Unhinged, page 15
“Are you feeling better?” Adam asked, kissing his cheek, then his ear and his shoulder. There was no heat to it, no promise of something more.
Noah gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Good,” Adam said before rolling onto his back, stretching with enough force for Noah to hear his joints crack. “Wanna shower with me and go get breakfast before I head to my dad’s?”
“You have to go to your dad’s?” Noah asked, that feeling of unease creeping closer.
“I dropped the hard drive for Calliope last night when I was getting the candy rations. She downloaded it this morning. It’s every bit as horrific as we thought it would be. But it’s…recent. She’s trying to identify the victim and has isolated the faces of those who participated, and she’s running them through facial recognition programs. My father doesn’t anticipate any problems running down their identities. He wants to put together some sort of strategy for eliminating them. We’ve never gone after this many people in one go. If we’re not careful, somebody might start putting the pieces together.”
Noah waited for the horror to overtake him once more, but it didn’t. There was only that vague sick feeling of too much pizza and vodka. “I want to go with you.”
Adam twisted onto his side, one hand propping up his head and the other resting on Noah’s belly. “What? No. I don’t want you triggering yourself again.”
Noah shook his head vehemently. “I’m fine. I’m good. There’s still a chance that some of those men could be the same men…from when it was me. Those impulses don’t just go away with age, and after a decade of not being caught, I imagine these guys are pretty cocky, like you said.”
Adam studied Noah’s face like he was searching for the right answer. “My whole family is going to be there. Well, minus Aiden. I don’t know if you’re ready for six of my family members at once.”
Noah shrugged, propping himself up, mirroring Adam’s pose. “If I’m yours—just yours—like you say I am, aren’t I going to have to meet them all eventually?” A thought struck Noah like a physical blow. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Adam frowned, then leaned forward to press his forehead to Noah’s. “Nothing is going to change my mind.”
Noah flopped backwards. “You didn’t sign up for my mental breakdown.”
“I didn’t sign up to be a member of a family of killers either. I didn’t sign up to drag my brother Archer out of a thousand bars or the twins out of kink clubs or sit through a handful of boring lectures about cell regeneration in rats or quantum physics,” Adam said. “I did sign up for you. I chose you. Mental breakdown and all. Eventually, you’re going to see that I have my own kind of breakdowns…and mine sometimes end with a body count.”
“But only people who deserve it, right?” Noah asked.
Adam nodded. “The code is non-negotiable. My father would put one of us down for breaking it. He says once we cross that line, we can’t go back.”
“Put you down? Kill you?” Noah asked, that icy feeling in his belly returning once more.
Adam didn’t seem even remotely fazed by the thought of his father killing him for breaking some arbitrary code he’d created.
“We’re only useful to society if we follow the code. If we turn our backs on it, then we can’t be trusted. We become the monsters. My father will act accordingly. And my brothers will help.”
“Jesus.”
Adam grinned. “Still want to meet the family?”
Did he? Part of him had no interest in meeting four more people who would treat him the way Asa and Avi had, but he also needed to know. He needed to figure out who had done those things to him and probably other children. If that meant putting himself in the Mulvaney family’s cross hairs then that was what he needed to do. He wasn’t leaving Adam—not ever—and if Adam came with a family of psycho killers…so be it.
By the time Adam and Noah left the house, it was well past noon. Breakfast became brunch as they both nursed mild hangovers, though Noah was far worse off than Adam. He kept his sunglasses on, even in the shade of the patio, nursing black coffee like he was the psychopath.
They were receiving plenty of furtive glances from other patrons, but it was hard to say whether it was simply because they recognized Adam as a Mulvaney or if they were just observing two clearly hungover individuals. Either way, they kept their distance, and Adam did his best to focus on Noah and whatever he needed.
Apparently, what he needed was a stack of pancakes taller than he was and greasy bacon barely cooked. Adam ordered French toast coated in syrup and powdered sugar, though he spent more time watching Noah take down the intimidating amount of food than he did actually enjoying his own.
“Why are you just staring at me?” Noah finally asked, his tone suspicious, pancake-filled fork frozen halfway to his mouth.
Adam smirked at him. “I like looking at you?”
Noah smiled like he couldn’t help himself. “I look like shit today.”
“Still pretty, though,” Adam countered, watching a blush spread across Noah’s cheeks.
“Are all psychopaths this good at flirting?” Noah asked, his tone suggesting he was only half kidding.
“Honestly? Yes. That’s why people always talk about how charming serial killers are. We’re very good at pretending to be people. But it’s all acting. Most of the time, we don’t mean a thing we say. But, in this case, I’m telling the truth. I like the way your face is put together. Your brown eyes, your freckles, your lips. It makes me happy to look at you.”
“Oh, my God, stop,” Noah said around a laugh, covering half his face with his hand. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“I know. You’re turning pink,” Adam said, leaning back to better look at him.
Noah removed his sunglasses, dropping them on the table. Adam saw the cameras come out then, knew people couldn’t resist photographing and recording the two of them and how in love they appeared.
Adam wished he was capable of loving somebody. If he could love anybody, it would be Noah. Just Noah. But he couldn’t. He could only protect him and spoil him and give him lots of pancakes and orgasms. He hoped that was enough. He hoped Noah never changed his mind because, the truth was, he wasn’t letting him go. He couldn’t. But he’d already warned Noah of that. He just hoped he’d taken the warning to heart.
“Be prepared for another onslaught of followers and tags on Instagram,” he murmured, without looking over at the amateur paparazzi.
“Why do they only catch us when I look like death and you look hot?” Noah asked.
“One: you always look hot, and two: because I have a habit of feeding you when you’re sad.”
“Will you still want me when I’m fat and happy?”
Adam gave him another smirk, popping an entire piece of bacon into his mouth at once, chewing and swallowing before he said, “We’ll get fat together.”
Noah laughed. “I could be down with that, but I think your fans would cry.”
Adam’s smile faded as he leaned in close. “Fuck them. Fuck everybody but you. Yours is the only opinion that matters. So, don’t change your mind about me. Okay?”
There was no missing the threat in Adam’s tone, but Noah’s gaze was solid when he said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Adam reclined once more. “Good.”
They finished eating and Adam paid the check. On the road, Noah synced his phone to the Rover’s sound system, sharing his love of eighties music with Adam, pleased when he was familiar with the songs.
“My dad was big on eighties music. He was raised on it, so we were, too,” Adam said.
Noah smiled. “My foster mom, Leslie, loved all things eighties. Her clothes, her makeup. Her hair was blonde and teased into a wave on top of her head. It was the same as it was in her high school yearbook picture. She taught me all about pop music and hair bands. Michael Jackson and Tiffany. Poison. Bon Jovi. I loved being at her house. It was always a party. Cake for breakfast, surprise road trips to the beach, skipping school to stay home and watch movies on the couch.”
“Why didn’t you get to stay with her?” Adam asked.
Noah looked out the window. “She died. Drug overdose. She was addicted to pills. Oxy, morphine, fentanyl. She had bipolar disorder but nobody knew until later. They said she was self medicating. I was too young to really notice how all over the place she was, barely twelve. I just thought she was fun, you know?”
Adam took Noah’s hand and squeezed. Adam really had made Noah’s life so much harder when he killed his father. Maybe Thomas should start paying closer attention to the collateral damage they left behind. It wasn’t the kids’ fault their parents were monsters.
When they pulled into the driveway of Adam’s house, Noah’s eyes bulged at the palatial estate with its enormous garage and sprawling gardens. “This is one person’s house?”
Adam chuckled. “It is now. For a while, it housed me and my brothers, three very specialized nannies, four housekeepers, a chef, a martial arts instructor, the occasional weapons expert, and, once, even a professional knife thrower.”
“Your dad ran a boarding school for assassins,” Noah mused.
Adam had never thought about it. He’d definitely had a bizarre upbringing, but, like Noah said, it wasn’t something he noticed until it became obvious. “Something like that, yeah.”
Adam took Noah’s hand before he pushed open the front door. They only made it about ten steps in the door when Noah’s footsteps slowed, his head on a swivel, as he seemed to take in the vaulted ceilings and ornate furnishings.
Adam dragged him along.
“It seems weird that you can just walk into a place this big without having to knock or talk to a person at a check-in desk. What does your electric bill look like? How do you even find your way around this place? Is there a map like at the mall or like the one in the Harry Potter books? Doesn’t it freak you out? Like, somebody could be living in this place for weeks and you probably wouldn’t even know it. Like, that doesn’t freak you out? This place looks haunted. Do you think it’s haunted? Have you ever seen a ghost?”
Adam grinned at Noah’s rambling, not bothering to answer the questions as he didn’t seem to need Adam’s contribution to the conversation.
“You have two swimming pools? Who needs two pools in one house? Your dad lives alone. Does he just get up in the morning and look at one pool and be like, ‘Nah, not this one,’ and go to the other? Two kitchens, too? And a kitchen outside? What does somebody do with an oven outside? Decide to bake a turkey poolside? Is that a golf course?”
Adam laughed. “There’s a bowling alley, too. And a shooting range.”
“Shut up,” Noah marveled.
“You’re welcome to use any part of the house any time you want. It’s my house, too.”
Noah shook his head. “No, thank you. This place is too big. It gives me anxiety, like I’d get lost and be doomed to wander the halls forever trying to find the exit.”
Adam wrapped his arms around him from behind as they looked out over the bigger of the two swimming pools. “How did I never notice how weird you are?”
Noah craned his head back to look up at him. “Your dad has a shooting range…in his house…and I’m the weird one? Maybe you’re just a spoiled brat.”
“Oh, I definitely am. It’s my job. Adam Mulvaney, spoiled youngest son of Thomas Mulvaney. Former model turned unrepentant playboy. Bedding actors and rich boys, wrecking cars, and spending money on dumb shit.”
“Sounds like a really hard life,” Noah mused.
Before he could respond, a voice rang out. “Adam.”
He spun around at his father’s voice, bringing Noah with him. His father wore a pair of tailored pants and a white oxford shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. Even in his fifties, Adam’s father was striking, with silver black hair, gray eyes, and tan skin. He stopped short as his gaze fell to Noah.
“Dad. This is Noah.”
Thomas flicked his gaze to Noah, then back to Adam. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing somebody with you.”
“I told Atticus. And it’s not just somebody. It’s Noah. I told you about him.”
His father shot another irritated look at Noah then turned on his heel. “Let’s go. You’ve wasted enough time. You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”
Adam stood, blinking, shocked at his father’s rudeness. What the hell was his problem? His gaze cut to Noah, who seemed sad at his father’s casual dismissal but looked almost like he’d expected it. Still, he squeezed Adam’s hands that were still wrapped around his waist.
“We should probably get in there. Unless you think I should wait out here?”
“No. You have every right to be here. I don’t know what my father’s problem is, but it’s his problem, not ours.”
The meetings always took place in the locked room downstairs, accessible only with the keypad at the door. His brothers were already gathered. Asa and Avi perched on the large table, and Archer, August, and Atticus sat in the chairs. There were several pictures tacked up on the board, faces only.
When they entered, all eyes went to Noah. None of them looked surprised, so Atticus must have already broken the news that Adam was bringing him.
“Oh, are we allowed to bring strangers down here now?” Atticus asked. “You would never let Kendra down here and we were together for three years.”
“Kendra would have had us all on TMZ getting carted out in handcuffs,” Adam snapped. “Besides, Noah already knows about us.”
Archer gave Noah a calculating once-over. “How is that, by the way? How is it this stranger knows all our secrets?”
“I’m great at connecting dots,” Noah said, giving Archer the same cold stare he was getting.
“He’s not a stranger,” Adam snapped.
“You’ve known him for less than a week. That’s the definition of stranger,” August said drolly.
Adam’s skin began to crawl, heat flaring in his belly and radiating outward. “We’ve known each other for weeks.”
“You’ve been stalking him for weeks,” August clarified. “Hardly the same thing.”
“If you count the time I stalked him, we’ve been in each other’s lives for almost two years,” Noah countered, gaze defiant.
Archer snorted. “Two years? You’ve had a tail for two years and you never noticed? Are we really just going to sweep that under the rug?”
“Enough. Let’s just get to work identifying these men,” his father said, seeming far more impatient than usual.
“Of course, the baby gets away with murder,” Asa said.
“Don’t you all get away with murder?” Noah quipped.
Avi snickered. “We’d have been strictly clean up crew for a year if we’d had that sort of fuck up.”
Adam’s whole body flushed hot as his rage built. “They’re going to be cleaning your blood out of the fucking carpet if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Adam promised.
“Adam. Enough!” his father shouted.
Adam shot a startled look at his father. He never yelled. “He started it,” he mumbled, flicking off Atticus.
Thomas raised a hand, expression taut. “Not another word unless it’s about that board.”
Adam fell into a padded leather office chair, pulling Noah down into his lap, earning another disgusted sound from Atticus, who glared at Noah like it was Noah who’d harmed Atticus and not the other way around.
“These are the players we’ve identified so far. Conan Greevey, who was already on our radar according to Calliope.” His father paused and gave Adam a stern look. “And this guy is Paul Anderson.”
“He’s a cop,” Noah said, voice dull.
“What?” Adam asked. “Do you remember him?”
Noah gave a stilted nod, voice trembling. “He was there. In uniform. My father used to say if I didn’t behave, Officer Paul was going to take me to jail.”
Adam’s rage was a living, breathing thing inside him, a wolf pacing its cage, looking for somewhere to direct its anger.
Thomas nodded. “He’s a detective now, about to be made captain.”
Noah’s only response was a forced exhalation of breath, like Thomas’s words were a physical blow. Adam tightened his grip on Noah, as if he could somehow absorb some of his pain through touch.
“If cops are actively participating, it makes sense why their little pedo ring has never been found out,” Atticus said.
“You want us to kill a cop?” Asa asked. “Isn’t that risky?”
August shrugged. “Being a cop is a dangerous job. Accidents happen, convicts want revenge. We can stage the crime scene, frame the narrative to read any way we like. A dead cop is probably a much easier sell than most.”
“Conan Greevey, on the other hand, has friends in high places. He rolls with city council members, district attorneys, the archdiocese.”
“The man in the lower left corner is a priest,” Noah said. “He liked to make me call him Father…during. Was into role playing. He wore his collar.”
“Christ,” Thomas said, writing the word priest over the man’s head with a sharpie.
“So, we’ve got a cop and a priest and a youth sports director with friends in high places. This is way bigger than we thought. You get that, right?” Adam asked his father. “This could become a problem.”
Archer spun in his chair. “It’s only our problem because you made it our problem.”
“Yeah, we’re not your boyfriend’s personal hit squad,” Atticus added. “I think we should scrap the whole project.”
Adam exploded from his chair, taking Noah with him, stomping towards Atticus. Noah jumped in front of him, hands on his chest, scrambling to walk backwards as Adam continued to advance on his brother. Atticus had this ass whooping coming for years, the smug piece of shit. Atticus was now also on his feet, calmly removing his glasses like he found Adam tedious.
