Through an archway that attached the small sandwich shop to the truck stop, a man, who was maybe eighteen or nineteen, sat in a booth staring out the huge windows at the semitruck where the CSI team was starting their work. That wasn’t unusual because people liked to gawk at crime scenes.
But he was very focused.
The man had his hands steepled under his chin and barely seemed to be breathing. Something about the way he sat, so still and perfectly attuned to the activity outside, called to me. I walked over and stopped beside his table.
“You aren’t eating?”
He blinked and shifted his focus to me. “No, I’m out of money,” he said, and I sucked in a breath. His dark hair fell in glossy waves to his shoulders, and his dark brown eyes were magnificent. Distant. Cold. Calculating. My heart hammered faster.He doesn’t know how to hide.The thought was wild, but I couldn’t shake it. His lips were plump, the kind I could see all over my body—and cock. I let out a ragged breath, and he tilted his head to study me.
“How long have you been here?”
“A while,” he murmured.
I glanced over at Paxton. The woman was shaking her head at him now, and he had the pursed expression he got when he was exasperated. Something wasn’t going right.
“Leave,” I said.
“But I want to see what they do with—”
“Leave.” I pulled out my wallet and handed him a twenty. “Get a meal and disappear. Where are you headed?”
He stared at the money and carefully extracted it from my hand. “I don’t know. Maybe New Gothenburg.”
“Go. Now. It’s not far from here. Someone will give you a ride if you ask the people near the pumps. Most people have a heart, and your face is pretty.”
With a nod, he got up and wandered out into the store. His jeans were ragged, but they were a quality brand, which made me wonder where he’d gotten them to begin with. I shook my head at the way the material clung to his tight little ass. It was a shame to tell him to go, but I thought maybe he’d end up getting into trouble if he talked to Paxton. He was just... odd.
My heart raced as I watched him do exactly as I’d said. He went outside and crossed to the pumps to speak with a woman who had a van. I should’ve asked him questions.What is his name? What is he doing here? Where is he from?I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me. His answer had been designed to be vague, and that was suspicious. Did I really think that sweet-faced boy had killed someone? That was ridiculous. The person who had sliced that body apart would’ve been covered with blood, and he was a compact little man who barely came up to my shoulders. Would he have been able to overpower the trucker?
I laughed at the strange thoughts swirling in my brain. He was just someone who rode the rigs looking for a place to land and maybe blew a trucker or two to get where he was going.That’s all.
But that cold interest in his eyes was familiar. I saw it in the mirror when I was alone. He wasn’t the same as everyone else. He didn’t feel the same as everyone else. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one like me, the only one pretending to benormal.
2
ARAMIS “ARI” RADFORD
I smiled downat the name I’d written into my small journal with the pen that barely had any ink left in it.
Philip.
That had been the name of my twelfth kill. I tucked the journal into my back pocket, along with the pen. If I closed my eyes, I could still see his, wide with shock at the first slash of the blade. Pleasure simmered in my veins at the memory of his shout and how hard he’d struggled, but after I’d begun, nothing could stop me. I’d made sure he would never say another word, drawing the knife across his throat again and again until all he had left to say was gargles of “why?” and “help.”
The blood had been hot on my skin, like a warm shower after a cold night, and I’d sat there in the back of that truck, relishing the feel of it on me. I’d danced my fingers through the splatter on my arms, drawing pictures with it until I’d spent too long there and knew I had to move. No one had seen me go into the truck with him, I’d made sure of that, but the more time I wasted, the more I was in danger of being caught.
I’d hated having to leave my piece of art, but I did. I’d slid off my bloody gloves, tucked them in my pocket, and then replaced them with a new pair before sneaking out of the driver-side door. I’d headed straight through the bushes to the right. I knew my way around the outskirts of New Gothenburg, and a few miles down the road was another truck stop where I could take a hot shower and get rid of my clothes. I’d already made a deal with the guy on the night shift—he called himself Yoyo—and we’d gotten to know each other well over the last few months since I’d arrived in this stupid city. He never knewwhoI was, other than a guy down on his luck trying to find work. As far as Yoyo was concerned, I was homeless with nowhere to go.
Now I stood at the side of the crime scene, andmywork was being tarnished by the police. The sight of them, taking pieces of evidence from the truck I’d decorated, had my fists curling. If I was more self-centered, I might go over there and demand to know what they were doing. I’d already been chased out of the sandwich shop by the big brute, and even though I knew he was suspicious of me, I couldn’t bring myself to go far. I’d talked to a woman at a gas pump, pretending to ask for a ride when all I did was beg for some money with a sweet smile. She’d given me a twenty before I took off and went to be one of the bystanders. They’d watched with horror, while I stared with interest as the New Gothenburg CSI crew finally pulled the body out of the cab, along with the coroner and his assistant.
The brute was still here, arms crossed, and his attention was caught between the body being carried out and me. His stare penetrated, drew me in closer like he was a flame and I was the moth, and it was hard to look away. I’d always felt like the predator in a crowd full of people, the secret killer no one knew about. When they noticed me, they saw a sweet boy—like my parents had, at least, until the moment my mother knew something was different about me—but this man, this officer, made me feel like nothing more than prey, and I shivered in delight. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like this. His eyes were cold, emotionless, and... hungry, and he stood tall, an unmovable mountain. He had power I could only dream about. What would it be like to watch the light leave his eyes?
My mouth quirked at the thought, and he cocked his head, almost as if daring me to try whatever I was thinking.I liked him.
“Do you know who it is?” a voice whispered to my right, drawing my attention away from the officer to a man. He was older than me, probably midtwenties, wearing a yellow trucker’s cap and a red plaid shirt. His ratty hair hung around his shoulders and his beard was as scruffy as the rest of him. I recognized the guy as one of the few truckers who came to the same truck stops I did. He must remember me, too, because when he saw me staring at him, he tipped his head in my direction.
He wasn’t speaking to me, though. An older man stood beside him with short gray hair sticking in all directions and a pot belly he rubbed thoughtfully, as though he couldn’t decide if he was hungry or needed to take a shit.
I snorted. These truckers were the rough kind, but I liked them as much as I could. They were straightforward and didn’t play games, wouldn’t care if they hurt someone’s feelings, and they didn’t usually lie.
