Chapter 2
“Guess where I kept the cuffs.”
The murder archives sat in plain sight on the bedroom bookshelf. Kit perched on the unmade bed as Holden pulled out a dozen binders and notebooks. He spread them on the floor in a clearly deliberate order.
Darius loomed from the bedroom doorway instead of the kitchen doorway now. He appeared to be looking at his phone, but Kit would bet his attention covered the entire apartment.
“Your murder archives just sit out there?” Kit asked doubtfully.
Holden waved a battered composition book. “Things look more normal when you don’t hide them.”
“Which is why the buckets, gloves, and bleach were under the sink,” Darius commented.
“Right, and the scalpels usually stay in the first aid kit.” Holden set the composition book on the rightmost stack. His face warmed when he looked at Kit—and he winked. “Guess where I kept the cuffs.”
Kit rubbed his wrist, not missing the way both men’s attention narrowed in on the movement. He tried to follow Holden’s train of thought. “Shoebox under the bed.”
Holden’s grin widened. “You’re as brilliant as you are beautiful, darling. What else was in the box?”
“Lube,” Kit guessed.
“And condoms,” Darius added, as his fingers moved on his phone screen.
Holden kept beaming at Kit, ignoring Darius. “This is the last of them. Do you want to look?”
Curiosity dragged Kit to the floor. He sat with the notebooks fanned between him and Holden, because concentrating was easier with a physical gap.
The murder archives weren’t about murders Holden himself had committed. His only three victims were Victor Wang, Timothy Wellington, and Marco Fernandez. The fellow San Corvo University students he killed over the past semester to get Bishop’s attention.
No, the archives were apparently Holden’s notes about other murders. Article printouts and actual fucking photocopies from library records. They ranged back two decades, mostly from San Corvo and the surrounding SoCal region.
Darius had led the initial questioning about why Holden had these notes.
Holden had just shrugged. They were inspiration.
Or cautionary tales against getting caught.
The local crimes were part of an attempt to learn his surroundings.
Who else might be operating in the area, how the cops handled cases.
Where bodies usually got found, so Holden could avoid dumping people there.
Preparation for secretive crimes, setting up a lifetime of unimpeded murder. All of which Holden threw away when he met Kit.
“How are they organized?” Kit asked now. The binders didn’t have titles, but some of the notebooks did. All very innocuous. Final Project Notes. September Research. History.
The titles were easy to read because Holden had arranged them upside down, so they faced Kit instead of himself. Holden had already anticipated that Kit would want to look at them, and where Kit would sit.
“They’re organized by relevance, on two scales.
” Holden pointed to Kit’s left. “Starting with the least interesting and farthest geographically, ending with the most interesting and closest.” He pointed to Kit’s right.
“There’s a lot of overlap, given that geographic proximity inherently makes murder more interesting to me. ”
“Why’s that?” Kit reached out, then hesitated. “Can I look?”
“Yes,” Holden said, at the same time as Darius said, “Best not.”
Kit pouted, and Holden’s eyes narrowed. Annoyance clear, he adjusted the notebooks into tidier piles instead of making eye contact with Darius. “So you can show them to the detective first? Kit should look if he wants.”
Darius snorted. “I don’t work for Bishop, Blondie. I will look through your ‘murder archives,’ before handing them over to Kit.”
That clearly sparked Holden’s interest. He didn’t look up, but his body language relaxed slightly. “That’s fine, then. Roomie.”
Darius was being overcautious, but Kit didn’t mind the delay. He was interested in the archives’ contents, grisly as they might be. But even more, he wanted to know what they might tell him about Holden himself.
“What makes a murder interesting to you?” Kit asked, toying with his shoelaces.
Holden leaned back on his hands. “Give me a second, darling. I want to answer you, but I’m not sure how to put it into words.”
“Take your time.” Kit checked his phone. “Not too much time, or I’ll make you order coffee after all.”
“I’m at your beck and call.” Holden grinned. “But the best I can answer is that they’re interesting if I’m interested in them.”
Kit rolled his eyes. “You can take more time than that if it’ll give me a better answer.”
Holden traced a binder’s edge. Slowly, gently stroking, while his gaze remained fixed on Kit.
“I’ve tried to find patterns. I like weird details.
Marks left and trophies taken. Little mysteries—besides the main whodunnit, for unsolved cases.
But some of the ones that interest me are the simplest, quietest things.
Obvious culprits with obvious motivations, meeting their victims in the most obvious ways. ”
Holden’s fingers moved to a notebook next, and cardboard whispered against his touch.
“Just like you’re interesting because I’m interested in you, and I can’t figure out why,” Holden said. “Sometimes I think I have the reason, but it’s never the only reason. You’re a fascinating pile of reasons.”
Kit had no idea what to say to that.
Maybe he should be scared of being interesting like a crime scene. But that was nothing new. Kit’s very existence was an unfulfilled crime, and Holden knew that better than anyone.
“There are lots of reasons I like you,” Holden said, quiet and earnest, like he knew what Kit was thinking. “Not just one.”
“You’re so sweet.” Kit jumped to his feet. “Let’s pack these up, and we can read them later.” He glanced at Darius. “Together, unless you really have that much free time.”
Darius’s lip quirked. He slid his phone away. “We’ll talk about it. Let’s grab the bags.”
Thirty minutes later, everything Holden needed was packed up in duffel bags. Less noticeable than boxes, so neighbors didn’t realize Holden was moving out. Holden and Darius were both boringly efficient. Kit did appreciate the way Darius rolled his sleeves up to work.
They waited five more minutes for the rain to fizzle out, then ventured into the late November chill. Such as it was in Southern California.
Holden slid into the car first, relegated to the back seat with his long legs cramped. Darius paused at the driver’s side door, tapping at his phone again.
Instead of sliding into the passenger’s side, Kit leaned on the hood. “Soooo, who are you texting? Is it someone cute?”
Eyebrows lifting, Darius finished typing, then slid the phone into his pocket. “She’s a deranged monster.”
Kit laughed. “Miranda. Got it.”
He hadn’t met Darius’s younger sister, but he’d heard a bit about her. She lived with her girlfriend thirty minutes away, right on the beach. Allegedly she was into really nerdy, gory cosplay.
Darius glanced towards the backseat. “She wanted to hang out this week, but I’m a little busy.”
“I’m sure we can figure something out.” Kit peeled himself from the hood of the car. Asphalt scraped under his feet. “James can babysit. Or we can just lock Holden up for an afternoon.”
Darius grinned with a bright flash of teeth. “You’re getting good at the hostage-keeping thing, Trouble.”
“I have so many great examples to follow,” Kit said, grinning back.
“And James too,” Darius said, not missing the potshot. “Don’t worry about Miranda. Odds are she’s too busy with work, and she would have canceled last-minute anyway.”
Kit couldn’t tell if that was an excuse or not. “I’d like to meet her, sometime when we’re all less busy with hostages and stuff.”
“She’d love you.” Darius’s smile faded. “But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Right. Fuck.
Kit and Darius were together, even if Kit lived with James and Darius didn’t say the word “boyfriend” every other sentence. But a certain distance still lingered between them.
At first Kit thought it was his fault. He kept such tight control over his secrets, and he’d let Darius see so few of them. Darius didn’t push like Bishop did. It had taken Kit a while to realize that might be because Darius was protecting secrets, too.
Kit knew about the massacre that drove James to revenge, and the shitty ex-partner who drove Bishop to seek vigilantism. He knew the only thing motivating Holden’s bloodlust was sheer enjoyment.
He didn’t know what led Darius to become an assassin.
“Sorry,” Kit said, fidgeting with his sleeves.
Darius tilted Kit’s face up. “We’re good. Now, I meant to bring this up earlier. James said you wanted a gun.”
Kit happily allowed the blatant subject change. “I don’t really like them, but it seems smart. You guys have like a hundred each anyway.”
“I only own a few dozen.” Darius’s hand dropped to caress Kit’s wrist. “Which does mean I have extras. Want to head to the range next week and try them out?”
“That sounds great.” Miraculously, despite the distracting wrist-fondling, Kit remembered another important point. “Um, you should probably teach me how to shoot things, too.”
“We’ll start with the more important part,” Darius said. “How not to shoot things.”
Kit wrinkled his nose. “You’re so responsible.”
“One of us has to be.”
Darius’s amusement was so warm, so fond—his lips so plush and inviting—that Kit couldn’t resist. He didn’t have to resist, so he slid a hand behind Darius’s neck and tugged. Darius tightened his hold on Kit’s other wrist and leaned down.
Kit intended a brief tease of a kiss. Darius apparently had other plans. He slow-fucked his tongue into Kit’s mouth. Addictive peace steadied Kit’s nerves. By the time Darius pulled away, all the tension had left Kit’s shoulders, and his cock was uncomfortable in its denim prison.
Rocking back on his heels, Kit remembered where they were. The parking lot outside Holden’s apartment. A group of college students kept looking over as they carried in groceries.
“Let’s go get you some coffee,” Darius said, and slid into the driver’s seat.
Face hot, Kit fumbled into the passenger seat. He twisted around to see Holden in the back seat, eyes closed, palms up on his knees.
“What are you doing?” Kit asked.
Holden took a deep, slow breath. His expression was serene. “I’m meditating, darling.”
Kit touched his tender lower lip. “Is it helping?”
Holden took another deep breath, eyes still closed. “I love you, and I’m happy that you’re happy, no matter how many other men are involved in that.”
Darius muffled his snort.
Kit didn’t quite manage to hide his amusement. “I’ll take that as a no. But I’m proud of you for trying.”
Holden’s next breath was more of a happy sigh. “Your voice is better than any meditation.” His eyes cracked open. “Also, can I have a gun too?”
“No,” Kit and Darius said in stern unison.