Page 34 of Spiteful Heart

It was no secret that our father hated Lola. Hell, I’d hated her too, at the start. When I sat down and thought about it now, I grew angry at her—of course, I did—but that anger was now accompanied by love. Cheesy shit right there, but I couldn’t change it.

“What are you two doing here?” our father demanded.

“If you would still have your phone, we wouldn’t have had to come all the way out here to ask,” Sylvester pointed out, “but we’re having… issues with another serial killer.”

Taking his wine glass up to his lips, our father took a long swig. Pretty sure you weren’t supposed to gulp wine down by the mouthful, but then again, I wasn’t much of a wine guy, myself. “Why come to me? Why not go to the serial killer you two are sharing like some high schooler’s porn-infused sexual fantasy?”

I just barely was able to resist telling him off, and I could tell Sylvester was struggling to remain calm as well. My brother managed to say, “We’ve been trying to get him for a while now, but no matter what we do, he refuses to be caught. We think he knows how we operate. He’s been good at dropping the bodies of his victims where the police won’t get to them right away. He’s left multiple bodies in the warehouses, and on the Beast’s territory.”

“I’m assuming there’s more to this besides him leaving bodies where you don’t want them,” our father said, and he was right. Bodies were common in our city; with the rate of crime and all the higher-ups in someone’s pocket, new bodies were being discovered all the time.

“He’s stalking Lola,” I muttered. “He sent her a head and a tape.”

He chuckled at that. “A tape, you say? You’ve heard his voice?” When both Sylvester and I nodded, he went on, “You say he’s stalking your killer. You sure he hasn’t sent anyone else a tape?”

“Not that we know of,” Sylvester said. “We’re at a dead end trying to find this guy. I was hoping you’d have a new idea, or maybe you’d know who he could be—right now I’m looking at Newton and the Bloody Princess’s ex-driver.”

Our father shook his head at that. “No, there’s no way it’s Newton. That man wants power, and he would never put himself or the power he’s attained in jeopardy by being a serial killer.”

“That’s what we thought, but this week a body was left in the Gilded Rose, and Lola said he was acting weird,” Sylvester said.

“Just because he was acting weird doesn’t mean it’s him.” He rubbed his cheek, his new beard. “And this driver… what evidence do you have it’s him?”

I rolled my eyes. “Nobody but Lola likes the guy. Something’s wrong with him. Somethinghasto be wrong with him.” And if nothing was wrong with him, then… just… damn. If he wasn’t hiding a secret life, he was lamer than I thought.

Our father didn’t appear impressed. “Simply because you don’t like him doesn’t mean he’s your killer. You both know that. I hope you didn’t drive all the way out here just because you needed to hear me say that.” The chair he sat on creaked as he leaned his weight back in it, and he divided his stare between Sylvester and me. “What are the facts?”

“He’s been killing for a few weeks now,” Sylvester said. “Young women. Always pretty ones. We know he beats them before he kills them—he also rapes them. He’s very violent. He’s taken to cutting their necks so deeply the heads are typically severed. The past two bodies, however, he’s also mutilated their faces.”

“How?” our father asked, never one to shy away from the gruesome details.

I spoke, “He cut their lips and cheeks off. It makes the heads look like Lola’s mask.” I didn’t know how much of the mask my father ever saw, but it was a fact we couldn’t ignore. “And the tape he sent her… it said he was doing this because of her. He admitted it’s because of her.”

“So, you’re looking for someone who hates your girl. I can’t imagine there’s a shortage of people who would like to take her down. I’m assuming this all started when she took out Bianca?”

It was Sylvester who said, “Yes, it started then, just about. Maybe a week or two after.”

Our father was quiet for a while, and he rubbed his jaw and scratched his beard, thinking. “And what have you two done to try to catch him? What have you done to find him and put a bullet in his head to end this? The last thing you should want is the FBI catching wind of this new serial killer. If they come—”

Even I knew what would happen if the FBI came. Nobody wanted that. “We know,” my brother said, interrupting him. “And we’ve tried everything. We’ve gone out every night, patrolled the streets, gone to the clubs—anywhere he might find his victims. I’ve got every man on the lookout.”

“Sounds to me you need to stop trying to find him and let him come to you” was what our father said. When neither of us said anything to that, he shrugged. “You’ve been going at it from the wrong angle, son. If he knows how you operate, nothing you do will catch him. The only thing you can do is—”

I grew irritated once again, and even the delicious food in my stomach didn’t quash the annoyance inside. “What? Give up? You think we should wave the fucking white flag and let the asshole get what he wants? Yeah, I’d bet you’d be real happy if we took a step back and let him at Lola. You’d probably throw a fucking party.”

“If you were smarter than your pride, you’d realize what I’m saying,” our father growled out, taking up an attitude with me just as I’d done to him. Hey, I guess I’d inherited my piss poor moods from him.

Glancing at Sylvester, I was met with an equally confused look. Neither of us understood what he was trying to say, and after hours in the car, the last thing I wanted to do was play charades by trying to guess what he meant.

Our father let out a loud sigh, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. “Your killer wants your girl. When you get down to it, past the bullshit, that’s what you know, so use it.”

“Use it?” I echoed, brows coming together. “What the hell do you mean, use it?” When I threw another glance my brother’s way, I saw his expression had changed, like he’d finally discovered what our father meant by it. Lucky him. Now if one of these two assholes would tell me what the fuck they were talking about, that’d be great.

His dark eyes turned to me, a scowl of epic proportions. “I mean, Maddox, use your fucking brain. I know it’s been tweaked out on booze and sex since you turned fifteen, but surely you’ve got a few brain cells still working in there.”

My fingers curled into fists on my lap, and I was this close to lunging across the table and strangling my own father when Sylvester spoke up, “You think we should give him Lola.”

He nodded, the severe glint in his gaze remaining. “If she’s who he wants, give her to him. Let him have her.” With him saying that, he probably meant just let him have her for good, but he also knew we couldn’t sit back and let the killer take her from us. “Give him the girl, and when he’s busy dealing with her, take him out. Problem solved.”

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