But Soren knew his secret. He knew Tobias’s carefully curated life was all a lie. He knew Tobias was a “sick ticket” and he was still there, regardless, not only willing to train him but doing so with the same level of concern one might have when tutoring somebody in math who they feared might have a learning disability. Soren seemed cautiously optimistic that he could work around Tobias’s impulses, and Tobias found it fascinating, found Soren fascinating. He wanted to peel back Soren’s layers, open him up like his antique clock, see how his gears fit together, how he could wind him up, make him tick.
Therein lay the rub. There was more than scientific curiosity involved now, and Tobias didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t like to be touched, didn’t understand the world’s obsession with sex when masturbation was, by far, the simpler more efficient option.
And yet, he liked when Soren touched him, liked the way he looked at Tobias like he was a person, liked that he made him laugh. Liked the way he checked out his ass when he was walking away. Tobias shouldn’t like that Soren liked his ass. That wasn’t why he worked out. Dammit.
“You sure I can’t convince you to just use a gun?” Soren asked again. “It’s cleaner. Less blood, less mess. Less chance of exchanging DNA.”
Tobias shook his head. “No. It has to be a knife.”
Soren sighed heavily. “All right, where is it?”
“Where’s what?” Tobias frowned in confusion.
“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Toby.” Soren gave him a look. “Where’s your kill kit? If it has to be a knife, then you’ve already got a set around here somewhere. Maybe hidden beside your doll collection?”
Shit.Tobias didn’t believe in psychics, but, if they existed, Soren was one. “You really need to let this doll thing go. I’m starting to think it says more about you than me. Did your parents not let you play with dolls as a child?”
“Is that an official question?” Soren’s brows raised in challenge.
Tobias huffed out a breath through his nose. “No. Stay here.” He looked around his living room. “Don’t touch anything.”
Soren’s laugh echoed as Tobias went to the kitchen, reaching for a case under the sink. He returned with it in hand, then set it on the desk and thumbed open the dual locks. He opened the box and turned it so Soren could see his toys.
Soren whistled long and low. “Dexter’s got nothing on you, Glasses.”
“Who?” Tobias asked, knowing full well the show to which he referred.
Soren ignored him, leaning into the space until Tobias could smell the mint and eucalyptus scent of his shampoo. For some reason, Tobias had expected to smell sea air. He fought the urge to move closer.
Tobias swallowed thickly, watching as Soren’s fingertips danced along the knives’ handles before he deftly pulled free a three-and-a-half-inch paring knife that he flipped in his hand before balancing it on his finger. “These must have set you back a pretty penny.”
“Mm,” Tobias said, distracted by the balancing act. Why was that so arousing? “I bought them years ago for cash at an estate sale.”
“Smart,” Soren murmured, and Tobias hated the warm feeling that bloomed behind his ribcage at the casual praise. “But we can’t have a repeat of Killeen. Too messy. Too much risk of transfer. I know the red stuff turns you on, but a guy wandering around covered in blood is gonna get noticed, no matter how distracted the world is.”
Tobias’s first instinct was to argue, to fight back, to tell him that it wasn’t about the blood. But it was. It most definitely was. He wasn’t so far removed from his own dysfunction that he couldn’t see who he truly was when the mask was off. He should probably just be grateful he’d found a mentor who wasn’t crazier than he was. “So, what do you suggest?”
Soren held his hand out to touch Tobias’s knuckles, then stopped. “Can I?”
Tobias’s pulse accelerated. “Can you what?”
“Touch your hand. I imagine a guy who folds his underwear probably isn’t necessarily used to being touched.”
Tobias flicked his gaze upward. “That never stopped you before.”
A slow grin spread across Soren’s face. “I didn’t have a knife in my hand before.”
This thing between them—whatever it was—wasn’t a game Tobias could win. He didn’t even know the rules, had never even had a player on the board. So, he nodded after a beat, feeling like he had a lump of sand lodged in his windpipe.
Soren wrapped warm fingers around his wrist, pulling him closer to the center of the room, before letting his hand fall. Before Tobias could mourn the loss, Soren was behind him, just like the night before, close enough for Tobias to feel his breath on the back of his neck when he said, “Now, the key to killing with a knife is to keep as much of the trauma as you can internal. While severing an artery is a fast kill, it’s not an efficient kill. But you do have options.”
Soren stepped to the side, but not far enough away for Tobias to gather himself and take a much-needed breath.What the hell was wrong with him?He had never in his life been so attuned to another human. He hated it. He wanted to hate it. But his body said otherwise, his cock thickening behind his zipper. “Such as…”
The sharpened point of the blade pressed to the back of Tobias’s neck just beneath his hairline, causing his heartbeat to skip. Then it was gone, only to be replaced by Soren’s thumb.
Tobias bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood to keep from making the sound building in his throat as Soren massaged the spot. “If you catch him off guard, slip in behind him.” Soren pressed in closer, his fingertips encircling Tobias’s throat, his thumb firm against his carotid. “Control your target.” Tobias knew Soren could feel the rapid flutter of his pulse, that he was choosing to ignore it. “You could simply slip the knife into his brain stem,” he crooned, like he was reciting poetry. “Surprisingly little mess. He might not die immediately, but he will essentially be brain dead. The rest of him will likely follow soon after.”
Tobias cleared his throat. “What if I miss?” His voice sounded raw.
