. A single lamp shined down onto the ground. Christopher picked through the papers looking for anything that caught his eye. It had been a few days since Christopher arrived in Jimstown and he wasn't any closer to catching the serial killer.

  He stared at a photo of one of the victims, Carolyn Mayne. The picture was probably taken when she was in high school posing next to a tree. Carolyn looked like any other average girl with long brown hair and acne. Nothing that would set her apart for a serial killer to pick her from others.

  So what why did the killer pick her?

  Was it out of desire? Convenience? Was it all just random?

  Christopher closed his eyes and tried to imagine he was the killer, hunting for a potential victim. He pictured herself at the college at night, watching girls walk by. Did he know them beforehand? Maybe he met them somewhere else and used the college at night for his kill spot.

  A knock at the door made Christopher jumped. He clutched his chest and exhaled. “Come in.”

  Lindsay walked in with a tray of food. “What are you doing up so late?”

  “Can't sleep and I need to figure this case out. Why aren't you in bed?”

  Lindsay tilted the tray of food so Christopher could see. “I made your favorite, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the crust cut off.”

  “Mom, I'm old enough to eat crust now.”

  She set the tray onto Christopher's bed. “Well I always used to make it this way for you.”