by Lisa Worrall
“You two go in first,” Ally said to Scott. “We’ll wait out here.”
“Fuck that,” Scott replied. “We’re all going in.”
“She said two at a—”
“We won’t tell if you don’t,” Will’s tone brooked no argument and Scott shot him a grateful glance as his gentle giant nudged Ally and Matt into the room ahead of them.
When the door closed behind him, the first thing that struck Scott was how quiet it was, apart from the steady whoosh of the ventilator helping Kimberly breathe. Fuck. He swallowed hard as he approached the bed, his breath catching in his throat when he saw her. He’d been prepared for the machines, for the technology, for the tubes and other necessary medical paraphernalia, but nothing could have prepared him for how pale she was. If it hadn’t been for the splash of dark brown hair against the stark whiteness of the pillow, she would have blended into the crisp white sheets underneath and over her.
“Jesus.” Matt voiced what they were all thinking and feeling with a single word.
Scott heard Ally’s choked sob and the shuffle of feet and soothing sounds, which he assumed was Matt comforting her. Not that he knew for sure, because he couldn’t drag his eyes away from the bed. She would kick his ass if she could see him now, desperately trying to hold back the tears.
He was grateful for the slide of Will’s fingers around his. Grateful for the warmth and comfort that was offered, and grateful for the understanding, all wrapped up in that gentle touch. Will knew him, understood him, and always knew what Scott needed, often before Scott even knew he needed it.
“Who’s doing this?” Ally’s question came out on a sob.
Scott couldn’t answer that. But he was going to find out.
Chapter eight
Will pulled up to the second window at the McDonald’s drive-thru and accepted the bag of food handed to him by the young girl behind the counter, whose smile was so white he had to resist the urge to blink against the glare. He put the paper bag between him and Scott on the front seat and headed toward home. Neither of them really felt like eating, but the stop had been made out of necessity rather than desire. If Will had heard the angry rumble of Scott’s stomach one more time, he could not have been held responsible for his actions.
He dug into the bag and pulled out the cheeseburger he’d ordered for himself, holding the steering wheel steady with his knees while he unwrapped the wax paper. With one hand on the wheel and the cheeseburger in the other, Will took his first bite. Flavors burst on his tongue, lighting up his taste buds and his stomach rejoiced. Maybe he was hungrier than he thought he was. He glanced over at Scott, who alternated between pushing fries into his mouth and slurping on his chocolate shake like they were going out of style.
It had been a long day—a quick glance at the clock told him it was five after ten—a very long day. They’d left the hospital fifteen minutes ago after their fifth cup of hot mud because no one had wanted to leave Kimberly long enough to visit the fourth floor, and Ally’s insistence that they go home and get some rest. Scott had refused, at first, but when she’d shot him the same glare Will had seen on Scott’s face a hundred times or more, Scott had folded and stood up, albeit petulantly while mumbling something uncharitable under his breath. Will had bitten the inside of his cheek to hide his amusement and tipped Ally a congratulatory wink as he herded Scott out of the room.
By the time they’d reached the house the bag was empty, and Scott’s stomach had been quieted. Will pulled onto the drive and cut the engine. He scrubbed a hand through his hair as he clambered inelegantly out of the car, waiting for Scott to close the passenger door before activating the central locking. He needed a shower and sleep, lots and lots of sleep. But he had a feeling his mind wasn’t going to be as easily appeased as his stomach. He followed Scott into the house and locked the front door behind them with a heavy sigh.
Kimberly had looked so small in that bed surrounded by machines, and he knew as well as the others that she was not an addict of any sort—unless you counted her five-cup-a-day latte problem. But heroin? Not in a million years. Which meant, if she didn’t take it herself, someone gave it to her, and planted the items they found in her car. That made this attempted murder. Did that mean Rachael and Jack’s deaths were staged, too? But why? From what he’d gleaned from Ally, Jack was in advertising and Rachael was a soccer mom. What could be the possible motive? And Kimberly? Where the hell did she fit into all this?
“Beer?” Scott asked, hanging his suit jacket on the bannister.
Will shook his head, taking off his own jacket and laying it over Scott’s. “I’m going to take a shower. Are you coming?”
“In a bit,” Scott replied. “I’ll check everything down here then I’ll be up.”
Scott ritualistically checked every window, door and cat-flap—okay maybe not cat-flap as they didn’t have a cat—at least twice each night before he came to bed. Will smiled to himself as he walked up the stairs. And he says I’m the one with OCD.
In the bedroom, Will sat on the edge of the bed and toed off his shoes and socks, leaving them where they fell. He yawned widely, rolling his neck until it cracked, which relieved some of the tension there, but not all of it, He stood up and padded across the room to the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water warmed, he took off his pants and walked back into the bedroom to lay them over the chair, along with his tie. His shirt he pulled up over his head as he returned to the bathroom and dropped it, together with his underwear, into the clothes hamper.
Will groaned softly as he stepped under the water and closed his eyes, reveling in the warmth of the powerful spray across his skin. This was his favorite room in the house. When they moved in together, they had spent a lot of time and money renovating Scott’s tiny bathroom, knocking through into the second bedroom and opening it up. He turned under the shower, tilting his head back so the water soaked his hair and ran in rivulets over his face. The shower had been a no brainer for Will, a large circular head with extra pressure, it had been worth every penny. He turned and grabbed the bottle of shower gel off the built-in shelf and squirted some into the palm of his hand. He’d begun to rub the soap across his chest and down his stomach when Scott’s hands slid around his waist. Will let out not quite as manly a shriek as he would have liked.
“Sorry,” Scott said softly. “Did I startle you?”
“Startle, no,” Will replied, turning in Scott’s hold. “Heart attack, maybe.”
Scott chuckled, reaching around Will for the shower gel. “I thought I’d give you a hand.” He squeezed some gel into his palm and proceeded to smooth it up Will’s arm and across his shoulder, gently kneading his muscles.
“You did, did ya?” Will closed his eyes as Scott’s fingers dug into the tense muscles at the base of his neck.
“I did.” Scott turned Will around so that he faced the back wall of the shower and slid his sudsy hands down Will’s back. “I knew that melon of yours would be going a mile a minute, so I thought I’d help clear your mind.”
“And exactly how were you going to do that?” Will gasped as Scott’s agile fingers slipped into his crack and ghosted over his hole. His cock filled, the flesh swelling and hardening in anticipation of Scott’s touch.
“Turn around.”
Scott’s velvety tone sent a shiver down Will’s spine and he slowly did as he was bid. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Scott already on his knees, a positively wicked glint in his deep blue eyes and droplets of water on his face. Will reached out and cupped Scott’s cheek. “Sweet Jesus,” he murmured. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
“You should see the view from here.”
“No thanks,” Will’s entire body jolted when Scott grabbed his hips. “I’m okay with the one I’ve got.” He moaned low in his throat as Scott opened his mouth and slid his lips over the head of Will’s cock, his gaze steadily locked on Will’s. Will lifted his arms out to his sides and pressed his palms to the cool tile of the outer wa
lls, the benefit of having a custom-built shower cubicle, something solid to hang onto all the way around. Which is exactly what Will needed. Scott was driving this bus and all Will could do was hang on for the ride.
Watching his cock slide in and out of Scott’s mouth was torture; exquisite hot, wet torture. Will closed his eyes against the sight, knowing if he watched for much longer, he would lose it, and he didn’t want it to stop. Scott hummed around Will’s cock and moved his hands around to fill them with Will’s ass and pull him even closer, all the while keeping up a punishing rhythm of slow, slow, quick-quick, slow on Will’s length. Will’s orgasm curled at the base of his spine, his balls tightening as Scott lavished attention on his engorged flesh. He took one hand off the wall and gripped the short dark strands of Scott’s hair, trying to thrust into his mouth, desperately chasing his release. Then Scott’s mouth was gone, and he was on his feet.
“Wha—?”
Will didn’t get to finish for Scott spun him around and pressed his hand into the middle of Will’s back, leaving him in no doubt of what he wanted. Will bent at the waist and braced himself against the back wall once again, giving Scott access he needed. The cascading water made up for the coolness of the shower gel that Scott rubbed around Will’s hole. Will dropped his head down between his shoulders and took some deep, steadying breaths which were quickly stolen as Scott pushed inside him with one finger, then two, loosening the muscle as he reached around to jerk Will in long strokes.
“Will?” Scott ground out against Will’s skin.
“Now!” Will panted harshly, trying to remember how to breath. “Now!” He grunted as Scott pushed into him, all the way. “Fuck!” Will pushed back, encouraging Scott to move. He needed him to move. Scott required no further indication. He pounded into Will, his fingers biting into Will’s hips as he held him steady. The bathroom was filled with the sound of running water, the slick slap of skin upon skin and their breathy moans as they fucked with abandon. Scott suddenly changed angle and the thick head of his cock hit Will’s prostate, once, twice and it was all over for Will, he came hard, on Scott’s cock, without another touch to his own. It only took a couple more thrusts for Scott to join him, burying himself deep into Will’s ass, his body stiffening as he came, filling Will’s channel with the warmth of his seed.
“Fuck, Scott,” was all Will managed as he rode the aftershocks of an intense orgasm. He hissed as Scott pulled out, then straightened before slowly turning on shaking legs to see Scott leaning on the left hand wall, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his cock still half-hard as he stared glassy-eyed at the ceiling. Will grinned. “You okay there, cowboy?”
“I’m fan-fucking-tastic,” Scott replied, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. “You?”
“Not bad.” The comment had the desired effect, Scott shifted his gaze to stare at Will with an arched brow.
“Not bad?” he echoed. “Not—?”
Will silenced him with a hard, dirty kiss and pulled him back under the shower head. When oxygen became an issue, Will reluctantly dragged his lips from Scott’s and grabbed the bottle of shower gel. He squeezed some into Scott’s hand, then repeated the action into his own palm.
“Come on, hot stuff,” he said on a yawn. “Let’s get cleaned up before one or both of us passes out right here.” He waggled his fingers at Scott. “I’m already pruning. Although…,” he added thoughtfully. “If you get all wrinkly, it’ll give me an idea of what I’ll be waking up to in thirty years.”
“Have I ever told you how hilarious you are?” Scott asked, rubbing down his body with his soapy hands.
“Hmm,” Will replied, tapping his chin as if seriously considering the question. “I don’t think so, no.”
“That’s probably ‘cause you’re not.”
Will snorted. “Have I ever told you your pillow talk might need a little work?” He rinsed himself off, gave Scott’s ass a healthy slap and climbed out to grab a towel. It didn’t take him long to dry off and, when Scott came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist five minutes later, Will was already in bed staring up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head.
“You okay?” Scott asked, taking off the towel and rubbing his hair with it.
“Yeah.” Will knew his response wasn’t exactly convincing, but it was the best he could do. Scott turned off the overhead light and climbed into bed beside him, leaning up on his elbow as he looked down at Will in the dim glow of the bedside lamps.
“Is this where you tell me my hard work was for nothing?”
Will turned his head to look at him, a frown creasing his forehead. “What work?”
“The clearing of your mind?” Scott waved a hand in the direction of the bathroom.
“Sorry, baby.” Will sighed heavily. “She just looked so tiny in that bed.”
“I know.” Scott snuggled into Will’s side and draped his arm across Will’s waist, laying his head on his shoulder.
“It doesn’t make any sense.” Will slipped his arm around Scott’s shoulder and pulled him in closer. “The victims, the method. Why not shoot them? Stab them? There are a hundred less complicated ways of killing someone. Why speedballs? What’s the significance? And why them?” He scratched the fingers on his free hand through his hair. “Who would want them dead? Why would they want them dead?”
“I wish I knew,” Scott replied softly.
“I mean,” Will continued. “The only connection I can see between Rachael, Jack and Kimberly is that they went to the same high school, around the same time.”
“Will, we don’t even know if what happened to Rachael and Jack is related to what happened to Kimberly.”
“Seriously?” Will shifted so he could look down into Scott’s face, unable to believe what he’d just heard. “You can’t tell me you don’t think they’re connected?” He arched an eyebrow. “’Cause if that’s what you’re telling me, you’re also telling me that Kimberly Stein—your Kimberly Stein—the one you’ve known practically all your life, is a heroin addict.”
“Of course, she’s not,” Scott snapped back. “I’m just saying we need to look into things before we jump to conclusions, that’s all.”
“We?” Will drew out the word. “Does this mean I’m no longer doing this alone?”
“Alexa,” Scott said loudly, ignoring the question. “Lights off.” The lamps on both nightstands immediately went out and plunged the room into darkness, followed by the tinny voice of the Echo and her nightly, ‘Okay’.
Will didn’t exactly need cue cards or a man with flags doing semaphore at the end of the bed to know that the conversation was over. He closed his eyes as Scott settled down to sleep, the heat of his body warm and comforting against Will’s side. Despite Scott’s ‘hard work’, sleep didn’t take him until long after Scott’s breathing had evened out and he’d rolled away to his side of the bed. When it finally did, Will’s dreams were filled with faceless people wielding syringes and a small boy crying out, “No, Daddy!” as he tumbled down the stairs.
He closed his journal and put down the pen. The good doctor had put up quite a fight. Certainly, more than the other two, but he’d expected that. Didn’t stop the scratches on his chest, or the one on his neck from smarting any less when he’d dressed them earlier. Luckily, it was below his collar, so no one would see. He stood up and crossed the room to the dresser in the corner and picked up the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. He didn’t bother with a glass, just unscrewed the cap and drank straight from the bottle as he wandered to the floor to ceiling window of the apartment and stared out at the twinkling lights of the city.
He glanced at the clock on the mantle and took another swig, hissing as the neat alcohol burned its way down his throat, the warmth expanding in his stomach—almost midnight. He was tired. A cold smile curved his lips. He’d taken his time with Kimberly Stein. It wasn’t something he’d planned, but it was a whole lot better than his right hand had been the other times. He chuckled low in his throat, the soun
d surprisingly loud in the stillness of the darkened room. When he’d turned her around, held both her tiny wrists in one hand and pushed her face down on the table, shoved his other hand up her skirt and yanked down her panties, she’d probably thought that was the worst thing he was going to do to her. Of course, that all changed when he filled the syringe.
He walked to the bed in the corner and put the bottle on the nightstand next to the framed photograph there. He picked it up and stroked his fingers down her face. His heart swelled with a heavy combination of love and hate. Love for her and hate for those that had taken her from him. Those who’d watched as she convulsed on the floor in front of them. Those who’d done nothing to help her. He hugged the photograph to him and took another swig of JD.
It would be over soon. There were only two names left on the list he’d written so long ago. Two who still needed to pay. The two whose pain he would enjoy the most. He turned the frame over in his hands and opened the back. A piece of paper floated onto the bed and he picked it up, slowly unfolding it as he had a million times before. It had become thinner over the years and he was careful not to tear it.
Even the mere sight of the five names lit up a flutter of nervous excitement in his belly. The first three, Rachael MacKenzie, Jack Burns and Kimberly Stein had a thick black line drawn through them. Crossing them off had been satisfying, but not as much as the last two would be. They were the ones he would enjoy erasing the most. They were the reason she’d been there that night. The ones who convinced her to go. If it weren’t for them, she’d still be here. He'd have her instead of a faded photograph. Oh yes, they were the ones who would pay the most. He traced the outline of the names on the paper, the excitement in his belly building as he stared at them.
