Psycho, page 7
He threw the SUV into reverse and stomped on the gas, tires screeching as he jerked the wheel. As he turned onto the street, he engaged the Bluetooth button. “Call Adam.”
“Calling Adam,” an electronic voice repeated.
Adam didn’t answer the first time. Or the second. The third time was the charm.
“Somebody better be fucking dead,” Adam growled into the phone, breathing heavily.
“Somebody almost was.”
That seemed to bring Adam up short. “What happened?”
“Somebody said something mean about Lucas and I just… I wanted to break her in half.” He couldn’t stop his voice from shaking.
Adam’s voice took on a certain hesitancy when he said, “What did she say about him?”
“She called him Special Agent Crazy-Pants and Captain Crazy.”
“Those aren’t even good insults,” Adam said.
“I wanted to punch her in the face. I’ve never felt angry like this before.”
“I get it, but you gotta rein it in, bro, or Dad will try to take him away from you. So, pull it together, okay? Good talk.”
“Wait! I need Noah,” August said.
Adam sighed heavily. “He’s a little…tied up right now.”
August let out a breath through his nose, his rage still sending shivers along his skin. “It will only take a minute. This can’t wait.”
Adam groaned. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to tie these restraints? He’ll call you later.”
August frowned. “Oh. You meant literally tied up?”
There was a long-suffering sigh. “Yes. Literally. I have him literally tied to our bed right now. Call back later.”
Noah’s muffled voice came from somewhere nearby. “Oh, my God, Adam. You cannot just tell people you have me tied to the bed.”
“Why not? You are. Besides, it’s not people. It’s August.” To August, he said, “He’ll call you later.”
August’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “But I need him now. I have a date.”
“A date?” Adam said, perking up.
“Put him on speakerphone,” Noah demanded.
“You can’t be serious?” Adam asked, clearly not talking to August. Noah gave a muffled response before Adam said, “Ugh, fine. Five minutes. That’s all you get. You hear me? Five.”
“Deal,” August agreed.
He didn’t need long, anyway. He just needed to know what he was supposed to do on a date. They’d had lunch together, and that had led to kissing and petting and rubbing off on each other in a way August found…most agreeable. But was that a date? Like, didn’t dates involve fancy restaurants or movies or walking on the beach? August didn’t know what the hell he was doing.
“Wh—” Noah’s breath hitched. “What’s up, dude?”
His voice was strained, but August knew firsthand that being tied up could be stressful. “I’m supposed to go on a date with Lucas. Like tonight.”
“That’s good,” Noah assured him, voice filled with false cheer.
“I’ve never been on a date before,” August said, his voice now as tense as Noah’s.
Once more, there was a sudden sharp intake of breath. “Okay. Well, where are you going?”
“His place.”
“Oh, yeah. Fuck, keep doing that,” Noah whispered.
August frowned. “Doing what? I’m not doing anything.”
“Not you,” Noah said.
August rolled his eyes. “We’re supposed to have dinner and talk about his killer ex-coworker.”
He heard Adam snicker but paid no attention.
“Most people just make small talk on a first date, but, honestly, this seems right on brand for you,” Noah mused.
“Are you sure it’s a date?” Adam asked, sounding doubtful.
August frowned. “It is. I asked. He said yes.”
Noah still sounded unsure. “Okay, well…good.”
“Help me,” August begged. “What does somebody do or say or wear on a first date?”
There was a long silence punctuated with breathy sighs and muffled whispers, then Noah was back. “Um, full disclosure. I’ve never been on a date. Adam just sort of showed up at my trailer and never left.”
“God, that would make this so much easier,” August admitted, wishing he could just brand Lucas as his and let the world know he was protected.
Adam’s voice popped up. “Don’t get too dressed up. You’ll look like a dweeb. Jeans, a nice shirt.”
“Bring flowers. Oh, or wine,” Noah added.
“Do not talk about how much you like eviscerating people to pop music…or your weird obsession with Celine Dion. Or your knife collection. Or the swords. Or the array of medieval torture devices you have. Honestly, just steer clear of weaponry altogether.”
August nodded along as if they could see him. “Wine. Flowers. No evisceration. No Britney or Gaga. I think I can do that.”
Adam was suddenly right up on the phone. “Your five minutes are up.”
“Good luck,” Noah called, then moaned long and low.
August stabbed at the disconnect button. Noah and his brother fucking was not a soundtrack he wanted on a loop in his head for all eternity. He turned on the stereo and let Bach sooth his ragged edges, a wave of…something washing over him. Not panic or anxiety—August didn’t experience those things. But he did respond to rewards, and when Lucas kissed him and touched him, that had felt like the best possible reward. And he wanted more.
August arrived at Lucas’s apartment at exactly seven, a bag in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. He’d forgone the wine due to Lucas’s extensive med list, but the woman at the gourmet shop had assured him his replacement gift would be more than acceptable for a dinner.
After the shop, he’d stopped at the florist to pick up flowers, but that hadn’t exactly gone to plan either. When he’d explained they were for a date, she’d immediately taken to making a bouquet based on looks. Pink roses, red carnations, eucalyptus leaves, and daylilies. August had turned away. She’d clearly never learned there was a language to flowers and she was getting the message all wrong.
August had read a book on it once in first grade. Each flower meant something specific. He didn’t know if Lucas knew that, but he didn’t want him to get the wrong idea or think he hadn’t made an effort. But it was too late now. He was there with his expensive cheese and more expensive—yet grossly misleading—flowers.
He knocked, looking down at his jeans and zip front sweater. Was he casual enough? Too casual? He hated feeling like he was out of his element. He needed Lucas to like him. For both of their sakes.
When the door opened, August was not prepared for a wet haired, barefoot Lucas. He wore black jeans slung low on his hips and a hastily buttoned chambray shirt.
“I half expected you to just let yourself in,” he said, a rueful smile on his face. He was truly beautiful.
August held up his offerings. “My hands were full.”
Lucas grinned, like August had made a joke. “Of course. Makes perfect sense.”
“Here,” August thrust the gifts at him.
Lucas took the flowers and the bag, bringing the bouquet to his nose, sniffing them deeply. “Pretty.”
August preened. “They are. Even if the message is filled with contradictions.”
“Did you leave another message on my gifts?” Lucas asked, tilting his head.
“Not intentionally.”
Lucas looked at the bag, peeking inside. “Is this…cheese?”
“Yeah, the woman at the shop said it was just as good as wine. I didn’t think you drank given your medications.”
Lucas studied him for a long moment. “Thank you. That’s…weirdly thoughtful of you.”
“I feel like you’re making fun of me,” August said. “But I’m not sure.”
Lucas leaned forward and smacked a quick kiss on August’s lips. “Just a little.”
August found that he didn’t mind Lucas teasing him if it made him smile. He liked his smile. His whole face transformed. He didn’t look like a man whose life had been shredded. Lucas had a nice mouth, perfect teeth, and soft lips. August liked being the reason Lucas smiled, even if it was at his expense.
When he took August’s offerings and walked into his small, tidy kitchen, August followed. When he realized August was behind him, he threw a puzzled look over his shoulder. August couldn’t help but move closer, trapping Lucas against the counter, nuzzling his face into his neck.
“Hi,” Lucas said, sounding both amused and slightly breathless.
August continued to cling to him. “Hi.”
“Whatcha doin’?” Lucas asked.
“I just needed to touch you.” It abruptly occurred to August that maybe Lucas didn’t like being touched without warning. “Is…this okay?”
Lucas leaned back against him slightly. “Yeah, it’s nice. But I thought you were into…submission. I didn’t think you’d make the first move. Unless breaking into my apartment was the first move?”
August understood the confusion. He let his lips trail along the sensitive skin at the back of Lucas’s neck, liking the shiver that ran along his skin. “There’s power in submitting. But that’s not why I do it.”
“Why do you do it?” He sounded genuinely curious.
August pressed his forehead to Lucas’s shoulder. “There’s no way to explain it without sounding like a monster.”
“I already know you’re a monster,” Lucas reasoned. “What do you have to lose?”
You. “Submission keeps whoever I’m with…safe. Because I don’t trust myself.”
“You don’t trust yourself how?”
August took a deep breath, certain he was about to end this relationship before it started, but like Lucas said, he already knew August was a monster. He blew out a breath and just told him the truth. “I love hurting people. I know it’s not the right thing to say. My father has told me a thousand times. But I’m good at it. I like making bad men suffer. I don’t like their screaming or crying—it gives me a migraine—but I like knowing they died in pain. Because of me.”
Lucas’s back was rising and falling rapidly now. “What does that have to do with sex?”
“If I let myself go there, if I truly decided to let myself go, I think I would hurt somebody…somebody like you, and I’d like it so much I couldn’t stop. When I’m there…in that headspace, it consumes me. If I was to hear you cry out, whimper, moan, I might lose myself, take it too far. It’s better if I’m…contained.”
Lucas turned in August’s arms. “Do you truly think you could hurt me? Do you really think your bloodlust is so strong that you’d lose yourself with me?”
August searched Lucas’s face for any hint of disgust, surprised when he didn’t find it. “Bloodlust? No. Losing myself with you? I already have.”
Lucas cupped August’s face like he’d done the night before. “I think you underestimate yourself.”
August shook his head. “But, if you’re wrong, the cost could be your life. I can’t feel guilt or remorse, but the thought of not seeing your face or touching you, kissing you, makes me feel…like there’s a hole in my chest. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. But then why would you think that you’d ever snap like that with me? Is it because you think I’m weak? Fragile? Timid? Is my victimhood an attractor for you?” There was a sort of contempt there under his words, not for August but himself.
He leaned forward and brushed their lips together in a kiss that lingered. “The rabbit in you attracts the wolf in me. I can’t help that. It’s instinctive. Sometimes, you smell…vulnerable. Nobody ever lets themselves be vulnerable around me. Some part of their id recognizes the predator in me. People keep their guard up around me instinctively. But not you. When I look at you, I don’t want to hurt you. I want to protect you, keep you safe.”
Lucas wrapped his arms around August’s neck, kissing him like he couldn’t stop himself. “You answered your own question. You want to protect me, not hurt me. But, the truth is, I can protect myself. I know everything you’ve seen of me undermines that statement, but it’s true. I had to go through training just like any other agent. I’m just…going through a rough patch.”
August crushed Lucas against him, holding him tight, tighter than he’d ever held anybody. “I know you can protect yourself. But I don’t want you to. I want to be that person. Your person. My brother and his boyfriend…neither of them are weak. Adam is every bit the psychopath I am, and Noah is…not, but he’s no saint either. They work because they trust each other, they have each other’s backs, flaws and all. Nobody has ever accepted all my deficiencies, and there are many.”
“Is this your usual first date talk?” Lucas finally said.
“I’ve never been on a date before,” August confessed.
Lucas smiled. “I sort of figured. I’ve never had a guy give me cheese as a gift before.”
August shrugged. “I probably should have told the lady this was a date and not just dinner. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Maybe you should just trust your own instincts with something other than murder?”
August scoffed. “That’s a terrible idea. I probably would have brought you a ceremonial knife from Peru or something.”
“You have a ceremonial knife from Peru?” Lucas asked, perking up.
August shook his head. “My brother said I shouldn’t talk to you about that. Or any of my other weapons. Or my kill playlist. Or my love of pop divas.”
The smile fell from Lucas’s face and he was suddenly kissing him, turning him so the sharp edge of the counter dug into his hips. “You are one of a kind, August Mulvaney,” he said against his lips.
“So I’ve heard,” August said, darting his tongue into Lucas’s mouth. He tasted like toothpaste.
“I’m still not sure I’m on board with happily ever after and all that.”
“I can live with that. At least through dinner.”
As they ate, they talked. Well, August talked. He talked about string theory and the relative state formulation, about whether he truly believed there were parallel worlds, and how some of his co-workers thought his theories were too out there. Lucas could have interrupted, could have changed the subject, but he found himself fascinated and more than a little turned on by how passionately August spoke about a subject he clearly loved.
August’s hands gesticulated wildly, his forest green eyes bright and cheeks flushed as he somehow made huge abstract concepts palatable and easy for a lay person like Lucas to understand. When August was in his comfort zone—teaching—all his awkwardness seemed to melt away. Lucas didn’t really care for any science, except the social ones, but August explained his ideas in a way that made the universe seem magical and full of possibilities.
How did a vicious killer, a man who admittedly enjoyed hurting people, have such childlike wonder when it came to all the world’s possibilities? Lucas envied him. He envied a serial killer. If anything should have signaled he’d hit rock bottom, that was it, but he just didn’t care. August was a huge radiant beacon and Lucas was a moth, desperate to get closer, using that light to blind him to the shitshow his life had become.
“Your students must love you,” Lucas finally said.
August paused, his gaze darting to his right, like he was thinking about it. “I think they do, yes. I get many requests for my classes and excellent evaluations.”
Lucas smiled. August lacked the ability to fake any sort of humbleness or humility. He was confident in his brilliance. “I can see why.”
August tilted his head in that way he did whenever Lucas said something any other person in the world would have seen as flirty. “Why’s that?”
Lucas looked August up and down. “Because you’re sexy when you talk physics,” Lucas said. “Which is a phrase I never thought I’d ever utter out loud.”
The change in August was…palpable. His affable good-nature morphed into a feral intensity that had Lucas’s cock hardening. Yeah, August’s particular brand of crazy was definitely Lucas’s kink.
August studied him, gaze hot enough to melt steel. But almost as quickly, it disappeared, replaced once more by polite August who cleared his throat, gaze falling to his half-eaten chicken.
“Except, I’m being rude, dominating the conversation,” August said, not like he meant it but like he was trained to say it, trained to know the niceties needed to pass as human in the outside world. “I want to know about you.”
That Lucas believed. August looked at him like there was still something salvageable in there, and it made him jittery, like he’d had too much caffeine, even though he hadn’t had any because August had thought of his medications. How could a psychopath be the most attentive person Lucas had ever met?
“You do?” Lucas asked.
August frowned. “Of course. If I’m going to marry you someday, I should probably know what I’m getting into.”
His words sent a shock wave of awareness rolling across Lucas’s nerve endings. There wasn’t even a trace of humor. August Mulvaney—a killer he’d known for all of two days —was sitting at his table casually talking about how he had settled on Lucas someday becoming his husband.
It was a testament to the weirdness of Lucas’s life that it just seemed like one more surreal thing in a long, long list of bizarre events. Where was his fear? His sense of self-preservation? This man had just said he was going to marry him like it was a foregone conclusion and it didn’t scare him. It just made him…horny. And made him feel safe. And Lucas never felt safe. Or even wanted. Something he would never say out loud to anybody.
Fuck. They should have never let him out of that facility. He’d clearly cracked. “What do you want to know?”
August leaned in, his sudden wide grin fading to an amiable smile, like he wasn’t sure which was the appropriate option. “Why did you become a profiler?”
Lucas wanted to tell August he didn’t have to fake it with him, that he didn’t care if he smiled or not. That he wanted him to be comfortable around him.
