Lamb to Slaughter (On a Role #1)

Chapter 1 Lam 5

The steel toe of Lam’s wingtip caught on a raised edge of cobblestone, and he tripped. His steps stuttered and he careened into one of the railings along the canal to catch himself.

That third drink had been stronger than he’d anticipated. He chuckled as he righted himself. At least the walk would sober him up. It was a lengthy stroll home along the canal, one he’d done a few times now, and it was always good for stretching his legs.

The cobblestones that lined the river were a bit tricky if you didn’t pay enough attention. This part of the city was old, all crumbling stone buildings and walkways. There were places one could break their neck if they weren’t careful.

Lam was usually, very, very careful.

He paused to right himself, and in the silence that followed, he picked up a sound.

Footsteps, from behind him.

Lam turned and looked.

Far enough behind him that it was just a smudge in the dark, there was a figure. A man. Had he come from the bar, or off the street?

The bar, Lam deduced. There’d been a man at one of the tables in a dark hoodie. Lam had caught his eye a few times but he hadn’t approached. Was it a coincidence that he was here now, or had he followed Lam out?

Lam turned and started walking again, this time quicker. The shadow sped up too, and now that he was paying attention, the steps were easy to pick out. The canal bounced every sound.

He walked faster. Lam had already passed the last set up stairs up out of the canal walkway a while ago, and the next set wasn’t until after the bridge.

For this stretch they were alone. Alone and secluded down here by the water. Between the bars they’d come from and the residential area, there were only shops, and they were all closed up tight for the night.

No witnesses.

The steps quickened behind him. Adrenaline shot through Lam.

Definitely following him.

Lam kept his eyes on the bridge ahead, looming out of the dark. His hand curled around the cold metal in his pocket.

The adrenaline made his heartbeat race and his breathing quicken. He was gaining on the bridge, but the man was gaining on him. Lam’s skin was tight, his whole body a tightly wound band of anticipation in his chest.

The steps got closer, the sound echoing just behind him, louder now. The strides were long and purposeful. Every footfall heavy. He was coming, coming for Lam.

A breeze blew by that gave Lam goosebumps despite his coat. He was so close to the bridge now. He could see it up ahead, a huge shape looming out of the dark.

He was going to make it.

Then the footsteps behind him skittered, clacking into a jolting run. His heart had time just to trip over itself, and then whoever was behind him was suddenly right behind him. Lam could feel the presence, the threat at his back. It shot up his spine like electricity.

He wasn’t going to make it.

He ran.

His shoes weren’t meant for running, but he knew he had to make it to the bridge. He sprinted, hearing the echoing clatter of steps behind him. Chasing him.

He was prey. Out, all alone. A small and an easy target.

Lam ran into the pitch black shadow of the bridge. He was almost there, just–

A hand grabbed hold of the hood of his coat. It yanked hard, stopping his momentum, jerking him back as it choked him.

Lam careened back into a man’s broad and solid chest. He got a strong whiff of sweat and stale cologne, and felt the heat of his bulk suddenly surround him.

“Gotcha,” the man snarled as one hand curled around Lam. The second brandished a knife threateningly.

Lam gave in to the immediate impulse to pull away. “Let go!” He demanded.

The man didn’t, his hand tightened, became crueler as he tried to bully Lam back against the wall of the bridge, holding the pocket knife in the vicinity of his throat.

Amatuer.

Lam went with it, slipping his own knife out of his coat pocket as he did. He counted down the seconds to his opportunity, to the moment the man believed he’d truly captured him.

Then Lam dropped his weight, slipping out of his hold and swiping the knife up in his place. His filet knife was freshly sharpened, and cut smooth as butter.

Lam grinned watching the shock fritter over the man’s face. There was always the gap, the space between the cut and the pain with a knife this sharp.

Then blood was pouring out of the man’s hand and he was stumbling away from Lam.

“You fucking bitch–!”

He made a predictable wild swipe with his own knife, and Lam dodged it easily and aimed a hard kick with his steel toe at the man’s knee. There was a loud crack and the joint buckled immediately. He went down like a sack of rocks.

The knife went clattered across the cobblestone.

Lam grinned and kicked the pocket knife neatly into the canal. It sank away into the dark waters almost without a sound.

It was too easy.

Pain was an effective teacher. The man was howling in pain but still trying to scramble away, having learned that his prey was not so easy to swallow down.

Lam followed, quick as a snake, leaning down to grab a fistfull of hair.

He used it to knock the man’s head back against the stone once, then twice.

His body slackened from the stun, helpless.

“I told you to let go,” Lam said, tsking. “That’s strike one.”

From his pocket Lam pulled out a pair of flex cuffs and slid one loop and then the other over the man’s wrists and pulled the ends tight and secure. He lifted the man’s arms up and dropped them above his head out of the way.

By the time the man recovered, Lam had his blade at the man’s throat.

“Move and I’ll cut your carotid,” Lam purred sweetly. “You’ll bleed out in under two minutes and be dead long before anyone comes to help you. If there’s even anyone nearby to help you.”

The man under him blinked wide-eyed, confused. Then he tilted toward anger, as they always did.

“Fuck–fuck you!”

And so creative. Lam resisted rolling his eyes.

At least his catch tonight was handsome. Tall, like Lam had guessed looking at him in the bar, but unfortunately blond. He was broad like he spent time at the gym, but had the clean cut look of a businessman or a salesman.

Instead of a suit, tonight he was in black sweats. Black hoodie, black joggers, black boots. The uniform of all innocent men out for a midnight stroll.

Hoodie wasn’t quite what Lam would pick out from a line-up, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The man tried to throw a fist, too slow to realize he’d been handcuffed. Lam leaned back to avoid it, and brought up his knife to meet the force instead, slicing a line up through the fabric of the man’s hoodie this time and into his arm. Lam held back, did his best to avoid nicking anything vital.

At least for now.

Hoodie yanked his arms back with the cry, and Lam put a hand right down on the wound, pressing it down onto the stone and arching over his body. The man hissed as he pushed his weight on the fresh wound.

“What did I just tell you about moving?” Lam tapped the blade of the knife against the man’s throat.

The man whimpered, throat gulping in nerves. Lam felt it like a pleasure caress down his spine.

Now they were getting somewhere. Lam licked his lips and lifted the blade half an inch off the man’s throat. Testing.

Hoodie grit his teeth, but didn’t move. “What do you want?” He asked roughly.

Lam clenched the man’s bleeding forearm to get another hiss of pain. The blood was hot and wet through the fabric, and Lam mourned he couldn’t yet see it.

He was ready for winter to be over.

“What do I want? I think I’m more curious about your intentions,” Lam said. “What did you plan to do once you caught me, big guy?”

The man’s facial expression fought between confusion and anger. “Nothing, I wasn’t–”

Lam squeezed at Hoodie’s arm again, digging his fingers in. The man swore blackly.

“Don’t lie,” Lam chided.

“Fuck you, you fuckin psycho,” Hoodie spat.

“Fuck me?” Lam leaned, shifting gears with a smile, batting his lashes. His blade tapped against the man’s throat. “You could’ve approached me at the bar, why wait and follow me?”

The man’s eyes widened, caught.

Lam considered him thoughtfully. For the moment, at least, he was being cooperative. It gave Lam hope.

“What’s your name, handsome?”

The man frowned. “I don’t…?”

“I know,” Lam repressed a sigh, “not how you saw this going. Try and keep up. What’s your name?” Lam tightened his fingers against the wound again, and the man groaned.

“Fucking stop, that hurts like a bitch–!”

“Then tell me your name,” Lam demanded.

“B-Brent.” He managed. Lam loosened his grip. “Fuck,” Brent hissed, “that fucking hurts.”

“Good boy, Brent. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Lam trilled.

“Fucking Christ, you stabbed me!”

“Technically I cut you,” Lam corrected. “Stabbing means I plunged the knife in, you’d know if I stabbed you.” The body under him stilled, wary. “Anyway, I did it in self defense,” Lam continued breezily, “you were going to rape me.”

Brent gaped at him. It was almost funny. “I wasn’t–!”

“Don’t lie,” Lam brought the blade up and made a quick line down Brent’s cheek. It was a shallow, cat scratch of a thing, but Brent still jolted.

“What the hell!” He sputtered.

“Breathe darling, you don’t want to strike out early,” Lam said, eyes on the blood starting to well.

“It’s okay, you wanted to rape me, that’s just the facts of this encounter.

You wanted to catch me under this dark bridge and have your way with me.

” Lam’s eyes roved over his face. “You should be grateful I’m only giving you one strike for not following directions.

I should strike you for the lie too, but I’m feeling generous tonight. ”

Brent looked like he was struggling to process. “W-what?”

“Let’s see…” Lam pushed himself up onto his knees. He kept the knife at Brent’s throat, but brought his other hand down and reached behind him. Brent made a warble of confusion as Lam found the tie to his sweatpants and plucked it loose.

“What the fuck you doing?” Brent asked. He sounded afraid again.