Page 91 of The Butterfly Killer

Roman spat in the sink. He met Marcus’s eyes in the mirror.

“Awhile,” he said, looking away. He spat again, turning on the faucet to watch the paste wash away. “Victim three. Do you remember her?”

Marcus’s brows furrowed. “The babysitter.”

Frustration overtook Roman’s features. He shook his head, eyes closing before he opened them again with a spark of annoyance in them. “Notmyvictim.His.”

Marcus thought back to the original third murder. Selena Matthews. Twenty-four. Her mother was watching her three kids while she had a night to herself. The Butterfly Killer’s technique had developed since he started. It was technically his fourth murder, but back then they hadn’t connected Marcus’s mother’s murder.

“There’s something no one got right in that fucking report.” Roman dropped the toothbrush and grabbed the counter’s edge for support. “She had another kid. Five years older than the first. She would have been sixteen when she got knocked up.”

Marcus listened, but he wasn’t fully understanding.

Roman was trembling with a type of rage that Marcus saw in only the most desperate of people. It was the kind of rage seen in cornered animals when they knew they didn’t have a way out.

“He was there. Eight year old boy. He couldn’t fight back. Not really. But he tried. He fucking tried and you know what that piece of shit did?”

Roman turned so abruptly Marcus almost slid off the toilet. Roman got up in his face, his eyes blazing with manic, but he wasn’t truly there. His eyes were focused on something only he could see. His imagination was feeding him a loop of despair he’d created. He was making himself suffer for something he couldn’t have even prevented.

His eyes came back into focus. He was looking at Marcus now. Pure disgust and disappointment.

“He beat him unconscious and threw him away like he was trash. All because he was his fucking son!”

Roman slammed his fist into the wall. Marcus jumped and closed his eyes. His heart raced as he thought Roman might turn his anger toward him.

He felt Roman move back. Marcus opened his eyes. Roman looked calmer, but still on the verge of exploding.

Marcus gathered just enough courage to ask what had been on his mind since the beginning. “H-How…How do you know this and not the police?”

Roman threw his toothbrush back into his duffel bag. He splashed some cold water on his face to cool now. There was some resemblance of composer coming back.

“The man you call the Butterfly Killer isel profanador,the desecrator.He works for Dante Cortez, the?—”

“Hernandez’s partner. The Mexican cartel,” Marcus finished. He stared at the open bathroom door. He suddenly felt safer here with Roman than out there with a badge and gun.

Roman nodded. Marcus was too caught up in his thoughts to really notice the man watching him. It was only moments later that he realized Roman was gauging his reaction. He didn’t know what for. Everyone who was in law enforcement in their area knew about Dante Cortez and the rumors. He’d been charged multiple times, but every single one didn’t stick. The man was a slippery eel with lots of connections and deep pockets.

“So that’s why he can be sloppy,” Marcus murmured more so to himself.

He thought it was odd that the Butterfly Killer had been able to scrape by without leaving a witness or being undetected in the database with the amount of DNA traces he’d left behind. Unlike Roman, the Butterfly Killer was messy.

“He’s arrogant,” Roman spat. He had the other toothbrush in his hand, toothpaste already on it. He held it out to Marcus. “This isn’t even part of his job in the cartel. It’s hishobby.”

Marcus took the toothbrush. “And what about you?”

His stomach twisted as he started to brush his teeth. He forced himself to meet Roman’s eyes. He needed to be looking at him when Roman said this next part. He needed a reminder that Roman was just as bad as the original Butterfly Killer.

Roman stilled. Marcus started to stop brushing, but he caught himself and started again, more vigorously.

“I won’t say that what I’ve done was purely to get his attention. This sick…” His brows scrunched as he pondered his thoughts and the right choice of words. “…these desires I have are parasites. If I don’t feed them, they’ll end up controlling me.”

Marcus leaned over and spat in the sink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is that what you think happened to him? His parasite got the best of him?”

Roman frowned. “Don’t make fun of me.”

Marcus was serious. “I’m not. It’s a genuine question.”

Roman looked to the mirror like he would find the answer in his reflection.

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