Seducing Two Serial Killers

by Hutchins, Hollie

  Once more, I check my phone, and my heart leaps when I see that Tarren's finally responded.

  Y/alive. Sorry. Was a little busy. Away from the phone. You're in Richard's block, right?

  I stare at the message. It surprises me that he's more articulate with the phone than Richard is. Richard prefers all the shortcuts. Tarren seems to like spelling everything out.

  Ye im like three floors under him. Swanky building, u should come c

  My phone vibrates less than a minute after sending the message.

  Maybe I will. Not right now, though – still got a few things to clean up.

  I frown at the message. Clean up feels so ominous, somehow.

  But, whatever. He likes to cast that kind of air around him. That he's real dangerous, don't mess with him. As dangerous as that man I met in that illegal arena, though? The tiger shifter, Janus?

  The same one who watched people die before his eyes without a single eyeflicker.

  No, I don't want to think about that. Don't want to remember – see those bodies in my mind's eye again. I furiously head to the drinks cabinet Richard's so kindly stocked, deciding to try that Grouse whisky again.

  When will I see u again?

  Takes him about five minutes to respond this time, and I keep checking my phone like a nervous teenager, though I should be way out of that stage already. I just – I don't know why I'm being like this. Should be happy to be here. Should be happy for a fresh start, a better life.

  But I can't stop feeling like there's something horribly wrong.

  Maybe tonight, he finally replies. I have an image of him sat in his brothel now, lying next to a woman he's just fucked. It's stupid, it shouldn't bother me, but it just sticks there, demonizing him for every second that he doesn't answer.

  Fuck, I'm an obsessive.

  Great! :)

  I bite back any other stupid answers I want to fling at him, and instead work on unpacking my absurd amount of shopping, before the frozen food drips all over the floor.

  I'm sure that Lisa Arrow will much appreciate my professionalism when it comes to finding her. A woman who can't keep her eyes on the prize long enough before becoming distracted by the shambles of her love life.

  I really suck at this.

  Richard

  Another day. Another stupid boardroom meeting. Still pissed off that Emma never followed up on her suggestion to make things cozy last evening. I get she's probably distracted – but being blown off twice is starting to fray at my patience. I want to be in the apartment, finding out different ways to fuck her senseless. I want to make sure I get it in first before Tarren gets his cloying hands on the both of us, or finds a way to slip in before I've touched what should be my girlfriend.

  Not be stuck here listening to idiots who don't have the first clue about business prattle on about their bomb-flop ideas.

  I might be in honor debt to Tarren, but he's not called it in, yet. If anything, he's vanished to me. Probably texted Emma like a modern-day Romeo with a slice of psycho mixed in, but sent nothing to me. I just want to walk to the balcony and smoke my Winston right now, but I’ve first got a deal to manage.

  “Does this proposal please you?” The man's jowls quiver as he waits for my response. I probably look fearsome to him, drumming my fingers on the table. Guess there's no way to hold my displeasure. But, given that my old man's sat on the side, his clammy, ancient hands locked together, giving me stink-eye – best I focus in the meeting.

  “Honestly, though I appreciate the enthusiasm in which you've presented this new marketing campaign – I don't think it's going to work.” The man's sweat seems to congeal somewhere in his sticky white collar. He's human. Absently, so that no one else in the room can feel it, I nudge him with a hypnotic suggestion to relax and don't feel scared of me. I don't want him practically pissing himself. Especially if he's got a sound mind underneath all that blubber. Instantly, under my suggestion, the man visibly relaxes.

  “Why not?” he asks, in an affable, concerned voice. “I think it would work out quite well. Your bulk of your audience is millennial and gen-x, so that's what the ads are geared for.”

  I shake my head. I suspect my old man's noticed what I've done – not much slips past him. “You need targeted ads for every generation currently alive. And minority groups within them as well. Black people are going to start marching down the streets if you present them nothing but happy white families. Latin America's going to be under-represented again, as are the immigrants. Your women all look like Christian domestic wives, or strippers. There's no gays or lesbian, no shifter minorities, no targeting single mothers and fathers – you assume everyone's in a happy family and together with their white picket fence home. The biggest bulk of our audience are poor, likely living in cheap rental places, or scraping together every cent possible. Plus, your design is too obnoxious. It's ugly to look at.”

  The man shrinks slightly, but my mood-enhancer stops him from bubbling in his own potential despair. “So, you just think I need to broaden my target audience?”

  “Of course.” I drum my fingers impatiently. “Make sure you do some serious research on this. No prejudice. No believing that everyone's like you.”

  Bob Rowling swallows, but nods his assent, before giving an unctuous smile. “Right. I'll get to work on it straight away.”

  “Boss, I think you're overcomplicating it,” Maria Swanson pipes up from her side. She's sat next to Harold Berking, and I'm pretty sure the both of them are fucking. Good workers, though. “Rowling's got a point in simplifying the message to target an audience like this. And with the current presidency climate, it might be best to avoid offending their sensibilities by including everything.”

  “Are you messing with me right now?” I raise an eyebrow at her, and she instantly looks pissed off. My father, meanwhile, scowls in disapproval of my dressing down. “People are going to be offended no matter what we do. We can't control that. But we can at least attempt to cater to as many people as possible.”

  The meeting's soon adjourned, and my father looks as if he wants to have words with me, but chooses not to say anything in the last moment. Yes, I know I might have been a little snappier than usual. I'll find a way to make up for it later – send them chocolates and wine as an apology. Should be fine.

  “Are you okay, son? Nothing on your mind?” My father clasps a hand on my shoulder, and we see Tomas Forge lounging in the waiting lobby, clearly uncomfortable. Though father gave him a new job here, it's obvious Tom won't ever be happy working in this environment. He hates feeling like he's being put on a pedestal, separated from a woman he claims to love. He wants to be plunging back into the underworld, doing everything to rescue Lisa Arrow from the clutches of whoever imprisons her – which is strongly implied to be that cursed tiger shifter, Janus.

  Barring that, he'd prefer to spend his entire life doing charity work if possible.

  “Don't sit like that,” Arthur snaps at his son, who is sprawled in a slovenly manner across the waiting armchairs, the backs of his knees over one armrest. “Why aren't you working?”

  “Because I don't want to. I'm not sure how many times I have to keep repeating the same message until it sticks in your crusting brain, father. I. Don't. Want. To. Work. Here.” Of course, Tom's full of spitfire as well.

  “Tom,” I tell him, attempting to spare my father the headache, “you'll do far more use here than anywhere else at the moment. You go back to your justice-for-all charity missions, you'll be killed and you know it. You go to Africa and help an impoverished community or something. Or you work here until you gain some more money and then do whatever you want.”

  Tom just rolls his eyes. “It doesn't matter how much you try to tell me I should be doing this. You're still missing the point. I don't fucking want to.”

  “Watch your mouth!” My father's ready to pop a vein. Back to the old family dynamics I see. “Sometimes you have to do things you don't want in life in order to succeed! Your attitude will
get you nowhere, son. Now get back to work!” My father stands, puffed up, full of fire. Eventually, after some intense posturing between the two of them, Tom backs off, and sullenly goes to work in a job he doesn't want to do.

  I'm not sure I can blame Tom's attitude, really. Some people do just suck it up and do what they're told to, but others won't be content until they can pursue what they love.

  And, apparently for my younger brother, what he loves is Lisa Arrow. The senator's daughter. What a stupid coincidence. Still can't wrap my head around that story even now.

  When I finish work, I choose to go home the human way, and grab a milder beer from an upper end shop, not wanting to poison Emma too much with my whisky. All the staff here are shifters, for obvious reasons. Otherwise they'd by hypnotized into letting criminals walk out with goods all the time. People recognize me and nod to me on the street. I can't shift now, not without dropping the bottle, and deign for a brisk walk to the residential block we both live in. Jolts of electricity hit me right in my balls, and I anticipate getting to bed Emma for real. She better not find an excuse this time.

  Maybe I'm being unfair. Or maybe I'm not. Should let her have room, of course it's going to be weird if I just try to jump on her. Probably wants to make sure she's secured the kind of job she wants, probably wants to check up on Tarren and see if she can help with Lisa Arrow.

  Tarren. My eyes snap to the side, because there's a chill creeping down my neck. Like I'm being watched. Now, I could dismiss it as imagination.

  But I know enough in that if I feel like there's something wrong, that's usually because there is. I pretend to be focused on making it to my residential block.

  There. Someone's watching me. Don't recognize the face when I use my peripheral vision to observe. Don't see any distinctive clan tattoos. But this is unmistakably a lookout. Come to think of it, maybe there is something familiar about him. I didn't notice at first, but since Emma's here...

  No. I can't give it away now. I use my keycard on the entrance, and my eyescan, and it admits me inside. Emma was so baffled when I presented her the keycard and got it to make a saved scan of her eye.

  Seems the danger from Janus isn't over yet. He's not happy that Tomas got away. He's not happy I'm funding Tarren to flush him out.

  The man watching me gives out a startled yelp. I turn in surprise and see someone dragging the man backwards. People in the street are staring, and I groan inwardly. Of course it's fucking Tarren.

  Looks like he decided to ruin it for the lookout before I could ever bother to formulate a plan against them.

  The lookout lets out a pathetic kind of squeal, before dashing off at the speed of light. Tarren, rather smug and clean shaven, dusts his hands, and salutes me.

  Fuck him. Seriously. Grabbing my cigarettes at last, hands shaking, I go and find a quiet place to light up.

  Emma

  Got my bath bombs. Got my junk food for when I can't be bothered to cook. Got some for when I can be bothered, but let's face it – I probably won't be doing that for a while. Not when I have money to spare for some nice dinners out. And I might even get to do so with Richard or Tarren.

  Imagine if I dated both at the same time.

  I shake my head, trying my best not to get too distracted by my own thoughts. While I'm certainly thrilled at the prospect of figuring out more if this whatever-ship between us will work, I'm also not just here for fun and games. I'm here for a new life. And I'm here to quietly assist Richard and Tarren to conduct their own investigation into Lisa Arrow, and the corruption that's in their city, without alerting the human authorities and letting the shitstorm unroll out in human media. There's still accusations being flung around. Human authorities demanding a bigger rein into investigating, but of course the shifters aren't going to hand over state secrets like that. They don't want to be cyber attacked or suppressed further by the other countries.

  The political dynamics gives me a headache, honestly. I'm slurping through my first batch of noodles after having unpacked everything, and almost drop the bowl when my doorbell rings.

  Shit!

  I'm in my slob clothes, and I have noodle broth over my top. Hastily dabbing myself, I go to the door, peer through the eye, and see Richard standing outside, appearing rather irritated.

  Tarren's also there. My heart leaps into my throat, and I quickly pat myself down, suddenly nervous. Did they send a message? Did I miss it?

  I'm not ready for this. Fuckity fuck. Okay. Deep breath. I remove the chain and open the door, and they both smile at me.

  “Look what I found on the street,” Richard says, jerking a thumb towards Tarren. Tarren, dark haired, clean shaven, his sleeves rolled up to expose his muscles, uncurls his smile like a cat.

  “I'm mad at you,” is the first thing I say to Tarren, and I instantly want to kick myself. Great way to start it. I imagined seeing him and something wonderful happening. Not snapping and acting like a pissed off teenager. My hormones must be out of balance. Maybe I'm missing my parents slightly, the simple life when all I had to worry about was whether or not I'd turn up at school on time.

  “Sorry, princess,” Tarren says, though he doesn't look particularly sorry as he walks into my apartment, followed by Richard. If anything, his eyes narrow in a way that suggests he's taken offense at my remark. “I told you I had some business to attend to. Sometimes it's unavoidable. Nice place you have here.”

  “I decorated most of it,” Richard says, with a note of pride in his voice. I study the two dragon shifters, wondering about their dynamics. A red dragon and a black one, contending with one another. There's a stab of irritation and discomfit in my stomach, though I can't place where the feeling comes from. Richard enquires, “How's your day been?”

  “Unpacking and stocking, mostly. I'll get a good feel of the place once I'm all settled in, and have decided what I'm going to do. And how I can help you.”

  Tarren makes a sucking sound with his lips, amber eyes dark.

  “I'm not sure you should help,” Richard begins, instantly flaring my temper. He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hear me out before you scratch me. I'm not saying you can't help – but you'll need to be careful not to advertise your immunity if you do.”

  “Actually,” Tarren says, “she could help. As bait.”

  “Absolutely not!” Richard puffs up indignantly, and I gape at Tarren, surprised he'd even suggest this. “We're not putting Emma in any more danger than necessary!”

  “Janus isn't going to be stupid enough to allow us to get anywhere near him. The guy I accosted outside your apartment is a crony of a crony who probably works for Janus – but you're not going to trace him. If we are going to drag him out of his lair – we'll need to dangle something a collector like him can't resist.” Tarren looks at me, as if daring me to challenge him on the matter.

  Interesting. He has a point. The only kind of use I am would be that I attract attention. I give off some kind of stink that means I'm an immune to these people. I can hide it with perfumes, but perfumes don't have a strong aroma forever. So unless I kept spraying myself every ten minutes...

  “He knows what Emma looks like! You've told me this much. I absolutely forbid it.”

  Tarren stalks past us, back rigid, hands clasped in front. “You forget who you're speaking to, Richard. You're in honor debt to me. Remember?”

  A nervous tic in Richard's jaw betrays the fact that yes, he knows that he's at a disadvantage with Tarren. I sense them both brewing up for war. Rumblings in their chests that might expand out of their bodies at any moment.

  A sudden slice of fear strikes through me, and I step between them. Remembering what happened the last time these two clashed. They had wrecked Tarren's small house whilst thrashing and clawing at each other in their dragon forms.

  I'd really rather not have that happen here. “Please, guys. Don't destroy my new place! I just got some shopping done!”

  Both of them glare at me, before Tarren's lips break open i
nto a smile. It's such a breath-taking expression that I momentarily forget how to breathe.

  “We're not going to fight, don't worry. It's just a matter of Richard remembering his place.”

  “Where were you anyway?” Richard's face flushes an ugly red, before he brakes his emotions under control again. “What was so important that you couldn't wait for Emma at the airport?”

  “If you must know, I was dealing with a miscreant in my territory.”

  Miscreant? Sounds so archaic. Who even says that kind of thing anymore? But wait. Dealing with them? “That doesn't involve killing said, um, miscreant, does it?”

  Tarren snaps his jaws in a rather suggestive way and smiles wider. “I dealt with them exactly as they deserved.” Something flickers in his expression, enough to make me wonder if there's information he's withholding, and he clears his throat. “So don't you worry about that.”

  “Was it one of Janus's men?” Richard raises an eyebrow. “I'm paying you to help out with your grubby little business. You can tell me this much.”

  “Yes, my “saint” like business. And no. It wasn't someone of Janus's.”

  “One of the thugs encroaching on your territory?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then who the fuck was it?”

  “That's going into the territory of 'telling you too much,'” Tarren smoothly informs Richard.

  Meanwhile, my brain's whirring on full speed with the little training I've conducted, both in university, and with some of the shows I've been privileged to watch. Again, when I've been thinking about Tarren and Richard's backgrounds, how they'd fit into a profile sheet. Richard's got the lives up to his father psyche down to the pin, being in the family business, whilst Tarren's in crime – but what could be considered middling crimes. A self-styled vigilante.