Slash & Strangle (Serial Killers in Love #1)

Prologue

RYKER

The sun is shining directly at me. Even with my shades on, it’s hard to see the road, and I have to slow down so I don’t accidentally drive off the side of the cliff.

Fucking mountain roads. I keep hoping the trees will block some of the sun, but it filters through and hits me right in the eyes in a flickering pattern.

I guess Mother Nature is out to give me a seizure.

My hatchback doesn’t like the constant braking and turning. I really should invest in an SUV if I’m going to keep driving in these places, but I’d balked at the price of gas.

Of course, I’m probably going to switch out the hatchback soon anyway. I don’t keep cars for more than two years at best.

I turn another bend and, thank fuck, the sun is behind me now. If I’m going to roll down the side of the cliff, it’ll be because of my own driving and not because I was being blinded.

Or maybe it’ll be because of the twink standing by the side of the road with his thumb up in the signal for a need for a ride.

I hit the brakes and roll my window down as I approach.

When I get closer, I see him in more detail. He’s maybe twenty, twenty-one, with dark hair that falls messily in his face. He pushes it away as I stop the car, letting me see blue eyes that are glimmering with curiosity.

“Hey,” he says, a broad smile breaking across his face. “I could really use a ride. Think you could help me back to civilization?”

I take in his mud-stained jeans and the shoes that are too nice for a walk in the mountains. His tight t-shirt is equally messy, with a leaf stuck to the bottom hem, and there’s something dark on his wrist.

If he were clean, I would say he was ready for a night on the town.

“Sure,” I say, hitting the button to unlock the doors. “Get in.”

“Thanks!” he says, enthusiasm radiating from his voice as he opens the door to the passenger seat. “Man, you’re really doing me a huge favor. My feet are killing me. I don’t guess you have any water on hand, huh?”

I point to the sports bottle slotted into the console between us. “If you don’t care about potential germs, help yourself.”

“Nah.” He puts his seatbelt on then grabs the bottle, drinking thirstily from it.

Pulling it away from his mouth, he wipes the remnants of water away with the back of one dusty arm, leaving a streak of dirt behind.

“Oh, you either get the good stuff or I’m just really thirsty.

” He pushes the bottle back into the cup holder with an added, “Thanks.”

“It’s just tap water from the last motel I stayed at,” I answer as I start driving again. I smile to myself. “Or maybe you’re tasting the GHB I laced it with.”

He pauses. “Huh. I thought you couldn’t taste that stuff. Can you?”

I shrug. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t tried it.” I pick up the bottle and take a sip myself. “Pretty trusting of you to just drink something a stranger offered.”

“Trusting, desperate, whatever,” he says with a wave of his hand. “But ugh. Tap water? I can’t believe I thought it tasted good.”

I snort in amusement. The road curves again, and I have to slow down to prevent the car from careening off the edge.

“So what’s your name?” I ask. “And where can I drop you off?”

“Liam,” he says, settling into the seat. “And next town is fine. I can get a ride from anywhere but ‘middle of nowhere,’ apparently.”

Is that his real name, or a fake one?

It doesn’t really matter.

“I’m Ryker,” I offer. “And the next town is a dead little village that relies on tourists. In the summer. It’s not currently summer. They have one single traffic light.”

“It’s not summer?” he asks, feigning a gasp.

“I didn’t notice.” He makes a face. “Okay, then maybe I need to get a little farther. I’ll pay you to take me somewhere closer to a real city.

” He pauses. “I’ll have to send it to you later, though.

No phone, no wallet. Wow, I really am a perfect victim, aren’t I? ”

I smile, but I don’t laugh. “Is that something you should be telling a potential axe murderer?”

“Eh,” Liam says dismissively. “I’ve had my share of bad luck for the day. The universe has to come through for me at some point, right?”

I imagine Liam splayed out underneath me, with his wrists tied to the posts of a bed, loose and open with his mouth slightly parted.

Too bad I used up my supply of GHB on the last guy.

“Luck doesn’t work like that,” I point out.

“There’s no universe, no higher divine power that dictates your karma scale.

Some people just get shit on in life all the time.

” I shake my head lightly. “You can do everything right in life and still suffer. Or you can be the worst asshole and still succeed.”

“Wow,” he replies. “You have such a great outlook on life. I bet you do self-affirmations every morning, go to yoga, and eat granola and quinoa and use crystals and whatever.”

Fucking brat.

The GHB would have been wasted on him anyway. I don’t like the mouthy ones.

“No time for yoga,” I say. “Since I’m always on the road.”

“You could carry a yoga mat in your trunk with your axe murdering supplies,” he replies. “I don’t think you need a dedicated place to do it unless you’re doing goat yoga.”

“Goat yoga,” I repeat. “I am way too old to understand what that means.”

Liam laughs. “Old? You’re what, forty?”

I take my hand off the steering wheel just long enough to flip him off. “Thirty-one. Which is still too old to care about goat yoga. Is that a thing they do in New Bristol?”

He cants his head, and I can feel him studying me. “Who says I’m from New Bristol?”

“Your clothes scream club night. The closest city is New Bristol—sure, it’s two hours away, but you didn’t dress up to go clubbing in Traville. Also, sorry to tell you this, but you’ve got that distinct NB accent.” In his accent, I say, “The universe owes me.”

“Hey, that’s pretty good,” he says with a golf clap. “What other impressions can you do?”

“Appalachian hick. ‘Get off my property or you’ll meet the business end of my shotgun.’” I say the words carefully.

“But that’s just your normal voice,” Liam says.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Those are the two I can do.”

He scoffs. “So are you an axe murderer, or do you prefer a shotgun, or do I need to worry about you brandishing a knife or some shit?” He reaches for the glove compartment. “Let’s see…”

It pops open easily to reveal the manual for the car, the registration paperwork, a flashlight, and a roll of toilet paper.

“Toilet paper? I don’t think you can tie people up with that. Not effectively, anyway,” Liam remarks.

“You ever need to take a dump while out in the middle of nowhere?” I curse when I take the next curve and am confronted by a minivan on the road in front of us. “The toilet paper is a life saver.”

Liam makes a face. “Okay, first off, ew. Second, you’re not catching me dead in the middle of nowhere where I would ever need it.”

“I caught you alive out in the middle of nowhere where you could need it,” I point out. I try to see past the minivan, but it’s a narrow road and attempting to pass here could have disastrous results.

“We’re just going to pretend that part of this conversation never happened,” he replies. “So, Ryker, why do you have to miss goat yoga every week?”

“Because goats are for eating, not fucking,” I say, making him snicker. I tentatively drive into the oncoming lane, but I see a pick-up truck and quickly swerve back behind the minivan. “Ugh. Who takes a minivan into the mountains?”

“People with their two-point-five kids and golden retrievers,” Liam says. “What’s your hurry, anyway? Already ready to fling me out of the car or something? I’m not that annoying.”

“You are.” I sigh and settle back into the driver’s seat. The pick-up drives past us, but now the road gets more winding, and I’m not going to risk my life to save a few minutes of time.

We sit quietly for a bit before Liam says, “You didn’t tell me. Your preferred method of murder, I mean.”

“I don’t have one,” I answer.

I wish I was a smoker like my dad, so I’d have something to do with my hands right around now.

Of course, I hate the smell of cigarettes, and the butts do nothing but create excess litter.

I glance at Liam. “Why? Do you have a favorite way to kill somebody?”

There’s a beat before he shrugs. “I don’t know. Can’t say I’ve ever thought about it before.”

He’s lying.

After how upbeat he was, his change in demeanor is a dead giveaway.

“A skinny thing like you, you’d probably have to drug your victims first,” I say. “Do you have a regular supplier at whatever club you usually go to?”

Liam grins. “Not for GHB. But there are all sorts of party favors at my usual place, so who knows? I could always find something. Then what? Drug ‘em and… suffocate them with a pillow?”

I try to imagine his thin hands holding a pillow down over another person’s face.

“Remember to take the pillow with you when you leave,” I say. “Burn it if you can, or throw it into the wash and then dump it into the trash far from both your home and your victim’s home.”

I feel his curious gaze on me again. He’s attentive, too attentive. “Why would I need to take the pillow with me? See, this is why I need advice from a proper serial killer. I’d make the stupidest mistakes.”

“It’s harder for them to pin things on anyone if they don’t have the murder weapon,” I say.

“And you don’t want to risk them pulling evidence off the pillowcase.

You think you’re doing a good job, but if a drop of your sweat or spit landed on it, if a hair got loose, then your DNA is in the system. ”

“Huh.” Liam sits back in his seat, falling silent. He grabs the water bottle again, drinking noisily from it. “Killing people sounds like hard work. You have to be pretty fastidious, don’t you?”

“If you’re doing it where the body can be found, yeah,” I answer. “That’s why middle-of-bumfuck-nowhere is usually a better venue. By the time anyone realizes the person is missing, the evidence will be degraded. But if you’re thorough, they won’t find the body at all.”

“Wow,” he says, and I glance over at him to briefly see the eager look in his blue eyes. “A skinny thing like me wouldn’t be able to do that, though. Handling bodies, burying bodies… Oh well.”

“You need to listen to the true crime podcasts.” I sigh and tap the brake when the minivan slows down even more on the next curve. “Those will tell you how not to fuck up. A lot of the criminals get caught because they went after people they know.”

He considers that. “Do you take notes when you listen to them?” he asks. “Or do you just have a really good memory?”

“Good memory, and I listen to so many of them. You see patterns repeat.” I sigh in relief when the road finally straightens out. The minivan picks up its pace, and soon there’s a second lane so I can pass it.

The sun has fully set by now, and there’s a hint of stars in the sky. We’re far enough away from the city that light pollution doesn’t fully reach us.

“All right, kid,” I say.

“Liam,” he interrupts. “You’re barely older than me.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, Liam. I’m going through NB anyway. I can drop you off at your home. Or you can stay in the middle of fucking nowhere if you’d rather.”

“I’ll live a little. You can take me home,” he says, reclining the seat back with a yawn. “Oh, that GHB must be kicking in. I’m exhausted. I’ll sleep the rest of the way there.”

The shirt rides up on his stomach, revealing flat abs.

All the dancing must keep him fit. Either that or a personal trainer.

“Sure. I’ll wake you when we’re in the vicinity.”

It’s a quiet hour. My phone finds a signal again, and the podcast I’d been listening to finally continues. I really need to be better about downloading the episodes in advance.

The investigators are interviewing the suspect’s sister, who insists her brother was a saint and had never done anything wrong in his life.

Yeah, him and every other man.

After I take the exit to NB, I shake Liam’s shoulder. He startles awake faster than I expected.

“Where do you live?” I ask.

Liam gives me the address, and I curl my lip.

“Okay, never mind, that’s across town,” I mutter. “I’ll give you change for the subway.”

“The subway?” he repeats. “Really? Come on. It’s not that far. I can go in and get you some cash to pay you back and everything.”

“Kid—Liam, it’s rush hour. I’d be adding another hour to my trip just to get to your place, if I’m lucky.” I pull up at the curb nearest to a subway station.

Liam shakes his head.

I reach for my wallet and grab a ten. “Here. Seriously, just buy a ticket. You’ll get home faster on the subway than by car.”

“The subway is full of assholes,” he complains.

“My car is full of assholes,” I point out in a deadpan.

He gives me a disgusted look. “All right, fiiiiiine.” He plucks the ten from my hand. “Thanks for the ride, Ryker. Good luck on your next murder! Use an axe, won’t you?”

He reaches for the door, but I grab his arm to stop him. He gives me a confused expression.

“One second,” I say. I lean over to open the glove compartment, then rip some toilet paper off. “Here,” I say, handing it to him.

Liam takes the paper and holds it up. “Uh, what? This is a shitty souvenir.”

“Wipe your wrist,” I say, pointing to the pale skin on the inside of his left arm. “The blood might draw attention.”

“Well, shit,” he says, for all that he still sounds cheerful.

He squeezes a little of the water onto the toilet paper and uses the damp paper to wipe his wrist clean of the blood drops.

“Thanks for the assist.” He hands it back to me.

“Here. So you can have a souvenir from the time you picked up a serial killer from the side of the road.”

He flashes me another bright smile, then he opens the door.

“You have to kill more than one to count as a serial killer,” I say.

He gets out of the car, then leans back in to tell me, “Keep count for me.”

“If you do a good job, you won’t end up on one of these podcasts.” I wait for him to close the door.

I glance at the pink-stained toilet paper.

Honestly, it’s impressive that was the only obvious bloodstain on him.

I pull back onto the street.

Maybe my next victim should be a pretty, bratty twink.