Page 84 of The Butterfly Killer

But he played his part in this acting game. He shrugged, almost giggling. “I can be his lucky charm.”

Cortez’s smile twitched. “Sounds wonderful.”

The tone in his voice said otherwise.

23

Roman liftedMarcus onto his back. For a second, Marcus thought he was too heavy for the man to carry, but Roman found his footing. His hands held Marcus’s thighs around his waist, fingers tensing over the sensitive skin of the back of his leg. He clenched his thighs at the touch.

Roman hummed. “Ticklish?”

Marcus lowered his face into the crook of Roman’s neck. It was too intimate, he knew that, but the wind pelting in his face was freezing his nose. His eyes were dry too. He didn’t know how Roman could stand it.

“No,” he grumbled into Roman’s skin.

He was very ticklish. He wasn’t going to let Roman know that.

The snow had melted in a slush that left the ground muddy. Marcus wasn’t strong enough to carry himself down the hills toward the sparse trees at the base of the mountain. Roman had been carrying him for a few minutes and wasn’t out of breath yet.

Marcus wondered how long it would be until Roman got tired. He was thinking he might be able to take him out, but what would he do then? He assumed Roman had a car somewherenear the road, wherever that might be, but he didn’t know where that car was.

He was betting on Roman getting them to the car and then maybe knocking the man out. There was a slim chance he would succeed, but he had to take a chance one way or another.

He’d been thinking the plan over for some time. He couldn’t trust anything Roman said, even if he wanted to believe Roman had a way to get to the true Butterfly Killer. Marcus wasn’t in the mood to be taking chances. He wanted to go home. He wanted to lay in his couch that was falling apart and he wanted to rot away in front of his TV as the mold in his tiny kitchen spread across the ceiling.

He wanted to catch his mother’s killer. He didn’t want to be captive of a copy cat!

Roman shook Marcus’s thigh. “Still with me?”

“I’m not dead if that’s what you’re wondering.” He felt like it though. There was a fever rising from his leg. He didn’t want to know if it was becoming infected or not. He hoped Roman had done a decent job at healing him.

“But you wish you were?”

Marcus’s brows furrowed. “What?”

He lifted his head. The sun was bright on the snow still on top of the mountain and it shined back in his eyes.

Roman didn’t say anything for a moment. There was only the sound of his feet trodding along on the soft ground. Marcus was lulled by the swaying motion as he held onto Roman. He was about to rest his head back on Roman’s shoulder, easily brushing the strange question off, but Roman then spoke.

“I just mean…you don’t want to be here.”

There was almost a question in there. Also, and Marcus didn’t want to be wrong about it, there seemed to be a bit of hope.

Marcus didn’t know what to make of it if it was hope in Roman’s voice. It seemed…too much paired with what they’d done with each other already.

He watched the barren landscape go by. It was like watching a film because it didn’t feel like he was really here, seeing this in the flesh. The cold that covered his body was flanked by the warmth of being pressed against Roman’s back.

It took him awhile to find the strength to speak. Though, it wasn’t so much as strength as it was the capability. It was like his throat had stopped working as he thought about his messy apartment and sitting in front of the television. Watching animal documentaries wasn’t so much as entertainment as it was a necessity to have something playing in the background so he didn’t feel so alone when he was home. In some ways, being around death was more social than being cooped inside his apartment.

He turned his head to the other side, pressing his cold cheek to the nape of Roman’s neck. He felt Roman shiver.

“If we’re still playing pretend…” He hesitated. He gauged Roman’s reaction. Roman was quiet, listening. Marcus continued. “…I’d stay.”

But it was all pretend. Hypothetical. They were playing a dangerous game, one that would only end with both of them getting hurt.

The crunch of the still defrosting dead grass beneath Roman’s footsteps was an echo of Marcus’s heartbeat. It thumped not just in his chest but in his ears. He swallowed. The taste in his mouth was akin to licking salt stone.

He closed his eyes. Roman carried him away from the cabin and toward the dispersed trees. The mountains loomed, but he couldn’t stand to look at them anymore. He knew he should have still been looking at his surroundings. He should activelybe coming up with a plan for escape or at least try to figure out where Roman had been keeping him this entire time.

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