Chapter 16
Sixteen
O ver the next few days, Brad juggled his time between being with Isobel, his duties with the highway patrol, and keeping a close eye on Detective Larson’s investigation while also staying out of his way. Detective Larson’s team worked on uncovering details about the device that held the yellow jackets and its origin.
Larson called Brad with an update as he stood outside the hospital, taking a brief moment to clear his mind while her family visited. “Brad, we’ve got a lead. The device was bought in a gun shop in Sioux Falls by a known associate of the Viper Lords. We’re searching for him.”
“Viper Lords.” Brad blew out a breath. “Larson, your case has jumped jurisdictions. I’m not going to shut you down, but SDHPB is officially joining your investigation.”
The Viper Lords operated under a strict code of loyalty and dominance. Members were required to undergo "The Bite," an initiation ritual where they were symbolically "bitten" into the gang by completing a dangerous task, often involving theft, violence, or sabotage. Those who succeeded were branded with the gang's signature tattoo: a coiled viper ready to strike, usually inked on the forearm or neck.
The snake motif was central to their identity, symbolizing power, stealth, and venomous retribution. Their motto, "Strike First, Strike Last," encapsulated their aggressive approach to dealing with rivals and law enforcement.
Luther “King Cobra” Vance was released from an Illinois prison after serving time for armed robbery, taking his connections to larger criminal enterprises from Minneapolis and Chicago. Inspired by his fascination with snakes, he named the gang the Viper Lords, emphasizing their lethal precision and ability to strike unseen.
Now run by Todd “Fang” Holloway, the Viper Lords' reach went far beyond their reputation as a ruthless gang. Over the years, they carved out an unexpected niche in South Dakota’s underworld: intertwining their operations with the darker, more clandestine side of the local adult scene. Brad knew Hot Shots’ owner, Angelica “Mistress Crimson” Duvall, was likely one of their connections.
“I figured this was coming,” Larson said. “You realize this is a huge conflict of interest for you.”
“Let me figure out how to navigate this. I’ll send a couple of investigators to that shop in Sioux Falls. Our bad guy must have some type of history of using unconventional methods to intimidate witnesses. There is no record of Isobel being allergic to bees. Was this a murder attempt? This is certainly a unique way to harm someone.” Brad pressed his lips together. “None of us have seen bees or their venom used as a weapon—except the McMillan case.”
“I agree. We need to find out if there’s a case they’re trying to stop Isobel from testifying in, if it’s even about that. It could be a stalker. Is Isobel up to talking with me?” Larson asked.
“Yeah, if you don’t push too hard. They’re thinking of sending her home in a day or two. But if she gets too upset and cries, her airway could swell again.” Brad thought a minute. “Larson, I’d appreciate you giving me a heads-up when you want to question her.” He sighed and finished up the conversation. “Finding who from the Viper Lords ordered the electronic beekeeper will give us other answers. Let me know as soon as you have anything solid.”
As Brad hung up, he felt more worried. The doctors were talking about sending Isobel home. He needed to keep her safe. He’d have to convince her that her apartment was not safe. He’d tell her they were making sure there were no bees left, and her landlord hadn’t signed off on the new door and shower head yet.
He returned to Isobel’s room, where her family had gathered once more. The atmosphere was lighter now, filled with cautious optimism. Brad took a place against the wall and watched her as she spoke with her family. It was clear she could barely keep her eyes open, exhausted by the antihistamines in her system and the effort it took due to her eyelids being so swollen.
Isobel's family members maintained a happy banter. Her head bobbed along with the steady beep of her heart monitor. Alex Marcel moved to stand beside him. Shortly after, Ethan Hayes joined them.
Alex spoke first, his voice low and concerned. "I know you don't want to scare Isobel, but does the HPB have anything?"
Brad lifted his chin toward the door, indicating they should talk outside. The three men stepped into the hallway, and he began to update them on the investigation.
"Not much," Brad admitted, his frustration evident. "There were the new cases that mimicked her previous cases, and then the bee attack—she worked a case that used venom, not live stings. Larson found another note.” He showed them a picture of it. “Was that meant to scare her or kill her? We don't know. My guess is it was to scare her—otherwise why leave that note? I have two investigators trying to find the guy who bought the fake hive installed in her shower—a gang banger for the Viper Lords in Sioux Falls."
Alex pressed his lips together, worry etched on his face. "Getting into Isobel's place, with the level of security the building has, is difficult. If they made it in… Her safety has to be a priority. I'd let her stay with me, but I've been staying with Charlotte, and she’s rattled. If she’s like her sisters, that’s the last place Izzy wants to stay.” He chuckled. “And Molly is pregnant, plus there’s Ethan’s aunt and sister to consider.”
Brad chewed his cheek, contemplating the situation. He didn’t want to tell them how badly he wanted Isobel to stay in Whispering Hills with him. He had a state-of-the-art security system and the resources to maintain her safety. But she had four very protective sisters who may not approve.
"She can stay with me," Brad said firmly, "if she'll agree. When are they going to discharge her?"
Ethan shrugged. "They keep pushing it off. It was supposed to be tonight, but my guess is tomorrow."
Brad nodded. "Someone will need to pack her clothes. If the apartment is being watched, put them in garbage bags. We don't want to draw any attention.”
Ethan cocked a brow. “Now we need to convince Izzy.”
The hospital room was bright and unrelenting, the sterile fluorescence washing out everything in shades of pale. Isobel lay on the stiff mattress, a thin hospital blanket pulled up to her chest, her face a stark contrast to the vibrant woman Brad knew. The welts were healing, but her expression—a haunting mix of exhaustion and fear—was not something that would fade easily. Outside, rain tapped against the window, soft and rhythmic, as if to mock the tension in the room.
Brad sat in the chair beside her bed, leaning forward, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. He looked at her for a long moment, as though gathering the courage to speak. Finally, he broke the silence.
"Isobel, while the investigation is ongoing, and with your apartment… uninhabitable," he began, his voice steady but soft, "I need you to come stay with me."
Her eyes fluttered open, a sluggish blink, and she turned her head toward him. When she finally spoke, the single word was raspy and weak, "What?"
Brad straightened in his chair, leaning closer. "I mean it. I’ve got security—cameras, alarms, everything. I can keep you safe. I don’t like the idea of you being anywhere alone, especially not after this."
Isobel closed her eyes briefly, shaking her head as much as her soreness allowed. "Brad… I don’t want to be a burden. You’ve got enough on your plate trying to catch whoever did this to me. I?—"
"You’re not a burden," he cut her off, sharper than he intended. Then he softened, sighing as he ran a hand through his hair. "Belle, listen. Whoever’s behind this… they’re not done. I can feel it. Until we catch them, I need to know you’re safe."
She hesitated, clearly struggling with his insistence. Her eyes searched his face, and for a moment, her vulnerability broke through. “You have a separate bedroom?”
Brad’s lips quirked in a small, reassuring smile. “Two. And, honestly, it’s not just about keeping you safe. I think we need to look at everything—together. Starting with the camp those four kids who died at the lake were from.”
Her expression tightened, and she glanced away toward the rain-slicked window. "The wilderness camp? How does that connect to me?"
Brad leaned back slightly, folding his arms as tension stiffened his frame. "It’s not just about the camp—it’s the way those murders were staged. The patterns… they mirror cases you’ve worked on, Belle. Too closely. Whoever did this knows your work."
Her breath hitched, and she gripped the blanket tighter. Her mind churned, dredging up memories of those four victims: teens, all found near different sections of Old Mill Lake. The crime scenes appeared to be drownings, but their bodies revealed something more ritualistic—each body arranged in a pose of submission before they were murdered, their wrists and ankles bound.
"The camp," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It was the one thing they all had in common. That’s where they met. I had nothing to do with the camp other than to find the commonality between the first two victims. You found the commonality between the second pair and then the four."
Brad nodded. "Exactly. But think about this: these weren’t random killings. Someone studied your work—maybe even you. There’s a pattern within the pattern, a familiarity. The way they were staged… it mirrors your old cases almost too perfectly. And the other murders… it’s like whoever’s doing this knows your work, knows you. They’re either copying your cases or…" He hesitated, his gaze locking with hers. "Or they’re sending a message. A personal one."
Isobel shuddered at the thought. Her police cases had always taken her into the darkest corners of human behavior, but she had always believed in the safety of her own boundaries. This felt like those boundaries had been breached, like the shadows had followed her home.
"You think it’s someone I’ve worked with?" she asked, her voice cracking. "Or… someone I’ve treated?"
Brad’s expression darkened. "It’s a possibility we can’t ignore. You’ve worked with a lot of people—police departments, private consultations, and your patients. We need to narrow it down."
Her hands trembled, clutching the blanket like a lifeline. "Brad, I can’t just break confidentiality. Even if I could, none of my patients are violent, let alone capable of… this."
"I’m not asking you to break confidentiality," he said quickly. "I just need descriptions, profiles. Anything that might help us draw a connection between your past and what’s happening now."
She looked away, her chest rising and falling unevenly. "The idea that one of my patients—or someone I worked with—could be behind this…" Her voice trailed off, and she pressed a hand to her throat—it was all nearly unbearable. The words felt like they were suffocating her. Isobel rubbed her chest, feeling like she was going to vomit.
"That’s why I need you safe," Brad said, his tone resolute. "And there’s something else, Belle. I need you to think about your past relationships."
Her head snapped back to him, her eyes wide with panic. "Brad, no?—"
"I know it’s hard," he interrupted, his voice softening as he leaned closer. "But we need to look at every possibility. Is there anyone you dated who might have taken things too far? Anyone who might have held a grudge?"
She stared at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "I… I don’t think so," she stammered. "I haven’t been involved in anything serious for years. There were men, sure, but nothing ended badly. At least, I didn’t think so."
Brad reached out, covering her trembling hand with his own. "Think back," he urged gently. "Even if it didn’t seem serious to you, it might have been to them. Anything could be a lead."
Her tears spilled over, and she shook her head. "I don’t know, Brad. I don’t know…"
"Shh," he soothed, his grip firm but comforting. "It’s okay. We’ll figure this out together."
For a moment, she simply let the tears fall, the overwhelming fear and uncertainty finally breaking through. Brad stayed with her, holding her hand until her breathing evened out and her body relaxed. Eventually, exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
Once she was asleep, Brad leaned back in his chair and pulled out his phone, tapping through his emails. One caught his eye immediately—an update from his friend in the FBI, Tripp, who was assigned to the Los Angeles office. He also was a house Dom at Bliss.
His heart skipped a beat as he opened it.
Brother,
It was good to hear from you. My family is doing well. Kids are growing up too fast. I wish I had better news. I have some background on John Larson that may provide more context to his recent actions and behavior with the Waverly County PD. Larson, as it turns out, has a significant past. His membership at Bliss wasn’t casual. He was deeply involved in its more extreme activities, engaging in sessions of violent Domination and submission. There were frequent instances where Larson reportedly pushed boundaries well beyond established safe words. Yet no complaint was made by the submissives involved or the ownership of Bliss.
While none of this is illegal in and of itself, it raised significant concerns for me. At my discreetly dropped information, the FBI flagged his behavior as troubling. They were not able to find a direct violation of the law in his work as a police officer.
Unfortunately, this isn’t the full extent of his issues.
Larson transferred to Waverly County for a couple of reasons. On the surface, it appears to be for personal reasons—moving into an inherited home and distancing himself from his reputation as a cop who often bent the rules to close cases.
However, the real motivation was far more personal and sad. Larson's daughter was initiated into a gang in Los Angeles through a violent and traumatic process, leaving her physically and emotionally scarred. Out of fear for her safety, Larson relocated her to your neck of the woods, hoping to provide a safer environment.
According to a friend in the department, Larson’s methods haven’t improved. He continues to operate as a lone wolf at Waverly PD, withholding key information from his co-workers and going rogue during investigations. His refusal to be a team player has caused issues, and it’s becoming harder for the higher-ups to overlook his problematic approach to police work.
Please let me know if you need any further details. Stay safe.
Tripp
Brad's stomach twisted as he read the final lines. Larson wasn’t hiding from his past—he was running from it.
He rubbed his eyes. Could Larson be involved? Was his move to Waverly County more than just a bid for safety? And if he was willing to bend the law for his daughter, what else might he be hiding?
Before he could think further, his phone vibrated in his hand with a message from Jeff Brewster.
Another body found. Note to Isobel at scene. Same setup as one of Isobel’s cases. You need to get here fast.
Brad’s heart dropped. He stood up, moving quietly so as not to wake Isobel. Another murder. Another victim, staged like one of her cases. The killer was killing faster, taunting them, pushing them closer to the edge with each new death.
As he slipped on his jacket and left the room, only one thought echoed in his mind: He had to stop this. Before it was too late. Before it claimed Isobel. He checked in with the two patrol officers at the door and headed out.