22. Stevie #2
“And how do we do that?”
“We were thinking you could flirt with him while I spike his drink. Once he becomes completely intoxicated, we’ll lure him to one of the balconies. Then I’ll push him off. It will look like he was too drunk and fell.”
My heart beats faster. Flirt with him? “You want me to distract him, basically?” I clarify to make sure he’s not suggesting I do anything more.
“It’ll be as simple as flipping your hair or flashing him that beautiful smile.”
I blush. “I think I can do that.”
Sebastian grins and exchanges a quick glance with me. “It will be very anticlimactic for me, since I’m more of a hands-on murderer, but we can’t tip off the group too soon.”
My stomach clenches. Maybe I could be focused on what he’s saying if his innuendos didn’t give me flashbacks of last night.
He cocks his head to the side. “Does the word climax remind you of something?”
“Fuck you.” I roll my eyes and brush off his comment. “What about cameras?”
“It’s an old building so there aren’t many,” Sebastian replies, shaking his head with pride. “And the ones installed are hardwired into the structure, so it’ll be easy for Hayden to interrupt the feeds.”
“You guys really are dangerous, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. You could say that,” he replies with a wink. “And this will be a little different from my usual shoot them in the head, but this entire situation differs vastly from any other project our team has worked on. So it will have to do.”
I pull my legs up, crossing them beneath me. “I bet. But whatever we have to do to wipe them out, right?”
“Right.”
We sit in silence for a beat before I speak.
“It’s almost time to go, isn’t it?”
He glances at his watch. “Yeah, we should probably get dressed and head down there soon.”
“Way to tell me at the last minute.” I firmly place a hand on my hip, slightly annoyed he didn’t tell me sooner.
He laughs and stands. “You always look good, Stevie. I didn’t think you’d need time to get dressed.”
My face flushes with warmth for the second time today. “Thanks, but I like to…”
“I get it.” He smiles and heads inside. I follow him in.
“I’ll probably change really quick,” he says walking toward the bathroom. “I’ll take the bathroom if you want to take the bedroom.”
“Will you knock before you walk out?”
He shoots me a look. “You want me to knock on the door from inside the bathroom?”
I laugh hearing how silly that sounds. “Yes, because what if I’m not dressed yet?”
“I had my tongue inside your pussy last night, and you’re worried about me seeing you naked?”
“Well—”
“I’ve had my dick inside you, too,” he tosses over his shoulder.
“Sebastian!” I whine.
He walks into the living area where his suitcase is located. “Fine, I’ll knock before I come out of the bathroom.”
A short time later, he walks out of the bathroom—after knocking first—wearing jeans and a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up once again. His toned arms covered in ink weaken my knees.
“Ready for more?” he asks playfully.
My face flushes. “I, uh—”
He rubs his chin, licking his lips. “I mean with the Society.”
I chuckle, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “Yeah, of course. Do I have a choice?”
“Yes—and no.” Sebastian slips his hand into mine. His warm skin comforts me.
“Funny.”
After leaving the room, we only have to walk a short distance through the courtyard to get to the small building with the conference rooms. As soon as we enter, Silas is standing directly behind the door, ready to greet us.
“Hello.” He smiles wide. “Please come in and take a seat.”
Sebastian leads me into a stale meeting room, where there are three rows of chairs, most of which are already taken by the other members. But as fate would have it, two seats are empty next to Larry.
Sebastian turns back, capturing my eyes, and with a brief nonverbal exchange, we both know where we’ll be sitting. I casually slip around Sebastian, taking the chair closest to Larry as Sebastian takes my other side.
I suck in a gulp of precious air, hoping to fill my lungs with courage, then twist slightly toward our target. “Hello.”
The man grins, the wrinkles on his weathered skin kiss at the corners of his eyes. I pause at first, my instinct avoiding his gaze, but then I quickly correct it, remembering I’m supposed to capture his attention.
“Nice to see you again, Annabel.”
“You too,” I say. “How are your accommodations here at the chateau?”
He nods. “Very good. It’s a beautiful place. And oddly enough, the venue of my niece’s wedding only eight years ago.”
“Oh, that’s lovely,” I reply dryly. Small talk with no meaning sucks the life out of me. It’s almost painful. That’s why I love the mortuary business—every conversation is meaningful.
“And how are you enjoying yours?”
“It’s a beautiful property.”
Larry nods in agreement once again. “We’ll be eager to be set free to roam around town tomorrow night, won’t we?”
“Tomorrow night?”
“When we get to be free,” he clarifies, his eyebrows bouncing with unnerving excitement. “You know, to do what we’re all eager to do.”
The night out…to kill.
A chill runs up my spine. I recall Silas mentioning that yesterday evening.
“Yes, I remember,” I say, glancing at Silas walking toward the front of the room, standing next to a large projector screen.
Sebastian’s hand finds mine. Our fingers slowly intertwine. It’s nice.
“Welcome. I hope you’re all enjoying your time here at the chateau,” Silas begins, interrupting my conversation with Larry.
“Today, we will be discussing the history of a couple well-known serial killers.” Sounds of collective approval round the room.
“As you all know, in the late 1960s and 1970s, there was little to no sharing of information between law enforcement agencies in different states. That meant communication took longer, and data gathering was more rigorous. What did that mean for serial killers like us?” He slowly paces back and forth.
“We could move freely, and the risk of being caught was lower. Moreover, fingerprinting was done on a rudimentary basis and was not common practice. It wasn’t until the creation of AFIS, the automatic fingerprint identification system, and the advancements in DNA in the 1990s, did we see a decline of our kind—”
“We all know things were easier back then,” Pete sneers. “Why are you telling us?”
Silas cracks his neck, sliding his narrow eyes over to Pete. “Good question. And that brings us to what we’re doing this afternoon.”
“And what exactly is it?” Pete asks. “Outside of how they had it much easier?”
“Can I finish?” Silas snaps back.
Pete leans back in his chair, one arm extended over the back of the empty one to his side. “Be my guest.”
Silas’s expression hardens, angered by Pete’s aggressiveness.
“We will watch a documentary about three well-known serial killers of the 1970s. Since we’re the Pacific Northwest chapter of the Black Veil Society.
We’ll keep the focus on this area.” Silas pulls a small remote from his pocket and turns on the projector.
“You will need to learn what they did to not get caught, the mistakes they made which ultimately led to their capture, and anything you can glean from these killers who hunted in the same conditions as us.”
“They’re studying past serial killers?” I mutter.
Sebastian’s eyes dart around the room. “Could you be any louder?”
I cock my head to the side, glaring at him. “I’m not that loud.”
“You kinda are.”
I huff. “Are you going to answer my question?”
Sebastian shrugs, then dips his head close to mine. “Seems like it to me.”
“Weird, right?” I keep my voice low.
“It’s not a bad idea.”
Drawing my head back to meet his eyes, I’m stunned by his response. “Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, we’re learning from their predecessors. Think of it as a risk assessment workshop.”
Holding back laughter, because that’s the only way I know how to react in a bizarre situation like this, I simply rub my lips together and return my attention to Silas.
“The documentary will comprise the Seattle Strangler, the infamous Tom Bryan, and Rick Yancy, the prostitute killer who lured his victims from truck stops all along the highway.”
Unfortunately, I’m familiar with these types of predators.
I wasn’t alive in the 1970s, but my dad spoke often about older cases.
Being around law enforcement, we picked up conversations all the time, and even though I studied microbiology and mortuary science in college, there was never a shortage of discussions like this during those years.
“Of course, they’re all men,” Wendy blurts out from behind me.
She’s right. Men tend to be serial killers more often than women. Is it a power thing? Or the lack thereof? Either way, I’m sitting here and apparently so is she.
“We’re here,” I say, feeling bold. I don’t like her, and I think she’s a fucked-up individual, but I also don’t like the feeling of not being good enough or able to do something.
Wendy shoots me a glance. “I guess. But there aren’t many of us.”
“Yes, this is a male-dominated hobby, if you can’t tell.” Silas flicks off the light as if to put our discourse to rest. Then the video begins.
Wendy snickers mockingly under her breath as I settle in to watch this documentary and pretend I’m learning something—or interested for that matter.
We spend what feels like hours watching the narrator analyze every part of the serial killer’s process, from strategies to eventually what led to them getting apprehended.
Under any other circumstances, I’d be fascinated with the details to learn about how the mind of a psychopath works, but sitting in a room watching a video about serial killers with serial killers is definitely frightening and not what I ever expected to be experiencing.