“No, I need to eat.”

  I groaned against his neck, “You’re not going to go rabid and eat it raw, are you?”

  Aeron cocked his head to the side, “I’m disappointed that you would think I’d disrespect my food that way. Our bodies are a temple, and they should be honored as such. No, it will be prepped to perfection, as always.” He managed a small chuckle as he slipped from my embrace and headed for the stairs. “Are you staying for dinner?”

  I glanced at Samael, searching for an expression. I didn’t find any, that man was like a stone wall when it came to emotions. There was the everyday blank expression, and then there was anger.

  I wasn’t even sure I had even seen Samael smile since we were kids. Unless that one week, nearly a month ago counted after he had returned from a job, but it had been so brief that I was pretty sure I had imagined it. I turned my attention back to Aeron, who was now halfway up the stairs. “Is that a trick question?”

  Aeron offering food was never a good sign. No one ate his elaborate meat dishes, under no circumstances. Especially not in his house. “You guys can order out, although, I’d have to say the pork roast I’m making is to die for.” He giggled as if that would make it any more appetizing.

  Samael broke character, growling at Aeron, “Fucking hell, we all know that’s not pork.”

  Aeron shrugged and gestured to the kitchen. I fell in line behind Samael, knowing that we weren’t going to turn down the invitation to spend time together. It had been a while.

  I stared at one of the menus affixed to Aeron’s fridge. How thoughtful that he always had take–out menus for when we found a minute to stay over. “How about that pizza place down the street?” I directed at Samael.

  Phone pressed to his ear, Samael grabbed one of the menus and settled himself at the kitchen table. “Already on it.”

  KILLIAN

  Journalism wasn’t a profession, that’s what dad had said, it wasn’t a respectable career. It was a bunch of kids who did crack investigative work and posted pseudo–facts for popularity–pissing contests.

  Growing up with a lead detective as a father, though, wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. He was rarely home and when he was, he was always distracted; or too tired to tune into family affairs. I’d rather be in those popularity–pissing contests than end up like him.

  Then again, I didn’t completely disagree with him. My job barely paid for my slightly bigger–than–a–closet studio apartment which couldn’t be legal given the size and lack of adequate lighting.

  Add in the fact that I’d seen some of the nasty underhanded tricks my coworkers had pulled to get intel for a front–page story and I was beginning to wonder if my “dream” was worth all the trouble.

  Still, the wild news stories didn’t report themselves. My dream had always been to focus on crime reporting, but my chances had been slim to none when I decided to use my mother’s maiden name after she passed away.

  No one knew who the fuck I was, despite having one of the most powerful men in the city as my father. I didn’t want to use him as a crutch—although I certainly could have—and then I wouldn’t have been in this shitty apartment without a penny to my name.

  Even the trust fund that I’d had access to since I was 18 remained untouched; I refused to give my father the satisfaction of accepting his help.

  An irritated sigh left me as my shoulders deflated and I poured over the loose papers spread across the tattered mattress I called a bed. It was a step up from sleeping on the floor, barely.

  Pictures were mixed among them, pictures that gave most people nightmares; not me though. I’d always been a little intrigued by the debauchery that surrounded me, spending more time fascinated by the crazies and the crime, rather than avoiding it.

  Some part of me fed off the doom and gloom in my life, living it, breathing it, demanding it. It was one of the more annoying itches that I needed scratched.

  The growing unrest in my head wasn’t all that surprising though. Hyzophrenic Manic Disorder or HMD ran in the family on my mother’s side. A mixture of paranoia, split personalities, and the inability to decipher right from wrong was in my future. Yay me.

  I was constantly warring with the darkness swirling around in my head, as it threatened to shove me in the background and take hold of my body. Keeping it stuffed deep in my subconscious wasn’t healthy, but I was surviving.

  My stomach growled, vying for my attention but I ignored that too, knowing I had nothing to satisfy it with until tomorrow morning’s free breakroom muffins. They usually tasted like shit, but it was sustenance. My tabby cat, Lucy, wandered over, slurping up the remains of day–old milk from a cereal bowl I had neglected to toss in the trash.

  She meowed unhappily at her empty food bowl and then trotted back to me, sprawling across the foot of my bed. I had little else to give her and while I forced myself to eat the muffins at work, I hated subjecting my baby to that.

  I groaned as the unrest inside my head whined for fresh air. I wasn’t a fan of the hold this darkness had on my life, taking over with such confidence that I could do nothing but wait it out. I adjusted my cock in my pants uncomfortably, knowing that that too was another issue I had no way of relieving; at least not to the extent that I needed.

  Some depraved part of me was turned on by the darker shit unraveling in this city.

  I focused my attention on the documents again, intrigued by the endless chaos ripping through the streets. I’d have to be satisfied with studying gruesome crime stories tonight. And yet still, my body jittered with the anticipation of going out and spending the night doing things I would be too embarrassed to repeat aloud.

  No, no, I couldn’t even entertain those thoughts. The last time I succumbed to that, I ended up halfway across town with no memories of the orgy I had taken part in. I wasn’t even mad that I’d been a part of an orgy.

  It was that I didn’t fucking remember it. That part of my life revolved around chaos, sex, and alcohol, which was great, but I needed to support myself and those whimsical adventures ended up draining my attempts at moving out of this shithole.

  Our little city, Primrose, tucked into the small northern corner of Maryland, was no Gotham, but it might as well have been. Three Terrors had taken over Primrose basically overnight a few years ago.

  The Skinner—a serial killer who seemed to relish in torturing his victims by skinning them alive and leaving a statement of carnage in its wake. Organs were nearly always missing and sometimes most of the body itself, to the horror of Primrose residents that stumbled upon the victim.

  The Cannibal—a beast rumored to exist based on the organs missing a few well-drawn up character profiles by the precinct. Missing bodies and victims of The Skinner occasionally turned up as mere skeletal remains, as if someone had stripped off the flesh the way a butcher would discard the leftover pieces of a pig.

  The King—a faceless ruler of all underground ventures. A ruthless force that took what he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted.

  No one had seen any of their faces. No one knew who they were. No one had any clues.

  Unlike Gotham though, we didn’t have our own Batman to save the day.

  I managed a tired chuckle. Instead, you have your father’s crack police force that enacts curfews, strict guidelines, and offers rewards for tips.

  My dad’s attempt at cleaning up the city was a desperate one and it had hardly slowed the Terrors down. A midnight curfew was a lame strategy, but that meant that the unrest in my head hardly ever got out to play; not that I was complaining. It always got into shit and left me to fix it in the morning.

  I’d love to meet them.

  See? Twisted fuck! “Fuck that,” I grunted aloud, “We’re not getting anywhere near them.” But it was only a matter of time until the voice in my head tried something a little less… legal.

  I wonder if they’re hot.

  I brushed off the comment, biting my lip, as my mind raced a mile a minute. I had a hunch that The Three Terrors weren’t exactly separate in their endeavors. Primrose wasn’t big enough for three separate forces of evil.

  Dad had balked at my idea, telling me that while some people were inherently evil, working together without leaving any traces behind was impossible. If only he knew about the darkness I tried so hard to hide…

  Would you quit biting your lip? Do you know what that does to our appearance?

  “Shut it.” I was instantly glad that I lived alone. There was no healthy explanation for what appeared to be a full one–sided conversation. “We’re not going to the club anytime soon, so it doesn’t matter.” Not to mention that my choice of partners thought my lip–biting was rather cute.

  Why not? We had fun a few weeks ago.

  “Because you fucking spent all my money! And that thing you did—fuck.”

  Another chuckle slipped through my lips and for once I wished the thing inside my head was real so that I could punch it in the dick. Maybe if it couldn’t use it, I wouldn’t end up in so much trouble.

  But, K, you liked it.

  I couldn’t win with this bitch. After all, that voice, that part of my subconscious was just me. It was my confidence and crazy personified. If it liked something, so did I; but I’d never inherently ask for it.

  My eyes flicked up to the nonsense running on the TV screen. The device was nearly 20 years old, and I had to smack it and move the antennas into strange positions to catch the stolen signal from next door. I kept the news on in the background, the constant hum of crime drowning out the noises beyond my thin walls.

  A young crime reporter shifted awkwardly onscreen, gripping her mic in one hand, and fidgeting with the bottom hem of her shirt with the other. She didn’t seem like she had chosen the right profession, her petite frame shaking uncontrollably as she failed to mask her emotions.

  Terror was plastered on her face as she stood mere feet away from a body, detectives and crime scene technicians swarming the scene, illuminated by large light fixtures posted around the area to keep away the early morning darkness.

  I wasn’t even sure what ungodly hour it was. The body was covered with a white sheet, but I could tell from her expression that she had seen the carnage that lay beneath it.

  I snorted as I tuned into her shaky voice, the unrest clawing at my subconscious, itching to get out. Why did the voice Inside my head find all of this dark, depraved shit such a turn–on? I palmed my dick through my pants absentmindedly, a deep groan slipping through my lips.

  See? You want it too. Let’s go out and play.

  I tugged at my crotch again, refusing to play into his antics. “Back in the box, bitch.” It didn’t respond with a snarky comment this time. Lucy rubbed up against my leg, purring, but I ignored her pleas for more food. One look at that pitiful face and I’d never be able to squash the guilt constantly swirling around in my chest.

  "Another body was found by Primrose Lake at 1 am this morning. Right now, the police force is trying to identify the body and pick up—” My gaze zoned in on the crime scene behind her, wondering if they should have left off the lights to save viewers from the gruesome carnage of a killer gone rogue. Still, something was… off about it.

  At a glance, this one didn’t fit any of The Three’s MOs, even with The Cannibal’s rumored body disposals. I had studied his work enough to know that the scenes he left behind were from a man who was desperate to satisfy a darker desire.

  The crime scene on the screen was akin to a demonstration. There had been a purpose behind the carnage, a lesson to be learned which meant there was a new killer in town—a new player.

  That definitely wouldn’t sit well with the public, yet another terror running free throughout the streets. In fact, that voice inside was nearly vibrating with excitement.

  The thought of more unbridled chaos ripping through this shithole? I couldn’t help the upward curl of my lips either as an unleashed sense of anticipation rushed through me.

  AERON

  I knew Slash was watching as I sliced through the loin on my plate, but I didn’t mind. I liked when he watched, and I knew he was drooling. I was hardly an amateur cook and I prided myself in the food that I made, even if it wasn’t to…everyone else’s liking.

  I gathered a bit of mashed potatoes and three green beans onto my fork, coating them in a little gravy and then stuffed the entirety into my mouth. A perfect combination. I resisted the urge to moan.

  I knew that that would have been the last straw between these men.

  Samael tapped incessantly on the table to draw Slash’s attention away from me, “You keep staring at him, his ticks will start again. You know he likes being watched.”

  I snorted; Samael knew me well. My ticks—or rather my exhibitionist streak—were part of everything I did. The longer someone watched, the more inclined I felt to show off. I had freaked Slash out on more than one occasion with my strange habits, but it was his fault for staring.

  Slash tore his eyes away from my plate, “It’s freaky, it looks so fucking good. Like, what the fuck? It makes me wanna fuck him into the mattress like we used to.”

  I quickly swallowed to avoid choking, cutting off a bite-sized piece and leaning my fork towards Slash, ignoring his comment—as did Samael apparently, despite my cock twitching at the thought. “It’s just a different type of meat. You’re welcome to try some.”

  All three of us had at some point shared a bed, but soon found that we were all a little too Alpha to indulge in those desires. It was a shame; I thought both of these men sitting at my table were gorgeous specimens.

  I feasted on the men the world rarely saw; the rawest form of their personalities prevalent at my kitchen table. Slash was always immaculately dressed, dark colors formfitting his body to accentuate the lean muscles beneath, veins twisting around his arms and hands.

  His slim, yet powerful fingers made me remember just how sensual they were with each touch. His gaze was terrifying and intense, eliciting emotions that most people tried to keep buried.

  Where Slash exuded confidence and sinister intentions, Samael embodied brute strength and a lethal aura that had most people withering in his presence. Broad shoulders and dark eyes full of pain and anger added to that persona, not to mention his fucking hands were so thick they made mine look like a child’s. And yet, these men were everything I wanted, everything I needed.

  Slash grimaced and shoved my hand back toward my plate, bringing me back to the present. “Stop asking. I’m never going to say yes. We all have our thing. This is yours and only yours.”

  I nodded, returning my attention to my plate with a playful grin. This food would not go to waste. I would make sure of it. However, the scent of stale cheese and old bread was messing with my creation.

  Their choice of dinner was anything but delectable. I should have given them a choice of one of the other pizza places around the corner. But they seemed to enjoy this one, and it was the only joint open at this time of night, so I left it alone.

  Slash’s gaze lingered on my plate again, before he leaned forward, “Did you see the news?” Eye contact was rare with Slash. He enjoyed watching as well, but he reserved eye contact for intimidation, a skill that wasn’t needed at the moment.

  Samael answered with his usual grunt, but I was more than intrigued. I had heard about it earlier this evening as the news replayed the same story on repeat—one ignorant fucker had dropped a body by the lake. However, that body had to have been placed because no one in Primrose was stupid enough to be outside at that time of night. Not with us roaming around.

  “Yeah, any news on who’s out there dropping bodies?” I spoke, stuffing yet another bite in my mouth, relishing the way everything melted on my tongue. Just one moan couldn’t hurt, right? It was a compliment to the chef, after all, even if it was my own creation.

  But I knew that everyone was on edge and while Slash had some restraint, I’m not sure Samael would refrain from fucking me against my kitchen table without so much as another thought. We occasionally succumbed to our more animalistic instincts, using each other to fill our basic needs, but those times were rare, very rare.

  Feelings went deeper than friends with benefits; family, but not by blood. And yet, we were all too damaged and bullheaded to discuss anything other than our sinister wiles.

  I clamped my mouth shut and thought about the newest crime scene. Sure, it was just one body, but it was only a matter of time before more bodies started showing up around the city if this killer wasn’t taken care of. Killing, as Slash explained it, was a freeing experience and no one ever just stopped at one. None of us needed that kind of attention.

  Slash shrugged, scrolling through his phone. He squinted a few times, cocked his head to the side, and then returned the device to the table. “No idea. It’s clean.” Interest flashed through Samael’s expression, but he didn’t question Slash’s assessment.

  I pushed myself from the table, carrying my plate to the sink. “Must have happened pretty late if no one saw anything.”

  With the recently mandated curfews, only people with nothing else to live for would be caught outside after dark. Crime had risen to an all–time high after individuals began realizing that the police were no closer to catching us three than when they had started, which also meant the scene was less than a few hours old.

  Samael broke his silence, “The police don’t have much to go on. The body is barely identifiable, but the killer didn’t leave anything behind.”

  I frowned and twisted around to face both of them as I washed my plate. “Is that even possible?” Samael once again had procured information that most detectives wouldn’t have had access to.

  We never had to ask where each other gathered their information from—our day just made way for that—but sometimes I had to wonder how Samael was always in the know. A clean kill was rare for an amateur, which meant that it was likely another professional had just shown up in Primrose.

  I searched their expressions, hoping to find answers but there were none. This was new to all three of us. Slash pushed away from the table, dusting his fingers over his plate, crumbs tumbling onto the surface. “Don’t look at me. They can’t even identify the body and they won’t be able to discover a motive until then. Whoever did this, knows exactly what they’re doing. The kicker is that the lungs are missing.”

 

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