Psycho by Onley James

“You want us to babysit your new boyfriend? The former FBI agent?”

August glowered at his brother, but before he could justify his statement, Noah blurted, “We’d love to.”

The look on Adam’s face told August the ‘we’ in the statement was subjective. He had no doubt Noah wanted to get a look at Lucas, to see what exactly it was about him that drew August to him. If he could’ve just sent Noah, he would have, but that wasn’t an option.

Adam would never let Noah go alone, no matter how capable he was of taking care of himself. It was like Adam was sure Noah would make a run for it if they didn’t spend every waking moment together. No matter how obvious it was that Noah was just as cow-eyed over Adam.

It didn’t escape August’s attention that Lucas was also capable of defending himself, but—unlike Noah—Lucas had a very obvious Achilles heel. Just touching that Post-it note had crippled him and left him in agony. If that had happened in Kohn’s presence, he could have done anything to Lucas. Anything.

Just the thought set August’s blood on fire. Seeing Lucas like that had made August feel helpless and enraged. He was going to take his time with Kohn. He wanted him to suffer in every conceivable way and had spent the entire day fantasizing about Kohn’s face contorting in agony. August might even make an exception with him, leaving his headphones out just to hear him scream.

Logically, August understood Kohn had only managed to get to Lucas because he’d caught him off guard. But emotionally, it infuriated August to think this Kohn could come for Lucas. August’s Lucas. But August didn’t mind making an example of Laurence Kohn. He’d put his insides on the outside and leave him hanging for all the world to see what happened when they came for someone who belonged to him.

Kohn was testing Lucas, playing with him before he killed him. It didn’t matter. Kohn wasn’t long for this world. But, in the meantime, August had to keep Lucas safe until he was finished with tonight’s assignment.

August usually looked forward to his kills. He’d been looking forward to ridding the world of this particular fucking menace for a long while. It had taken months to vet them and, now that they had, Thomas wanted it handled immediately—wanted August to handle it immediately—before they hurt somebody else.

His father wasn’t like August and his brothers. He was the beating heart of their family. Archer said he was the bleeding heart of their family, the one who had a personal stake in every kill, who somehow needed to heal himself with each kill. None of them knew what had happened to Thomas to make him the way he was, but they all knew there had to have been some kind of…incident that had prompted it, prompted him to adopt a bunch of mentally unstable children and train them before turning them loose on the worst of humanity. Nobody just woke up one day and decided to create their own Avengers squad without provocation.

“You’re really into him, huh?” Noah asked, dragging August from his thoughts.

“He’s…perfect,” August said.

Adam flopped back on the couch, body curling with laughter. “Who are you right now?”

“I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question.”

Adam scoffed. “Yeah, nobody’s perfect, bro, not even Noah.”

August cut his eyes to his brother, jaw muscle throbbing. “He’s perfect for me.”

“Stop teasing him,” Noah warned, giving Adam a hard look that had him going from laughing to sulking in six seconds flat.

“Why does everybody baby you?” Adam asked August, as if it was his doing. “Like, you’re smarter and meaner than all of us and they all act like you’re one insult away from crying yourself to sleep listening to, like…Celine Dion or something.”

August sniffed, feeling a little huffy himself. “There’s nothing wrong with Celine Dion.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “You and your pop divas, dude. It’s pathological.”

“Can you watch him or not?” August said, anger edging into his tone.

Adam’s mouth curled into a sly smile. “Yeah, okay, we’ll watch him if you acknowledge that it’s weird that you want us to watch your cop boyfriend. Like, I need you to acknowledge that…out loud.”

August shook his head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to us,” Noah said gently.

Adam was right—the whole family did talk to him like they were hostage negotiators attempting to talk him into releasing hostages. Why had he never noticed that before? Was he really that…scary? He knew some people found him jarring and blunt. The way people hid their thoughts and feelings behind a blanket of politeness had always seemed far worse than whatever brutal truth they could tell.

But Thomas had assured him it wasn’t true, that his Aspergers and psychopathy blunted him from the damage his words and actions caused others. August could only trust that Thomas told the truth.

August dropped onto the opposite end of the sofa. “The man who’s after him, he knows about Lucas’s…gift. He’s using it to hurt him.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “The psychic thing? Again? Do you really believe in that shit?” Adam asked.

“It’s not psychic shit. It’s psychometry. He has to touch things to pick up impressions. And I know he’s telling the truth because I’ve tested him. I’ve also seen what happens when his gifts take him by surprise. Kohn has learned to…manipulate Lucas’s talents, imprinting feelings and images on items and leaving them for Lucas to find accidentally. He’s playing with him.”

Adam scoffed. “Sounds like your boyfriend has a type.”

“I would never do that,” August snapped.

“We know you wouldn’t,” Noah soothed, glaring daggers at Adam. “Your brother is just being a dick for no fucking reason. We’ll go hang out with Lucas until you get there, just in case something unexpected happens. You don’t have to worry.”

August felt the knot in his chest ease. “Thank you. He leaves work at four. If you could maybe follow him home, but don’t let him know you’re there.”

Adam snorted. “Seriously?”

Once more, Noah cut his eyes to Adam, giving him a look. “Yes, of course, we will.”

“Thank you,” August said again, talking directly to Noah that time.

Once he was back in his car, he called Calliope.

She answered on the second ring. “Oh, this is a treat, I never hear from you.” There was a second of hesitation, and then she hurriedly asked, “Wait. Everybody’s okay, right? You’re not calling to tell me anybody’s dead. Right?”

“What? No. Do you think I’d be the person they sent to deliver a death announcement?”

“I mean, if everybody else was dead, maybe?” she countered.

“If my family had been slaughtered, it probably wouldn’t occur to me to call anybody to tell them so.”

“Wow, I’m honored.”

It didn’t take a genius to hear the sarcasm dripping from her words. “I need a favor.”

“What’s up, buttercup?”

August should have done this yesterday, but he’d gotten…sidetracked. “I need you to do a deep dive on a man named Laurence Kohn.”

There was the sound of nails tapping over keys. “I’m assuming it‘s not the ninety-year-old Larry Kohn in a nursing home in Boca.”

August frowned. “No.”

Calliope snorted. “Well, I hope it’s not the other one because that guy’s a fucking FBI agent.”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” August assured her.

“Oh, come on. You guys are punking me, right? You can’t really be asking me to hack the FBI?”

August didn’t have time for this. “The man is a serial killer. He has an unknown partner. There’s a chance he’s actively holding and torturing women right now.”

“What am I looking for?” Calliope said around a sigh.

“Kohn is here in town. I need to know what he’s doing here, how long he intends to stay, and who he’s been in contact with while he’s been here. He’s still got a badge, so he’s either on special assignment or he’s relocated. If he’s relocated, there’s a good chance he’s already hunting women in our area.”

“What’s his MO?”

“In New Mexico, he was hunting on the reservations. Indigenous girls and women. There’s no reservation near us, but it’s clear he’s looking for vulnerable populations. So, I’d start with high risk girls. But they’re not going to be easy to track when sex workers and addicts disappear daily.”

Calliope’s voice was grim. “Yeah, I’m on it. How deep a dive do you want?”

August gripped the steering wheel hard. “When you’re done, I want you to know more about him than his proctologist.”

“Done. I’ll get back to you when I have anything.”

With that, she was gone. August felt somewhat better knowing Calliope was tracking Kohn and Adam and Noah were watching over Lucas.

He doubted Lucas would feel the same way.

* * *

August liked to think of himself as a feminist. He didn’t really care about the sex organs of who was on the other end of his wrath as long as they deserved it. And Dorothy Bryer deserved it. She was the worst kind of monster, in August’s opinion. One entrusted to care for children, both others and her own.

She looked innocent enough. If anybody saw her tied to the metal folding chair, they would most definitely think August was the bad guy. Which he was. But she was so much worse. She was sweating through her Lululemon leggings and matching crop top, her ponytail bobbing as she shouted muffled curses at him from behind her heavily duct-taped mouth.

They usually panicked when the instruments came out. That was when they knew this wasn’t something they were going to charm, bribe, or scream their way out of. They knew they’d been found out. Dorothy, though… She wasn’t scared, she was furious. She looked two seconds away from asking for August’s manager.

Just for kicks, he pulled the tape from her mouth. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

She huffed out a breath through her nose. “I said, ‘Do you have any idea who I am? Who my husband is? You’ve just kidnapped the wrong bitch, asshole.”

August did know who her husband was. Reggie Bryer. Real Estate Mogul. August knew everything about Dorothy because she documented her every thought and feeling online, using social media to garner sympathy over her sick or dead children. Lamenting her shitty genetics or terrible luck. Asking God why he would keep taking her children from her.

“Does your husband have any idea who you are?” August asked, running his fingers along the surgical instruments laid out on the sterile metal table.

There it was—the barest hint of fear, a momentary panic they could never hide no matter how devoid of feeling they might be. “Excuse me?”

August grabbed a scalpel, holding it up to the light. “Does your husband know what you did to his children? What you keep doing to his children?”

“You’re sick. How dare you bring up my children. You can’t even imagine the hell I’ve been through. My life is a nightmare.”

With that, she began to weep, real tears streaming down her face. August grabbed the other metal folding chair, loudly scraping it across the concrete before he sat before her, straddling the back as he faced her. “You can skip the theatrics, Dorothy. I’m immune to tears or crying or begging. It just gives me a headache.”

She sniffed delicately. “You’re a fucking monster.”

“I know you are, but what am I,” August chided, slowly dragging the scalpel across her cotton covered forearm. She didn’t even scream, just hissed as the blood bloomed across her snowy white top. She glared at him now, her tears disappearing as fast as they appeared. “That was expensive, you dick.”

August thought this would be fun, but Dorothy was just proving to be tedious. “Funerals are expensive, too, but you seem to love planning those. Ironic since black’s not really your color.”

She strained against the duct tape around her wrists, working them this way and that. He let her tire herself out. When she flounced back against the chair, she glowered at him. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“Why do you do it?” August asked, ignoring her question.

“Do what?”

“Kill them? Hurt them? Drown them, smother them… Why kill poor, defenseless children?”

“I didn’t! Both of my children were born sickly. No matter how many doctors they saw or treatments they tried, nothing worked. Why are you doing this to me? I was a good mother.”

“Both your children were born sick?” August asked, feigning interest.

“Yes. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t know what you’ve heard but I swear, I loved my children. I was a good mom to both of them. Please, you have to believe me.”

August jerked to his feet and he watched her recalibrate. She thought the tides had turned, that she’d somehow gotten the upper hand. He walked to the table and grabbed the small pile sitting on its surface. When he was sitting down, he held up a photo. A little girl of about four. “Is this the child you loved? The one you were such a good mother to?”

“Yes. Look at her,” she sobbed.

August tossed the picture at her, watching it flutter into her lap. “She died of an overdose of allergy medication.”

“That’s not what the coroner said,” she snapped, mouth tightening into a hard line.

“And this child? Your son, Hunter. Six years old. Did you love him, too?”

“Of course, I did.”

“Yet, you sat on his chest and held a pillow over his face.”

Her eyes grew wide, then narrowed as she sneered. “You can’t prove that.”

“Did you know there were fibers found in his throat? Something else the coroner just overlooked.”

“You’re insane.”

“Let’s say that I believed you. That you loved your two children and it was just bad luck and bad genes that took them out. Say I did believe you…”

He stood. Holding up another photo, another child. “Children have a bad habit of dying around you, Dorothy. Did they have bad genes, too? Benny Ortega, ten months old, Harry Beckett, age three, Ginger Dunnigan, age five, Flora Eckerd, age two.” As he listed each child, he tossed the picture on her lap. In all, there were ten children that they knew about, and probably several they didn’t.

She wasn’t talking any longer, just seething. She was clearly a psychopath like him. She had no guilt or remorse. She was a shark, cold and calculating. She was already trying to pivot, to plot her next move. Part of him wanted to keep playing with her. He’d thought to torture her slowly, wanting her to feel the fear and anxiety her children must have felt, betrayed by the one person they should have been able to trust above all.

But it would be unfulfilling. She was just an empty husk, barely a person. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He replaced the knife on the tray and reached into his pocket. Lucas.

“One moment,” August said to Dorothy. He swiped to answer, “What’s wrong?”

Before Lucas could say anything, Dorothy began to shout. “Help me! Help! Please, he’s a fucking murderer!”

August sighed, setting his phone down to slap the duct tape back over her mouth. She was back to violently cussing him out. She might be his first victim to chew her way past the gag.

He picked his phone up once more. “Is everything alright?”

“Why is there a woman screaming bloody murder in the background?” Lucas asked.

“Because she’s a drama queen,” August said, causing an increase in the muffled voice behind him.

“Are you…killing a woman?”

“I’m killing a child murderer who happens to be a woman. It’s the twenty-first century, darling. Equal rights and all that. Now, did you call me to yell at me for killing a woman?”

Lucas gave a huge sigh. “No. I called to yell at you for sending your brother and his boyfriend to babysit me.”

August frowned. “Why? What’s the problem? Is Adam being a dick? You get used to it, I promise.”

“It’s not that.” August noted that wasn’t a no. “I just think it’s unnecessary and more than a little embarrassing.”

“I told you this morning that I wasn’t going to leave you by yourself after what happened with that stupid Post-it note. Noah will keep my brother under control, and I’ll be there soon. She’s no fun anyway.”

A sound like a shriek tore August’s attention from Lucas, his head turning just in time to see Dorothy snag the scalpel and swing it wildly. August watched as the sleeve of his black shirt grew wet. August stepped out of her way. “Gotta go,” he said, slipping the phone back in his pocket just as Dorothy hit the ground hard.

Her ankles were still firmly tied to the folding chair’s legs. That didn’t stop her, though. She dragged the chair along as she Army crawled towards August. He cut a wide path around her, coming up behind her like he was approaching a rattlesnake. He placed one booted foot on the hand holding the scalpel, feeling a bit of excitement when she screamed. He’d probably broken her fingers.

“You know,” he started, leaning down to snatch the scalpel from her now useless fingers. “I’ve been really looking forward to our time together. I could be at home with my boyfriend right now, eating dinner and probably having sex. Instead, I came here to kill you, something I’ve fantasized about doing since I found out you even existed. But I have to be honest, you’ve really taken the fun out of this.” He put a knee into her back, yanking her head back by her ponytail. “See you in hell, Dorothy.”

“Oh, fuck y—” The scalpel cut through her skin like butter, severing her carotid artery and spraying August with warm blood. He sighed, pulling off a glove to reach into his pocket and grab his phone once more, this time dialing Adam.

“Are you almost here? I think your boyfriend hates me.”

“You are rather unlikeable. I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“Can you leave Noah with Lucas for an hour and come help me clean up a crime scene?”

Adam groaned. “That Dorothy chick? I thought you were just gonna drown her and toss her in the river?”

“Yeah, well, she turned out to be a lot more trouble than predicted.”

“They usually are,” Adam commiserated. “How bad is the clean up?”

“Arterial spray bad.”

“Oh, come on, man. I hate wet work. Call Archer. Or Atticus. He owes us after the hatchet incident.”

August rolled his eyes. Adam was so lazy sometimes. “It was a meat cleaver. Besides, Archer is still at his poker tournament in Vegas, and Atticus is introducing Dad at that Man of the Year thing.”

“How many times can Dad win that thing?” Adam grumbled.

“As long as he keeps being hot and rich. All those old ladies on the committee love him. Are you coming or not?”

“Yeah, fine. Like I said, I don’t think your new man  likes me anyway.”

August grinned. “I told you he’s smart.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in thirty. Gotta swing by Dad’s to grab the van.”

“I’ll text you my location. Oh, and tell Lucas I’ll be a little late with dessert.”

Adam didn’t respond, just groaned and disconnected the phone. August grimaced as he looked down at the pale face of Dorothy Bryer.

He couldn’t believe he’d given up dinner with Lucas for this.