Chapter Thirty-Two
Theo
“That’s it!” I shout. “Don’t forget the clutch.
” I watch from the edge of the parking lot as June brings the motorcycle to a jittering stop.
She balances herself by putting her left foot to the ground first, then switches the gear to neutral and drops her right foot before letting go of the handlebars.
I rush to her side, clapping. “Fantastic!”
June takes off her helmet, blonde hair plastered to her forehead.
She’s beaming, cenote-blue eyes free of any smoke from the fire inside her.
“Told you I could ride!” she yells over the thundering exhaust. The heat from the bike coats the surrounding air, and sweat beads down June’s temple as evidence.
I get the sudden urge to lean forward and lick the sweat off her skin.
I laugh, standing next to the front wheel so my leg brushes hers. “You still have quite a bit to learn, little reaper.”
“Like what?” she asks with a smirk.
The suggestion in her voice dares me to bend her over right here, but Lorry called this morning demanding an update on the case, and he slipped in a threat about me getting too close.
Which means he’s probably watching her more than I expected.
She was in my bed, freshly fucked, when he called, so I had to tell her everything.
Having a detective looking into her is bothering her more than she’s letting on.
But she won’t mention it, not after learning about Shiloh.
After I put the photo album away, neither of us brought her up again.
There was a slight shift in the air that always comes from sharing secrets, but nothing drastic.
June didn’t lie down bubble wrap or look at me with pity. She even called me ‘Tink’ again.
Her last client of the day left at three, and when I arrived to pick her up, I found her on the edge of her desk chair, flipping through a file, biting her nails, sparks flying in her eyes.
“Found a new victim?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I can’t decide between the guy I was planning before you or a new one.”
The irony of a therapist discussing who to murder with the president of a criminal motorcycle club wasn’t lost on me. I plucked the file from her hands and pulled her out of the office, ignoring her protest, certain that a riding lesson would help clear her mind.
Standing beside the bike now, baking in the sun, her grin proves the decision was the right one. “For one thing, you still shift too early when changing gears,” I say with a wink. “Now, how do you feel?”
“What do you mean?” She turns the bike off, and silence flows over the rumbling exhaust pipe like a wave swallowing the shore.
I tap the space between her eyes. “The fire, little reaper.”
“It’s weird that you can read me so well.”
“It’s easy to recognize something I’ve experienced too.”
“You’ve experienced the all-consuming need to feel a heart stop beating under your hands?”
“Well, not that exactly,” I say. “But I have been overwhelmed with my own violent impulses. So, tell me, how long do we have?”
She sucks her lips between her teeth, thinking it over as she studies me. “I’m not sure. Recently, I could safely go about seven months between kills. But the South Fiver was quick, spontaneous. And the two before that were interrupted.”
I give her an apologetic look that neither of us believes. “So, you’re experiencing serial killer blue balls?”
She frowns. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Riding helps?”
“Some. It’s like any other adrenaline rush. Like sucking a little oxygen away from the fire. It doesn’t put it out, but it does temporarily shrink it.”
“What did you use before biking? Skydiving? Roller Coasters? Horror movies?”
“Some of them. The biggest is tattoos.”
“You have, like, three,” I say, thinking about the doves on her rib cage, the lion on her thigh, and the cemetery on her arm.
“You think I got the whole sleeve in one sitting?” She smiles and leans forward on the bike, bringing her face closer to mine. “Never thought to ask what the gravestones were for?”
I move so my forearms are resting on the handlebars, and my hands are dangling closer to June’s thighs. “I have a guess.”
“A stone for each kill. I add the fire later, when it’s burning in me again.”
“When the flames consume you, they consume the grave that suffocated them last time,” I say. I counted the stones on her arm while she was sleeping once. Fourteen. I’d guessed they were for each of her victims.
“Exactly.”
“Did you have a spot saved for me?” I rub my hand up her arm, squeezing where I know the sleeve is hiding under her jacket. Her body is a magnet, and I’m powerless to resist its pull.
“I had an idea.”
“You haven’t gotten one for the Fiver you killed in the Cage.”
“It’s not like I’ve had much free time, Tink.” She winks, and the words settle low in my gut. Clearly, it doesn’t matter how long I spend inside her or how many times we fuck in twenty-four hours, I’ll always want more.
“We could go get it now,” I suggest.
“My artist doesn’t work on Mondays. I need to make an appointment with them.”
“Then make the appointment. I’ll come with you.”
Her eyes widen with excitement, the anticipation of something to look forward to coming alive in her expression. “I’ll text them.”
Spontaneously, I say, “See if they can squeeze a small one in for me, too.”
“What are you going to get?” Her eyes rove down my body. “Better question, where are you going to get it?”
“It’s a surprise.”
She shifts on the bike while typing out a message, and I wonder if she’s throbbing for attention between her legs.
“Alright.” I step back into the cold air absent of heat from both my bike and my reaper. “Again.”
June looks disappointed for a second before she pulls the helmet back over her head, turns on the bike, and hits the kickstand with her heel.
~
Her tattoo artist, Dom, can squeeze us in on Wednesday afternoon. June looks excited, but all I can think is that’s two days before the end of our deal. What will June do after the thirty days are over?
“Sadie wants you to come to tacos night,” June says when we get back to the house from her office on Tuesday.
“Of course she does.”
“You should come.” She says it with forced casualness, like she doesn’t care if I do or not. But the tension in her shoulders tells me she does.
“Your friend Evelyn wouldn’t appreciate that.” I don’t remind her that it’s the second Tuesday, so I’ll be busy tonight. For the first time in years, I consider not going to the park. But the thought fills my throat with bile. I won’t betray Shiloh like that.
“She’ll get over it. Rose has brought Vanessa before. And Sadie has brought two of her past boyfriends.” She freezes mid-kicking off her shoes and slowly turns, a blush climbing up her neck. “I didn’t mean… I’m not—”
“Relax, little reaper,” I say, grinning. As much as I love watching her get flustered, especially since it doesn’t happen often, I don’t think now is the time to have the complicated labels talk. “I can’t tonight anyway. Lorry is demanding to meet to go over our progress.”
She instantly forgets about her boyfriend slip. “Why don’t you share that progress with me first?”
“Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t demanded to see everything sooner.” I retrieve the files on June from my safe, both Lorry’s and the one I put together, and bring them to the dining room. “This is a copy of Lorry’s from a few weeks ago,” I pass her the first file, “and this one is mine.”
She accepts the second file, shooting me a glare.
“My guess is only four of the guys Lorry has as your possible victims are correct.” I sit next to her, watching as she flips through the file.
“Like I told you the other day, I’ve eliminated one of them, Adam Brewer, by pointing the cops’ attention to his wife’s new boyfriend, who also seems like someone you’d want to add to your list.”
“Seriously?” She stops at the page of a fairly messy kill a few years ago. It’s unsolved, but the cops are pretty sure it was the guy’s ex-girlfriend. “This is insulting. I would never leave such a mess behind. Think of the forensics!”
I chuckle. “How rude of him.”
She flips the page more aggressively this time, lingering on one of the missing men I think June is responsible for.
I couldn’t find a link to her, but learning if people go to therapy is nearly impossible.
Still, the man seems like an actual dirtbag.
Two women have filed restraining orders against him, and there’ve been assault allegations from three others.
“That one of yours?”
She shakes her head. “I wish it was. But no. Did you find him?”
“No, that’s why I thought you killed him. He dropped off the face of the earth.”
“The cops looked into these other women?”
“Two don’t live in the state anymore, one was in prison, one was thirty weeks pregnant, so the police didn’t think she had the energy or strength to do anything.
The last woman didn’t have an alibi or anything, but she’s living a pretty good life down near Linden, so no one thought she had the motive. ”
“Police assume he just left town?”
I nod. “I’ve learned they tend to always assume that.”
“Yes, they do. It makes my life so much easier.” She throws me a wicked smile and continues flipping through the file, making comments every so often.
“He thinks I’d shoot someone in the head? Where’s the fun in that?”
“A girl? Does he know serial killers at all? She doesn’t fit the victim type.”
“This guy disappeared nearly six years ago. I’d lived here for like a week. I made it eight months here before I killed someone.”
“Wow, eight whole months?” I tease.
She shoves my shoulder. “Eight months after moving here. A year total since the last kill.”
Her smile vanishes when she turns back to reading Lorry’s file. By the time she’s finished, her lips are dropped into a permanent scowl.
“He’s got three right,” she says.
“Including Brewer?”