Trevor whined, his head lulling on his shoulders. “Japanese?” he said weakly.
The stranger’s handsome face contorted into one of fake remorse. “Afraid not, Trevor.”
Trevor screamed like a topless girl in a seventies horror movie as another finger fell to his stupidity. His frantic gaze found Atticus. “I’m serious. I have money. A lot of it. Shoot him in the head, and I’ll give you fifty grand. Help me out here, man. My parents will be hella grateful.”
Atticus snorted, pushing up the sleeve on his shirt. “Do you see this watch? It’s a Patek Philippe. It’s worth a hundred grand, and it’s my backup casual watch. Offer declined.”
The stranger shrugged. “Guess it’s just you and me, Trevor. Last chance. What do you think? Feeling lucky?”
Trever made a whining sound. “This isn’t fair…”
“No, not fair is you raping and abusing powerless women who were just trying to make a living. What’s not fair is using fear and intimidation to hide your crimes. What’s not fair is forcing girls to have unwanted abortions to keep your sick fucking fetishes to yourself. That wasn’t fair. This… This is fucking karma. You taking your last guess or not?”
Heavy breathing filled the room, and Trevor’s eyes darted around as if the answer might magically appear on the wall.
“Tick-tock,” the stranger teased.
“Uh…Thailand? The Philippines? Madagascar?” Trevor blurted.
“Madagascar’s in Africa, you dumb fuck,” Atticus said, taking another bite of his granola bar.
The man dropped to sit on Trevor’s knees, causing the man’s face to contort in horror. “Wrong answer.”
Atticus didn’t see the knife blade sink in, but he saw the way Trevor’s eyes went wide and heard the wet rattle of his last breath as blood bubbled from his lips. He watched as the stranger stood and used Trevor’s shoulder to wipe the mess off his blade as red bloomed across the dead man’s chest.
“What are you going to do with him?” Atticus finally asked, crumpling his wrapper and carefully putting it back in his bag.
The stranger shrugged. “Leave him here with the doors open and let the animals clean up for me.”
Atticus nodded. It wasn’t what he would have done, but it wasn’t his kill so, technically, it wasn’t his problem. Not that he was planning on telling anybody but his father any of this. “So, just out of curiosity, what was the right answer? Where are you from?”
The stranger grinned, revealing perfect teeth and a smile that went straight to Atticus’s dick. “Me? San Diego.”
Atticus snorted. “He was way off.”
The man floated closer until there was only a few feet between them. “Not really. I’m half Chinese. I’m also half Mexican. But I wasn’t about to give that racist prick the satisfaction. Besides, it added a little something, don’t you think?”
“It was fun. Like killing with my brothers.” The moment the words slipped free, Atticus closed his eyes, irritated with himself.
“Like, your literal brothers, or are you in a gang of beefy gingers, who look like they moonlight as insurance salesmen?”
Atticus didn’t know if he was supposed to be flattered or offended. The stranger’s words were mocking, but his tone was borderline salacious. “Are you… Are you flirting with me?”
The stranger shrugged, closing the distance between them. “I mean, how often do you meet somebody who you don’t have to lie to about what you do?”
“I’m not gay,” Atticus managed, sounding unsure even to himself.
The stranger grinned, and Atticus’s stomach did somersaults. “Yeah, but you’re not straight either, are you?”
“I’m a psychopath,” Atticus blurted.
The stranger leaned forward, his whisper conspiratorial. “I’m a Scorpio. I still like banging dudes.”
“I—” Atticus stopped then. “I don’t know what to do with that information.”
The man’s brow hooked upwards suggestively. “I can think of a few things?”
Atticus floundered, hoping they could both ignore his obvious erection. “I don’t even know your name.”
