Lam turned that over in his head. He’d never been in the position to offer the information up. But he supposed telling him the rules wasn’t going to ruin it.
“I give a strike for not following directions, trying to kill me, having too much information about who I am,” the rules weren’t exactly cut and dry, because it wasn’t a game he’d designed for people to win. By the time they had a knife to their throat, their fate was pretty much sealed.
“I might be guilty of that third one,” Conan confessed, “you told me your name and that you’re a serial killer. That seems like it might be a step over the line.”
“Only if I think it’s going to lead to a negative outcome,” Lam said. “If I think you’re going to run out and tell people about me, the night’s not going to end well for you.”
Conan nodded. “Okay, so you’re flexible. Good to know. And just to be clear, you won’t find me running my mouth, I’ve gotten my hands dirty plenty of times before.”
“Oh?” Lam said. They turned down a darker street, his own, with his townhouse at the end. Only the porch light was on.
“Not like what you’ve got going on,” Conan explained neutrally, “but I’ve had to take care of someone once in a while. Livin’ rough and all that.”
“How often is ‘once in a while’?” Lam asked, curious.
Conan blew out a breath. “One a year, maybe?”
That put his body count at much lower than Lam’s, but that was still… something. A thrill went through him.
“Do you enjoy it?” Lam asked finally. He’d never encountered another confessed killer before, and wanted to know everything.
Conan shrugged. “I don’t hate it. Some of those bastards deserved it. I certainly don’t lose any sleep about it.”
Hm.So not quite like Lam, but still. He’d been a good sport all evening and Lam wasn’t bored.
“You enjoy it?” Conan asked a minute later when they finally came up to Lam’s place.
His hand tightened its grip on the knife as he took the steps up toward his door. Conan followed at a respectful distance, but Lam’s neck still prickled with the awareness of him.
“I do,” Lam said as he got to the keypad. He half turned toward Conan, and met the man’s eyes. “I like the moment where they think they have me, that moment where they think they can overpower me, and then all that power slips from their fingers. I like that fear, where they realize they can be made prey just as easily.”
In the porch lighting Conan’s eyes were dark, but he smiled. There was still blood on his face, and a large dark patch on his jacket. Lam had tried not to look at any of it during the walk, but now that he was home, the hunger had claws in him.
“Is that all you want? Prey struggling in the trap?” Conan asked.
The way he asked it gave Lam pause.
Once upon a time there’d been more Lam wanted, but he’d given up on that. Too many disappointments. Now he thought about Conan sayinglike a stray dog looking for a good home,as he keyed in his code to the door.
Maybe…
Lam turned the knob and opened his door. The dark chasm of his house opened behind him, but he kept his eyes on Conan.
“It’s not the only thing,” Lam said slowly, thoughtfully. His face was warm as he considered the two steps between them.
“Oh yeah?” Conan asked. His expression was open, curious.
“Yes.” Lam said, cutting off further inquiry. “Now come, I’ll suture that shoulder of yours.” Lam gestured to the door and Conan stepped forward, holding his gaze.
“Is this foreplay?” Conan said, eyes dark as he stepped past Lam and into the house.
Lam shut the door behind them and locked it.
He wasn’t quite sure himself.
***
“Sit,” Lam said when they got to the bathroom, gesturing at the toilet. He’d considered leading Conan to the second bathroom, but his first aid supplies were in his personal bathroom, so here they were.
