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“Khi, this is good. You did good, little brother. I’m proud of you and your art.” His fingers trace over the scene gently, and his eyes never leave it. It’s like he’s studying it, and before I can think, I blurt out, “I found a book in the attic.”
Dom looks at me, and a smile crosses his face, but it’s not warm at all. There’s something dark about it.
“Show me.”
That started our joint fascination with crime, well, murder really, if I’m being honest. While others would have shied away from the darkness that seemed to envelop us, Dom and I embraced it, recognizing we were all each other had and the only ones who understood the significance of our infatuation.
As we got older, our lives grew more violent, and home was like a prison. Dom got me out of the house often, and we spent that time solely together holed up in an old tree house in the woods behind our property. We studied everything we could get our hands on from the library and then stole from the local bookstore when we had exhausted that.
We went from adolescent fascinations to debating about the motives and skill that went into each killing. Was it planned? Or passion? What would we do differently, or what was an ingenious idea? It was titillating that my brother thought just like me. He may have been older, but it was like we were twin flames.
We wanted a legacy, something of our own, because Lydia and Carlos LaRue were leaving nothing to this world. Not even themselves.
It was in some old art history book I was flipping through where I saw the word. Harbinger.
A sign of violence.
We were to be the sign, and it was our job to cleanse Hazelwood of pesky annoyances, curb our appetites, and to craft elaborate and artistic crime scenes for others to fawn over.
Our bond, born of shared pain, had evolved into something far more complex than we could have predicted. The stage was set for a future that neither of us could have foreseen.
“You done staring off into space so we can get a move on? I don’t want to linger here. You know the longer we’re somewhere, the easier it is for something to happen. That’s the last fucking thing we need,” Dom yells out at me while slamming the van door shut. I guess I did zone out for a minute there, but I shake threads from our past loose so they are no longer holding me down.
I bend down to heave the bags into the container and feel the delicious twinge that smarts my backside from the rough fucking he gave me down in the lower level. I love when I can make him become unhinged. He maintains just enough control to not kill me, but his crazy matches mine.
Giving him control over me lets me finally relax…fully. Dominic, no matter what is going on, is the one I can count on. If something has gone wrong, he’ll fix it. I’ll pay for it no doubt, but he’s a constant. A pillar of unbreakable strength that I lean on time and time again.
Tossing the trash finally, I turn and walk toward Dom, planting my feet right in front of him. “Well, here I am and without any shiny new toys, so you owe me ice cream on the way home.” I pout at him. I want a brownie thunder swirly and preferably to dip his dick in it as well.
“Get the fuck in the van, and if you don’t annoy the ever-loving shit outta me on the drive home, I’ll consider the ice cream. Let’s go. I want to get the final invoice sent off so we can get paid and close up the books on this one.” Business Dommy always makes me hard. Stern voice and angry eyes. I wonder how far I can push it before he punishes my ass again. Literally.
We were more than just partners in crime and business. It was two souls intertwined by a bond stronger than the secrets we kept. The world saw us as mere brothers, oblivious to the intoxicating darkness that held us. We were a pot of shared secrets and desires that kept us both feeling exhilarated. As we left the scene we had cleaned, the lingering traces of our deeds seemed to hang in the air, a reminder of the dual lives we lead.
“Oooo, I love it when you use your Daddy voice on me. Maybe you need to show me who’s boss again?” I push his buttons, antagonizing him on purpose because when he snaps, it causes my blood to heat to uncontrollable levels.
It’s been too long since we’ve had someone in our sights that I’m fiending for it. I want to paint the walls red and decorate the furniture in a macabre setting that will tantalize and torture. I am the artist, and Dom is the mastermind but also my muse. Everything I do is to feel that sweet praise that will slip out of his mouth as he bites the side of his lip, contemplating if he should throw me down and fuck me now or later.
“I should just kill you now and save myself the headache of having to deal with you.” He rolls his eyes at me as we climb into our respective sides. He’s always the driver, unable to give up control to me even in this simple task. I can’t complain because I love being taken care of by Dom. I always have. And in turn, I take care of him in my own ways.
“You could do that, but you won’t. You like fucking me too damn much, so nice try.” I wiggle into my seat, pulling the seatbelt across my lap. Quietness is all that meets me, and we pull out of the Westin Hills property and head back toward town.
Minutes tick by, and the silence starts to get to me. Dom knows that I thrive in mayhem, a direct result of how our childhood was. I needed it as background noise, otherwise, nothing went right in my head. I’m leaning toward the dash to flick on the radio when his voice cuts through the still air.
“I do, but I have no problems embalming you and keeping your tight body as my own little fuck doll. Imagine how tight your asshole would be after rigor mortis set in. I can almost feel it strangling my cock. Or how I could remove all of your teeth and tilt your head before preserving you, so I slide in and out easily.” He shifts, and my eyes watch as his left hand readjusts the hard-on he’s now sprouting.
If I were anyone else, his words and actions would cause revulsion to hum throughout my entire body, but I, Malakhi Xavier LaRue, am a monster dressed up in a pretty package of dark hair, blue eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass.
This was like a fucking love letter.
CHAPTER3
DOM
The door swings shut behind me, muffling the sounds of the rain-soaked streets as I step inside the weathered wooden door of the dimly lit bar. The cadence of the water is swallowed up and left behind, and I instantly miss its presence. The rain is soothing to my soul, one of very few things that is. Rain and a little murder. I’m both a simple man and a complicated one.
The air inside crackles with a medley of laughter, gossip, and the smooth hum of music. I can’t pinpoint the song playing, but the melody reverberates throughout my body and seems to sync up with the anticipation weighing on my chest.
The neon signs spread out along the bar’s multiple walls start to flicker, some together and others one right after the other. The sporadic lighting casts strange, moving shadows that play across the faces of the patrons. If I were a betting man, I would say something nefarious was being foreshadowed here, but I’m the most sinister thing in this place, and my hands have not put into play anything tonight. Yet, this night, like any other, holds a promise of something different. Maybe something more profound than usual. I just can’t pinpoint what. My gut is telling me something is going to happen soon, and I need to keep my head about me. Keeping it on swivel is what’s kept Khi and me alive and out of the crosshairs of the police.
