“I’ll trade you question for question. I ask a question and you answer honestly. You ask a question and I answer honestly.”
“Why would I do that? I could just wait for you to speak with my mother.”
“True.” I nodded. “But there are things I’d never tell her. Things that will never be in the papers.” Details that would help him find the killer and take his revenge. If he found the killer first, that would be fine with me. The killer would be dead either way.
Another man spoke up. This time, from the back of the group. He stepped forward. “Take her deal, Jorge.”
His entire body glowed with his tattoos, but most of them weren’t on his skin in traditional ink. With MS-13, the higher in rank member were, the more tattoos they had, the larger the artwork. It would be odd for a man to reach the status this one seemed to have without his face covered in them. His physical ink was no more or less than any of the other men in the group.
Until I looked at the markings on his body that simply glowed. There was an unending waterfall of tears tattooed on his cheeks and they flowed down his face onto his chest, the tears seeming to actually fall as I watched them.
For a moment, I thought I saw the faint glowing of wings sprouting from his back and the stench of sulfur became almost unbearable as he approached. His very presence sent snakes of revulsion slithering down my spine and I wondered briefly if people felt the same around me. If my wrongness inspired that sort of fight or flight sensation that his did in me.
“Hello, Brynn Hill,” he said cordially.
“And you are?”
“Ah, don’t remember me, yet? Dominic San Angeles. We were once very close.”
His name sent a chill of recognition through my veins, but then it was gone.
“Tell her what she wants to know, Jorge. Both your sisters are dead,” San Angeles said with a lazy smile.
CHAPTER THREE
Jorge hadn’t believed San Angeles at first, not until I’d confirmed it. Watching the dance of emotions on his face had been like watching a potter work clay on the wheel, forming up into one shape and then collapsing into something else, only to be dragged up again by those same cruel hands. He’d spilled his guts, the deepest and darkest things he knew about his gang and their operations spread out and flayed open like an autopsy.
And when I left, they were mobilizing for war.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t learned anything from Jorge about his sisters that I didn’t already know. Although something he’d said stuck in my head.
One of their main rivalries was with the Bloods.
It’s in the blood, the voice had whispered to me.
And Dominic had told Jorge to give me whatever I needed and instructed the rest of the posse to do anything I asked. That was highly unusual. Dominic had acted like we’d had some former affiliation, but I couldn’t imagine any world where I’d willingly be in the same room with him. He set off all of my alarms, but he did not belong to me. He was something…else. I didn’t like that.
My cell rang as I was driving back to my loft. It was after ten.
“Where are you?” Jenna demanded when I answered, the roar of the bar behind her. “I’m sitting here in The Riot Room with Grimes all by myself.”
“So, then you’re not really by yourself.”
“Smartass.”
“Yeah, I’m on my way. I had to handle some things with the investigation.”
“Don’t you always.” She sighed. “But you are coming right?”
“I’m not even breathing heavy.”
“Bitch.” Jenna laughed good-naturedly.
“Slut.” I didn’t understand this banter, but I could do it and it seemed to make us closer friends. The nastier the names I called her, the more affectionate she seemed to think it.
“Quit your pillow talk and get your ass over here,” Grimes grumbled into the phone.
“See? I can’t do anything with… Hey! Give that back. I’m going to—” Then the line went dead.
What I really wanted to do was go home and stick my nose in the Hel Cycle after I read my father’s last letter, but I needed to meet Jenna’s friend so I’d stop having that damned reaction to my partner and to the assassin trying to kill me.
Or maybe I should just fuck Grimes and get it over with?
He obviously knew more about everything that was going on than I did. Maybe if he thought I’d submitted to him, he wouldn’t feel the need to have that control over me and he’d tell me what I wanted to know.
Then I could stop imagining what he looked like naked.
I sighed as I turned my car onto Broadway and then into the parking lot for my building. Sleeping with him would only complicate matters further. How did women do this? Life was so much easier when it was only the hunt and the kill that thrilled me.
No matter who I went home with, even if it was just myself, I’d be wearing my leather pants and my knee high Doc Martens.
It was times like this that I sometimes wished for a mother. I’d made one up in my head when I was a girl. My father was my whole world, but sometimes, when I was playing alone, I imagined Brynhildr was my mother. She wouldn’t be like the other moms that came to school, muttering inanities and breathing banality. She’d be like my father. She’d know how to fight, how to kill things.
My father said that as a woman, I’d have more weapons than a man. I didn’t know what that meant, although I assumed it had something to do with my body. Brynhildr would know and she’d show me how to use those weapons.
Helreggin had been born of Loki’s flesh alone in the myths I’d read, but what about me? I was sure I hadn’t sprung directly from Erik Hill’s loins into the world. I’d asked him once about my mother and he’d gagged me and tied me to a chair for four hours. I’d never asked again.
It was a lesson hard learned. Because for that four hours, he took out his frustration on one of the women he’d taken. I’d heard her screaming, begging for help. For mercy, and finally for death. Her voice had risen to a frenzied pitch, and then her screams had broken into harsh little barks. I heard every second of her terror drifting up through the vents like some poisonous gas.
I was seven. I’d vowed at the time that even if I ever had a little girl and her father was painful to talk about, I’d never have treated her that way—never make her listen to someone die simply because she wanted to know about him. I wouldn’t kill people at all. But being seven, I’d had dreams of a happy family. My daughter wouldn’t have had to ask about her father because he’d come home to her every night. We’d live in a big house where I’d let her roller skate on the hardwood floor and I’d bake like TV moms did in the old shows and…
I pushed away the memories and focused on the task at hand.
Once inside my loft, I looked longingly at the letter on my bed, but for the first time, I wanted to wait. Those were my father’s last words to me. I needed to be able to take my time with them and just for a moment, tonight, I was going to pretend that I was normal. As normal as a homicide detective could be. I changed quickly and put on some lipstick and eyeliner—skills courtesy of Sephora salesgirl. In ten minutes, even allowing time to lace up my twenty eyelet Doc Martens, I was back in the car driving across town to The Riot Room.
It was packed, the band onstage was rocking some heavy riffs and Jenna waved at me from a table in the back.
As I approached, I saw a new face at our table chatting amicably with Jason. He’d be considered handsome by most standards; strong jaw, neatly clipped hair the color of mahogany and sharp blue eyes. He smiled when he saw me, his mouth full of sharp, straight, white teeth.
Jenna had outdone herself this time because I knew just from looking at him that he was a killer.
Nature had marked him apart with the asymmetry of his features. At first glance, he was all that was sought after, a standard of masculinity. Broad shoulders, smooth features, a strong profile, but he was like a copy of a facsimile.
All human features are slightly off balance, none a
re perfectly symmetrical. Yet with symmetry, it is a case of being able to judge a book by its cover. It’s why humans seek out symmetry as a standard of beauty, those are the traits both physical and ethereal they want to pass to their young.
Ted Bundy, Albert Fish, Ed Gein, Jeffrey Dahmer and John Wayne Gacy, serial killers who all had mismatched ears and eyes. One ear was noticeably longer than the other and both protruded from their heads. Their eyebrows were also mismatched. Of course, all aberration is visible around or in the eyes. It’s why they say the eyes are the windows to the soul.
Asymmetry was like the red violin shape on the back of a poisonous spider, the bright colors of certain frogs—nature’s warning label.
This one was like Bundy. He was supposed to be handsome, and I’d bet he’d be charming right up until he slipped a knife between my ribs.
I smiled back, showing him all of my white, sparkly teeth in return.
“And you said she was nice,” he elbowed Jenna.
Jenna took a swig from her beer. “She is nice.”
“No, no.” He shook his head. “That’s what you say when a woman has nothing else to recommend her.”
Jason nodded his agreement and Jenna rolled her eyes. “Brynn, this is Richard Sickert.”
“Nice to meet you, Richard Sickert.” I sat down between him and Jason. His name was familiar to me somehow, but I couldn’t place it.
I was relieved and horrified at the same time. Relieved because although his façade was everything I should find attractive, the only thing that moved me was the thought of killing him.
And I was horrified for the same reason.
If my body had the same reaction to all males, I could have shrugged it off as some biological tic of no more importance than sneezing. Instead, the attraction was only to two specific males. Of course, I hadn’t gauged my reaction to every male walking the earth, but this Richard Sickert was as good a test as any. Maybe even better because he was a killer like me. Most animals don’t mate outside their species.
So why was I attracted to Jason? He wasn’t a killer.
As if answering my question, he turned and his mouth curved in something that wasn’t really a smile. The air around him seemed to shimmer and for the fraction of a second, he was brighter—golden and I saw the impression of a sword hanging from his back the same as I’d seen the wings on San Angeles. Then it was gone.
He shoved a beer at me and went to get another one.
“So, you’re a cop?” Richard asked to get my attention.
I nodded and tried to remember all of the courtesies of this getting to know you crap.
“Thank God you’re not a writer.”
That made me laugh. “Why is that?”
“Jenna told me that you’re not only a detective, but you’re a profiler too.”
“Well, I don’t have all the letters after my name.” I’d have to talk to Jenna later about telling people about the profiling. That was probably what made him want to meet me. To see if he could slip under my radar.
Then I realized he hadn’t answered my question. “Why do writers annoy you?”
“I’m a painter. But that’s not why they hound me. If it was for my art, I’d be ecstatic. Patricia Cornwell wrote a book about my great-great-grandfather and now everyone else wants to write one, too.”
It clicked where I recognized his name from. Walter Sickert. The current darling of Ripperologists everywhere. My date for the evening was descended from Jack the Ripper, if recent theories were to be believed.
I knew then exactly how to lull him into a sense of safety. I nodded. “I know what that’s like. My father was Erik Hill.”
“That’s why you’re a cop. To make amends for what he did?” He raised a brow in question.
Not by a long shot, buddy. I managed to keep my laughter subdued to a chuckle. “Sure.” I nodded. “And it’s what I know.” Our eyes met and I looked at him meaningfully for a long moment. Yeah, that’s it. Come take tea with me said the spider to the fly.
“You’re not at all what I expected, Brynn.” Richard sounded pleased.
I’m usually not. “Neither are you.”
I suppose it was wrong, but he’d roused an academic curiosity. I wanted to slap him on a slide and shove him under a microscope. He was a killer to be sure, but was it something in the blood?
In the blood. In the blood. In the…
I pushed the thoughts of blood out of my head. The Capri Killer was gaining the market share of my brain. I had to be careful or I’d start thinking more and more like him until I was killing like him. I had to be careful not to fall too far down the rabbit hole when I climbed into their heads.
It had always been my belief that killers were born. Some switches were flipped by circumstance, but other had been on since they were mewling little beasts pushed from the dark of the womb. But this would be scientific proof. What about his father and his father before him? Had they been killers as well or had that dark depravity lain sleeping in the DNA the same as eye color and height, looking for the proper match to manifest?
“So how did you meet Jenna?”
He took a drink of his beer. “She answered my ad for a model when we were in college.”
“You guys have been friends a long time? I wonder how we didn’t meet before.” She was going to miss him when was gone. I’d spare her pain if I could, but I couldn’t allow him to keep walking around breathing. Killing.
“I’m really not very social. I’d rather work than socialize,” he said it like it was a dirty confession.
“Me too.” As we talked, I found I liked him. I’d try to make his death painless.
“This really isn’t my scene. Wanna get out of here?” Richard asked as he slipped his arm around my waist.
“Yeah, I do. Let me run to the restroom first and I’ll meet you outside.”
Jason still hadn’t come back to the table and Jenna was talking with a couple guys from the table behind us. I touched her shoulder and nodded at the door.
“Is he leaving?” she demanded.
“So am I. It’s a good thing.”
“Yay!” she mouthed and held up crossed fingers in a show of support, and I headed toward the ladies room.
The corridor was dark, the shadows heavy and smoke made for a choking fog. A hand came out of the pitch and grabbed my arm.
My fist shot out and I found myself slammed against the wall with my hands behind my back. I was about to raise my knee when I realized it was Jason who held me.
“What are you doing, Brynn?” His breath smelled of Guinness, but he wasn’t drunk.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. “You keep grabbing me like I belong to you. I don’t.” But I made no move to free myself. I didn’t want to, it felt too good. The way his knee fit between my thighs, his broad chest against my breasts, and the solid weight of him pinning me against the wall.
He leaned closer. “You used to. And I belonged to you.”
I couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t like when I’d thought I was dying, it was something else. His body burned, scalded wherever it touched me. I wanted to burn more. Hotter. Longer. I wanted him to incinerate me.
“Come home with me, Brynn.” Jason’s voice wrapped around me and burrowed into secret places.
My mouth was suddenly dry as I imagined doing just that. Really surrendering to him, not an act, not what I thought he wanted to see toward any end but pleasure. He was hard against my thigh and it sent a punch of desire through me.
Fuck, but no wonder people did such things to feel this. It was almost as good as killing.
I was wet for him, imagining him drilling into me, holding me just like this—so hard, so strong, so alpha.
Yes, part of me cried. If I’d worn the miniskirt, he could have been—no. I couldn’t do this. I had to—
He crushed his lips to mine and I couldn’t think, I could only feel. Jason’s mouth was as hard as marble, but it was hot, too and it transmuted my blood to lava boiling th
rough my veins. He tasted of Guinness and salt, but of something else, too. Something cold and hot at the same time.
“Don’t go with him,” he murmured against my lips.
Him. Richard was waiting for me. I turned my face away from Jason. “I have to.”
“Why, because Jenna set you up with him? She won’t care.” He brushed his lips against mine again, one hand slid up my side and to my breast. “Tell him you changed your mind.” His lips moved to my throat.
My heartbeat pulsed through my entire body and centered wherever he touched me. I didn’t want it to end, but I had a man to kill.
“Jason, I have to. It’s what I was born for.” It was the closest I could come to a confession. If he knew Helreggin, then he would know what I had to do.
He released me abruptly and I was suddenly cold. I would do anything to have his hands on me again. Anything but what he needed me to do.
“You were born to fu—”
“You don’t understand.” I interrupted him and sighed.
“You’re right, I don’t.” He walked away from me.
I didn’t have time to think about what had just happened, because Richard was waiting for me. I pushed my way through the crowd and out the door to see Richard leaning against the wall of the next building, cigarette dangling from his elegant fingers.
“Thought you changed your mind.”
It would have been his lucky day if I had changed my mind, but the need in me was too strong. He wasn’t a virus like my father, he was a bacterium and I was the antibiotic. This was what I was meant to do.
“Just had to say my goodbyes and freshen up.” I’d never actually made it into the restroom to freshen up, but it was more about the ritual than anything else anyway.
“What would you like to do?” He dropped the cigarette and put it out with his boot.
Interesting. He wasn’t going for the score, asking me if I wanted to go to his studio to look at his art, but I was sure his true art was death. “I didn’t get that far.” I offered him a shy smile and put the ball back firmly in his court.
I felt a presence at my back, some intensity burrowing though my spine like a bullet. I spun around and saw the tails of a leather trench coat like bird’s wings disappear around the corner and into the alley on the other side of us.
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