Page 92 of The Butterfly Killer

“I know that’s what happened to him. He gave me this disease.”

“He…?”

Roman glared at his reflection, looking a second from bashing his fist into the glass.

“He’s my father, Marcus.”

25

Marcus hobbledout of the bathroom after Roman who was hellbent on dropping the bomb of the century and running away like a coward.

“What the fuck do you mean he’s your father?”

Roman busied himself with looking out the window. The sun was yet to break over the horizon. It was pitch-dark with no one else except for them awake.

“He sired me. Knocked my mom up. Donated his sperm. How else do you want me to put it?”

Marcus grabbed the edge of the bed. He huffed in frustration. “You’re not fucking Skywalker. This isn’t a joke! Are you being serious?”

Roman threw the duffle bag on the bed. He threw his hands up. “No, Marcus, I’m pulling your fucking leg! Yes! I’m being serious. Why the fuck would I want that bastard as my father?”

Marcus scoffed, rolling his eyes. He looked to the ceiling as he processed the information. “So this was to get his attention. I already knew that, but I can’t believe it was all for?—”

“For what?” Roman crossed the room and roughly grabbed him by the chin.

Marcus grunted as his neck was forced to crane up in a painful position to look Roman in the eyes.

“What do you think you know? You don’t know anything. For all that you’ve done researching me, you don’t know a damn thing. And this time we’ve spend together? You still don’t know a goddamn thing.”

Roman’s chest heaved. His breath fanned over Marcus’s face. Mint from the toothpaste. Hunger in those eyes. He wanted to devour Marcus. He wanted to put him in his collection.

Parasite? Roman was the parasite. He was worming his way into Marcus’s heart and mind, bending him into the thing he wanted. He wanted a bug to put on display. He wanted a reaction that he could savior and remember as he cut Marcus open.

“You’re right,” Marcus reluctantly said. “I don’t know you. I thought you were a selfish prick who only cares about himself and fame.”

Confusion crossed Roman’s face.

Marcus pushed Roman’s now lax hand from his face. It dropped to Roman’s side.

“You’re more than that. You’re more than your father.”

A flicker of anger crossed Roman’s features. His eyes blazed. “I’m just like him. Don’t lie to me about that.”

He backed up. He started toward the duffel bag again. Marcus reached out for him. He couldn’t reach him though. He fell short, falling onto the bed with gritted teeth. He tried one last time to break through.

“He didn’t have a reason. You do. He’s the reason.”

Marcus didn’t think he could hate the Butterfly Killer anymore than he already did. He’d taken his mother. He’d taken so many people’s lives, probably much more than Marcus would ever know. And he’d taken Roman’s life from him. He’d stripped whatever humanity Roman still had and turned him into a misshapen form of himself.

Roman thought he was a reflection of his father. It had fucked with his mind, warping him into a disfigured version of who he might have been.

Marcus hated that piece of shit to the core of his being. He’d make sure that son of bitch paid for what he’d done.

Roman had gone quiet. Marcus wasn’t unsettled by it. He knew Roman was thinking about what he said, thinking about his past choices and how they might have been prevented if the Butterfly Killer wasn’t his father.

Marcus let him have the moment. He let Roman think deeply about it and let him sit with the bomb he’d let off.

But he still didn’t knowwhothe Butterfly Killer was.

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