Chapter Seven – Abby
When Royal wakes up, he ventures to the stores to get me everything on my list. That means I spend more time with Ezra. It’s dinner time by the time Royal returns, and he comes bearing tons of shopping bags and some Chinese takeout.
Royal, Ezra, and I sit in the living room with our food, while Hawthorne takes his to his office—the dude spends a lot of time in that room.
He must live in it. He’s… not exactly what I pictured, but at the same time, I can totally see how he fits in this trio.
He’s the brains to Royal and Ezra’s brawn.
“So,” I say with a mouthful. Not a very ladylike lady, but as soon as I moved out of my parents’ house, I stopped giving a shit about not talking with my mouth full of food. “You guys don’t eat together like a family?”
Royal keeps his dark eyes on his food, and he doesn’t say a word, leaving Ezra to answer: “No. Believe it or not, we’re not actually a family. We’re more like coworkers who happen to live together.”
Makes sense. I mean, besides enjoying a bit of serial-killing every now and then, they don’t really strike me as related.
“If this is a coworkers situation, why do you guys live together?”
Royal answers this one bluntly, “Keeps the bills down.”
“Right, and that matters because you guys don’t have day jobs.
So, which one out of the three of you comes from money?
One of you has to. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
” Take this house, for instance. It’s not ginormous, but it’s big enough that a normal family wouldn’t be able to afford it with your average, run-of-the-mill job.
It’s a decently-sized, middle-class house.
Royal and Ezra exchange looks. It’s a moment before Ezra tells me, “None of us come from money.” The statement is not at all what I’m expecting, and it takes a while for it to fully process in my head.
“How’s that possible? If none of you come from money and none of you have jobs, then how does this all work? Is there a fourth member to this team that doesn’t live here?” It’s the only logical thing. Someone is funding this, them, but who?
“We can’t tell you” is what Ezra says, though at least he says it apologetically. He knows how badly I want to know more about them and what they do.
I wonder how long Hawthorne needs before he tells me some stuff. I’m absolutely dying here.
I don’t know if Hawthorne told them about our little chat, but since I’m with either one of them at all times, I doubt it. Things are still new. All things considered, things are okay. Hell, they could’ve been a lot worse. I’m grateful I happened to run into serial killers with a code.
“How often do you guys go out on a kill?” I ask, figuring that, at least, is safe to talk about. Sometimes the bodies are found quickly, but other times it’s so long after they’re killed they’re nothing but a bloated, semi-decomposed corpse rotting in pieces.
Ezra shrugs. “There’s no timeline or anything.”
“Yeah, it ain’t like if we don’t go out and kill we go crazy. There’s no schedule,” Royal says, mimicking how I talk with his mouth full.
No timeline. Interesting. But I guess I don’t have a timeline, either. It isn’t like I need to do what I do, more like I want to. After what happened, after who I lost… it’s a hardcore want, a desire so deep inside of me it’ll never go away.
I could survive without it, if I had to. I could go the rest of my life without killing again. Of course, I’d spend a lot of time thinking about it, a hell of a lot of time imagining it, but I could do it. I’m not an addict.
“So, if there’s no schedule, and if you don’t have day jobs… what do you guys do for fun? Do you visit family or anything? Girlfriends?” That last word is out of me before I can think better about it, kind of like that comment I made to Hawthorne in his office earlier.
Hey, these guys are easy on the eyes. You can’t blame me for wondering their status.
Again, the two guys glance at each other. This time, however, their exchanged look is longer-lasting, there’s more to it, although I’m not privy to whatever they’re saying to each other with their eyes.
Ezra finally says, “We don’t really see our families much at all these days. And when it comes to girlfriends…” He looks at Royal yet again, and this time I get it.
I totally get it. I get it so fast it hits me like a train, to the point where I wonder why the hell I didn’t get it before.
“Oh,” I say. “You guys are together. Say no more. That’s totally cool.” And it is. It is cool. A little sad for me, but cool. A serial-killing gay couple who have a code they follow. How freaking cool is that?
Royal’s low, harsh voice cuts through my thoughts, “What? No, fuck no. We aren’t—we aren’t fucking together. That’s not what he was trying to say. None of us are together, for the record, in case that was your next fucking question.”
Seems I struck a nerve. Didn’t mean to.
Ezra is much calmer when he tells me, “What Royal is trying and failing to say is that, while we aren’t together, we also don’t have girlfriends. It’s not because we don’t like girls or don’t want them. It’s…”
Oh, now I really get it. For real this time.
“You don’t let yourself have girlfriends or anything because of what you do,” I say, and Ezra nods.
Royal, on the other hand, is still frowning into his food like I insulted every choice he’s ever made in his life.
“Makes sense. You guys don’t like complications, and having a significant other could be a big complication. ”
“Or,” Ezra says, “collateral damage if we were ever to get caught. It goes hand-in-hand with the rules we follow. We don’t kill women, we don’t date women. We’re like lone wolves, keeping to ourselves because it’s better for everyone that way.”
Though they each seem fine with it, I couldn’t imagine a life like that.
So isolated. Granted, it’s been a long, long time since I’ve dated any guy or even hooked up with one, and I haven’t exactly wanted to because lately every man I look at I instantly assume is a piece of shit, but the option is always there if I want to.
Sometimes there’s nothing better than some physical stress relief, when things are done right. You know, when the man has some skill.
“Doesn’t that ever get old? Don’t you guys get lonely?” I ask.
“No,” Ezra says quickly, but with the speed at which he answers, I can tell he’s not being truthful.
He wants to believe he never gets lonely, but the actual truth is more complicated.
He’s human. Just as we’re violent by nature, we also seek out companionship on a regular basis, and having friends-slash-serial-killing-coworkers doesn’t cut the same.
Royal, on the other hand, has a different response: “Why? You offering to cure that loneliness?” The very second the question leaves his mouth, Ezra shoots him a deadly look, one he dutifully ignores.
His black gaze is narrowed in my direction, the scar going through his left eye making the whole expression more intense.
I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me or being serious, but if I have to guess, based on the way Ezra responded, he’s being serious—and I have to admit, I am a little curious how these guys would be in the sack.
I’ve seen them kill a man, for goodness sakes. They’re very capable with sharp objects. If they’re half as capable with certain parts of their bodies, then I’m sure a night with them would be one I’d remember for the rest of my life.
Since I’m so intrigued by the possibility, I say the only thing I can, “Maybe I am. What then?” My response causes Ezra to give me a look, although the expression he sends my way is way less acidic than the one he just gave Royal.
Ezra says, “Hawthorne would never allow it.”
“Does Hawthorne control everything you guys do?” The question is posed in good fun, but I can tell immediately it strikes a nerve with Royal.
“All I’m saying is, I already know who you guys are and what you guys do.
I get the whole not dating outside of this house thing, but, you know, technically I am inside the house, so I don’t see why it should matter to Hawthorne. ”
“Don’t let Hawthorne hear you say that,” Royal quips.
“We should change the subject,” Ezra says. “Let’s talk about anything else.”
I think about pushing the subject more, but I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes just yet.
These guys are still strangers to me, and as much as I am curious how they are in the sack, I also don’t want to get on anyone’s bad side, including Hawthorne’s.
I don’t think I’ll die here, but maybe… just maybe I can prove to these guys that I can be a part of the team.
Not a captive. Not their kidnapped witness. Just a woman who’s capable of meeting them where they’re at. A team member. Hey, maybe I could learn a few tricks of the trade from them, earn their trust, and they’d let me leave this house whenever I want. It’d be a risk, but maybe.
I let Ezra pick the topic of conversation after that, but I notice the way Royal keeps glancing at me. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s thinking about.
For a man who doesn’t get any, the possibility of sex must be enticing. Maybe I’m slightly out of my mind, but if he’s down, I’m down.
Two days later, the entire house is locked down.
And by locked down, I mean the guys install sensors on every window and every door that leads to the outside.
I get a waterproof bracelet that I can’t take off, one that’ll track me if I ever leave the confines of this house, with an alert sent to an app that all three of the guys have installed on their phones.
I’m like a dog, basically. A dog with very nice hair.
After Hawthorne puts the bracelet on me, he addresses the elephant in the room, so to speak: “There is something I want to talk to you about.” Just the way he says it informs me he’s not about to spill all of D.D.K.’s secrets to me.
“Shoot,” I say, staring at the bracelet on my left wrist. It’s not too tight, but I’ve never worn a bracelet for so long before. Should be interesting.
“Ezra mentioned a certain conversation you had with him and Royal.” The way he brings it up, I can tell he’s not used to speaking about such things. He sounds awkward, and there is a slight blush to his cheeks beneath the bottom rim of his glasses.
“That was literally two days ago. Why bring it up now?”
My direct questioning causes him to stutter a bit, “I—well, I didn’t know how to address it.”
“But now?”
“Now I still don’t know how to address it, but I don’t want to let things go on too long without at least attempting.” Hawthorne leans on the front of his desk, while I sit on the leather chair facing him. The others aren’t in the room, so it’s just me and him.
Me, him, and this conversation that he is making way more awkward than it needs to be.
“There is a reason we don’t let ourselves get… involved with anyone, as I’m certain Ezra told you. We can’t—we don’t—” He adjusts his glasses and looks away. It’s almost like he can’t hold eye contact while having this particular talk with me. “It’s simply easier that way.”
But I’m not having any of it. Besides the fact that we’re all a little murderous in this house, there’s nothing wrong with any of them. Not only are they nice to look at in their own way, but they’re also of like minds when it comes to cleaning up the streets. What more could a girl ask for?
A normal girl wouldn’t want a serial killer, I know, so maybe I’m biased.
“It’s kind of bullshit, though, don’t you think?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “In no way is it bullshit. What we do we take very seriously, and that includes mitigating possible risks. Besides, there’s always a singular option when it comes to… to that.”
He might not be able to say it, but I can: “Using your hands isn’t nearly as fun, though. It might get the job done in a pinch, but it’s not comparable, you have to admit.”
Hawthorne coughs, and he walks around his desk and reclaims his usual seat. “I don’t have to admit anything of the sort.”
I stand and move closer to the desk, leaning on its front and thereby causing him to look at me. “You know, ever since I was a kid, when I was told I couldn’t have something, it only made me want it more.”
“Yes, well,” he says dryly, “it’s a good thing none of us are children here, then.”
“All I’m saying is, since I can’t exactly leave this house, what’s the harm in getting a little freaky?
The three of you probably go stir-crazy in here, and I can think of some worse ways to pass the time.
” Since I can never leave well enough alone, I lean over his desk and add, “Come on, Hawthorne. I bet you could use some stress-relief too.”
I think I hear him audibly gulp before he pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs like he’s never been more exasperated in his entire life, and points to the door. “Please leave.”
Pushing off his desk, I deadpan, “To be clear, do you mean please leave the room, or please leave the house?” The look he gives me right then is enough, and I smirk and saunter out of the room, satisfied with myself.
Hey, somebody’s gotta find me amusing. If it’s not them, it might as well be me.