Chapter 9
sounds like someone is into sharing now
Blood still rushing from the sound of his darling’s voice, Holden leaned against a lamp post. The metal was cool even through his sweatshirt, but he didn’t mind the chill. Occasionally, he glanced from his phone to his target.
Sorry. Mr. Tweed wasn’t a target yet, according to Kit. Which was clearly an attempt to take Mr. Tweed off Holden’s kill list—for now.
No need to worry. Kit didn’t want Holden to kill people on a whim, so Holden wouldn’t. Both because he wanted to make Kit happy, and because being trusted felt nice.
Holden hadn’t expected that.
He had no more than a vague feeling that Mr. Tweed was a threat. All his subsequent justification was just that: subsequent. The vibe came first. Analysis of the man’s appearance and behavior came later.
But Kit and Darius were both willing to act cautiously on Holden’s bullshit hunch. That was sweet of Kit, and smart of Darius.
Mr. Tweed sat about forty feet away. Other students and staff members occasionally crossed between them, in drips of individuals and pairs.
All Holden could see were Mr. Tweed’s tweed-covered shoulders and the gray-brown back of his head.
After Holden’s initial analysis, he’d moved out of the target’s eyeline.
Sorry. Not a target yet.
A message buzzed into Holden’s phone.
Mine: we’re parked again. any changes???
Holden reluctantly glanced up at the target—not a target, not a target—in between replying to Kit.
Holden: no changes! what are you doing?
Holden: there’s probably time for Darius to suck you off while you wait for me
There was a long pause. With each second, the corner of Holden’s mouth ticked up into a more satisfied smirk.
Mine: it’s broad daylight!!!!
Mine: also sounds like someone is into sharing now hmmmmm
Holden: hmmmmm :)
He wouldn’t say he was into sharing. Though it was easier now than at first, when Holden wasn’t sure whether Kit’s other relationships would take away from theirs.
When he wasn’t sure how many pieces Kit could slice from his own heart before there was only blood, spilling between Holden’s grasping fingers.
But that wasn’t how it worked. Kit didn’t have to tear himself apart to love them all.
Holden was even growing to like the idea of multiple people guarding Kit from the world.
Unfortunately, Holden still had to do things like attend class and call his parents and endure his weird internship.
He resented sleep too, for taking his mind away from Kit.
James and Darius were useful. And okay. Watching every angle of Kit’s expression as the other men took him apart?
That was kind of exhilarating.
Before Holden could tease his darling more, his target—sorry—moved.
Holden: brB
Mr. Tweed stood, sliding his phone into his pants pocket. He brushed the dust from his ass and buttoned a single button of his coat as he turned around. Maybe Holden imagined it, but from this distance, Mr. Tweed’s expression looked furtive.
He trailed Mr. Tweed away from the parking lot. This area of campus was afflicted with menacing gray slabs of buildings. The scrubby trees only accentuated the harsh architecture. Mr. Tweed seemed familiar with the area. No pausing at the visitor’s map, no stopping to read building names.
No avoiding surveillance. They passed camera after camera. James would be able to easily trace their route later, if Darius hadn’t gotten him on the job already.
Holden resisted the urge to wave at the cameras.
As they approached the linguistics building, Holden started to feel a little stupid. Maybe this was just a linguistics professor he hadn’t seen before. Or some guest lecturer from a climate where a full tweed suit made slightly more sense.
Except Mr. Tweed’s pace slowed. He glanced around every once in a while. Which was encouraging on the ‘validating Holden’s instincts’ front.
Also encouraging, if by encouraging one meant sketchy as fuck, Mr. Tweed didn’t enter the linguistics building’s columned front door. He looped around the building and disappeared into the shadows beneath a hulking outdoor staircase.
Out of view of the cameras.
Holden hesitated a safe distance away, pretending again to fiddle with his phone. He could make out Mr. Tweed’s shape beneath the staircase, because the shadows weren’t that dark. But it was too far away to see him well, and Holden couldn’t approach without being seen himself.
Curiosity pinned Holden in place. He should leave, but part of him wanted to follow the man into the shadows. The adrenaline-spiking, bloodthirsty, impulsive part of him.
This was the sort of situation Holden avoided. An unknown opponent in an unknown location, a spur-of-the-moment attack. Holden needed to be in control, so he could survive to kill again.
The sort of situation he avoided because he craved it.
But fiddling with his phone meant scrolling up and down his conversations with Kit. And he could hear Kit’s voice clearly saying, “Don’t call Mr. Tweed a target yet.”
And, “Holden, don’t do anything stupid.”
Holden needed to be in control. But sometimes his self-discipline fractured. Moments like these, it was nice to have another voice in his head, yanking his leash.
Rather than a deranged, impulsive murderer, Holden channeled his best thoughtful, sensible stalker. He opened his camera app and zoomed in.
The image was blurry and gray, but legible enough. Mr. Tweed leaned against the concrete wall, his jacket spread open again. One hand held his phone up in front of his face. The other hand was in his pocket.
No. Not his pocket.
Holden blinked, stunned out of his cold bloodthirst. Mr. Tweed’s arm jerked unmistakably, his hand shoved down the front of his tweed trousers.
The bastard was masturbating.
Holden stared until a new text from the group chat dropped on top of the screen.
Darius: Update? You stopped moving.
Jolting into motion, Holden swerved towards the next parking lot. He typed as he walked.
Holden: false alarm. but in my defense, dude WAS sketchy
James checked the camera feeds again. Nothing was out of place. While not every angle was covered, the mapping was better than James could have hoped. Dozens of views of a sleepy suburban neighborhood.
People had no idea what their cute little door cameras could be used for.
Not that the neighbors had anything to worry about. James only had one target today, and she deserved it.
“You all right?” Bishop asked. He stood near the motel room window, at an angle where he could see the parking lot without being spotted.
James lounged on a bed, the poor-quality sheets itching through his clothes. On a weird, twisted level, he welcomed the discomfort. He didn’t want to be comfortable, complacent, forgetful, until the job was done.
He didn’t have a safehouse in this town, or many contacts.
None he could trust to work solely for him, not the highest bidder.
James might be almost as arrogant as he was rich, but he knew there were players in the game who could outbid him.
They had to do this the slow, old-fashioned way.
Rent a motel room. Stay the night. Get ready to grab their victim and run when the time was right.
“I’m fine,” James answered, flipping through his feeds again.
Melissa Vespers’s house was lower security than he’d expected, which should be a relief, but worried James instead.
Maybe she wasn’t as high-up as he thought.
Maybe he was still that much farther from the truth.
“What about you? It’s been a few months since we’ve staked a place out. Think you can keep up, old man?”
Bishop didn’t react to the jibe. “Sorry, that shouldn’t have been a question. I can tell you’re not all right.”
James glared over the top of his tablet. “Fuck off.”
Bishop twitched the faded plaid curtains closed. “You haven’t texted Kit in the past three hours.”
“Fuck off,” James repeated, setting his tablet down. “If you’re tapping my phone, I’ll shoot you. Probably in the foot or something, because I like you, but still.”
There was no way Bishop could know how much he texted Kit. If Bishop had any bug on James’s devices, James would know, because his bugs on Bishop’s devices would have picked that up. Unless Bishop was outsourcing for some serious spy power—
“I’m not tapping your phone,” Bishop said, with that aggravating ‘four years older and twenty years wiser’ amusement. “Kit told me.”
James flopped on the cheap, scratchy bed. “Kit is a menace.”
He’d love to have Kit here right now. Bishop could watch or fuck off to the parking lot to brood over a blunt or something.
Either way worked for James, if he could lose himself in Kit long enough to find himself again.
Kit had a way of finding the shattered shards of a person. Blunting the sharp edges.
James hadn’t been all right in fourteen years.
“I’m fine,” James said, addressing Bishop and the yellow-stained ceiling. “I’ll be even more fine when this is over.”
Bishop was smart. He must have heard the finality in James’s words, because he didn’t answer. And after a few minutes, James grabbed his phone to fulfill his supportive boyfriend duties.
James: Hey babe, B says you miss me ;)
James: is D’s cock not enough for your slutty little hole?
When there was no response for thirty seconds, James added another message for good measure.
James: Don’t let the intern fuck you yet. He hasn’t earned it
Then he switched apps to check Kit’s current location: zipping along a highway outside San Corvo.