33. Loren

33

LOREN

His name is Reuben Trudel. After reading through the entire contract Voss sent me, I can see that it's not only Enoch's situation that's called attention to Reuben. He has a medical history of schizophrenia, untreated. The police have been called on him time and time again for unstable and threatening behavior. He quite literally has told those around him that he hears voices, and they tell him to do bad things.

In reality, this man is a ticking time bomb. He has the makings of a mass killer. Unsurprisingly, the police have done nothing to prevent this man from becoming a public danger. It should be on their hands if he commits murder. There are no less than half a dozen pages of Trudel being reported and the police either blowing it off or making a less-than-cursory check on him.

The police have literally been handed a threat before he graduates to murder and yet… what are they doing about it?

For the first three days in Vegas, I track Trudel's movements. I learn his behaviors and habits. Observe how he interacts with those around him. Witness his personality disorder in person.

I'm fascinated by the amount of characteristics that we share. I don't hear voices, but it's almost impossible to miss the fact that Trudel does.

On the third day, I hunt. The stalker becomes the stalked as I bide my time to take him down. Voss was right to be afraid for Enoch. His security detail is kind of shit. We'll have to talk about that. I'm sure Van Doren Technologies has a security company and there's no way there'd be holes in their perimeter if they were here.

My brothers cut off Reuben from invading Enoch's house more than once. In less than seventy-two hours! Like, what are these security bitches even doing? One is on his phone all the time. That much I've seen.

Useless.

"He's a danger to himself too," Avory observes when he returns from blocking Enoch's path and rerouting him. "He's bleeding at his hairline where he cut himself with the edge of his knife while scratching an itch, I think."

I appreciate that it gets dark early this time of year. It means I don't have to deal with the extra challenges that daylight presents.

The first opportunity we get to corner Trudel comes around six in the evening. He's just outside Enoch's gated community. The gates are a joke, though. Sure, they're manned where vehicles move in and out, but the gate that surrounds the community is holey at best. For the past three days surveying the area, we've yet to see a single patrol around the actual perimeter.

Maybe the gate itself is supposed to be secure enough to be a draw for the residents. If it were me and I was promised the security a gated community is supposed to offer, this wouldn't cut it.

Then again, I have no problem running my knife through an intruder's throat. But that's just me.

Conveniently, this community is located right on the edge of the city. It takes me and my brothers no time to disarm Trudel and wrap him in duct tape before shoving him into the plastic- three-tarp-lined trunk of the rental. Then we head out toward Red Rock Canyon.

Trudel doesn't make much sound. The crinkle of the tarps are more in timing with bumps and turns than with him actually moving around. He didn't put up much of a fight. Maybe he wanted to be caught.

We drive ninety miles into the desert. While my brothers construct a grave, I drive my knife through his neck and watch him suffocate while he bleeds out. He stares at me. There's something familiar in his eyes. Something I recognize. I wonder if it's the similarities between us.

The three of us deposit Trudel into the grave, tarps, plastic, duct tape and all. I even leave the knife in his neck. We stop for take-out on the way and then at a truck stop where we change and shower, throwing everything we have in the dumpster.

There are cameras, sure. But there's no blood on us. The only reason we're throwing away these garments is in case Trudel's hair stuck to us. Otherwise, this was a clean kill. Besides, once someone finds him, he'll likely be well on his way to decomposition. By that time, the car will likely have been sold by the rental company, the dumpster's contents covered within a landfill, and we will be nowhere near Vegas, already with no ties to Trudel and no reason for anyone to look at us.

Okay, we'll be more than 400 miles from Vegas.

Not that I'm concerned at all about the police actually noticing that this guy disappeared. They didn't pay any attention to him while alive, a threat and freely walking around with a knife in his hand. They were practically waiting until he actually killed someone before he mattered.

Avory and Ellory stay in the car while I walk through the broken gate of Enoch's gated community, frowning toward the front gate as I walk across the drive like I belong here. Useless. These people are useless.

As are the now absent security details at his front door. Shaking my head, I knock.

A minute later, Enoch opens the door.

Enoch looks like any other rockstar's child that you could imagine. He's wearing black pants, somewhat formfitting, a loose tank tucked in, and a leather belt filled with rivets. There are two chains around his neck, a wrist filled with bracelets, and his hair is dyed black, falling just past his chin in fluffed curls. He has a sharp jaw and gray blue eyes.

"Loren?" he asks.

He doesn't look particularly scared.

"Hi," I answer.

Enoch looks around before stepping backward into the house and allowing me inside, shutting the door behind me. "What're you doing here?"

"Is your house bugged?" I asked.

His eyes widen and he looks around, slightly horrified. "No?"

I frown. "A couple things—one, this gated community is shit. I walked right in, unnoticed. You should move. Two, your security team is also shit. They're nowhere in sight." I can see his fear come alive in his eyes. "Three, talk to Voss about all of that and installing cameras, interior and exterior. However, I suggest moving somewhere that's actually secure first."

Enoch nods. "Okay."

"Four, your stalker situation has been nullified."

His eyes widen. "Nullified… What does that mean?"

I smile and don't answer.

"Uh, oh… Umm, thank you?"

He's rather mousy for a rockstar's son. "You're welcome. Call my brother tomorrow." I turn to the door and pause. "Do you love Voss?"

"What?" he asks, eyes wide once more. "I… no. I mean, he's a good friend so, yeah, but no. I don't love him. Why? What has he said?"

I nod. "Lock your doors, Enoch."

Once again, I walk through his ‘safe' neighborhood uninterrupted and climb back into the car. There's a flight in an hour so I have Avory and Ellory drop me off at the airport while they remain on the morning flight. I'm not about to stay an extra night away from Oakley if I don't have to.

The flight is less than an hour and a half. I'm out of the airport and in a cab by 12:30 am and headed to my house. As I step inside, I glance at the house across the street where I know Oakley is. My desire to go there immediately is strong, but I decide to take a shower first. Just in case I didn't clean under my nails well enough.

Not that it truly matters. I was not only wearing gloves, but I didn't get near his blood.

Trudel is how most of my kills go. They really aren't personal. I don't feel anything specific when I stab them, usually in the neck, but sometimes the heart or lung, depending on how long I want to see their lives fade away. Once I tried the gut, but sepsis takes a while, so I went for the neck in that one too. There's not even a thrill as I watch them die. It's just… pleasant, I suppose. I enjoy it.

Occasionally our contracts come with a request for a specific kind of death. Depending on how Myro interprets the damage our target caused, he sometimes tells me what they want. Not that I don't have the entire contract as I get ready for the job. It's that I rarely care what it says more than identifying information. Myro tends to tell me when I should make a death long or painful or kill them in some particular fashion.

My shower is short, just making sure I'm clean. Then I dress and head across the street to retrieve my boyfriend. The door is locked, as it should be, and while I could go around to the back and break in through the sliding door as I have in the past, I decide that maybe I should just knock. If no one answers, then I'll break in. Seems reasonable.

I'm pleased to find that Imry answers. He smiles and takes a step back. "I had a feeling you'd show up tonight."

"Did you?"

"When Ave said that you were targeting just after dark? Yes."

"Why stay longer than I have to?" I ask as he shuts and locks the door behind me.

He chuckles. "Voss is on the couch. He's butthurt that I took the spare room, but he's snoring so I don't think he's that uncomfortable."

I glance into the dark expanse of the house beyond the entry. Sure enough, I can hear Voss' snoring. I think I'd suffocate him in his sleep if I had to hear that every night.

"Everything go okay?" Imry asks.

I nod, shrugging. "Enoch needs to move and hire actual professionals. Voss is not taking care of his friend."

He grins. "Oakley went to bed three hours ago. You going to take him home?"

"Yes. His friends have a weird rule about boyfriends and girlfriends spending the night."

"I'm impressed that you choose to respect that."

"Why? I don't want to put Oakley in a compromised position."

His smile widens. "That's why I'm impressed."

Yep, that didn't clear it up. So I nod and head for the stairs, keeping as silent as I can so I don't wake others. His texts throughout the day said that Levis is home, who sleeps in the bedroom downstairs, and then Briar and Albrecht. The other two are still out of the house.

I'm surprised when I hear voices from Oakley's room. At first, it's only his voice that I hear asking, "Okay, that much I've figured out." I'm ready to write it off as he's talking in his sleep but then a voice answers.

"Jesus, Oakley. I want to be with you. I love you."

I open the door as Albrecht's mouth lands on Oakley's. Everything inside me turns cold. The edge of my vision darkens as possessive anger surges through me. I'm across the room in three strides, ripping Albrecht off Oakley and forcefully tossing him across the room.

He lands with a loud thunk against the big chair I used to sit in to watch Oakley sleep. I turn, hands fisted, to reach for him again when Oakley jumps on my back and wraps around me.

"Don't," he says. "Please, don't hurt him."

"He kissed you," I growl, taking another step toward Albrecht.

The overhead light turns on and for a moment, I'm blinded by the sudden change.

"Please," Oakley begs. "He's my best friend. He's confused. Please let him go."

I'm shaking. His request is nearly unheard as I tremble with fury.

"I love you," he whispers, his lips pressed to my ear. "Don't kill my best friend."

Reaching behind me, I grip his thigh.

"Brek, get out of my room," Oakley orders.

Albrecht doesn't move for a solid thirty seconds, but then he's scrambling to his feet and tripping over himself to get to the door. The rest of the household is standing there, Imry gripping Levis' arm since he's holding his wakizashi as he stares between us.

In the door are Briar and Voss.

"Take him home," Imry whispers.

There's still black smoke licking at the side of my vision. Gripping Oakley's arm, I haul him around to the front of me. He comes with a yelp and then laughter as I catch him. He's in nothing but some sexy little underwear, which only ignites my fury further because not only did Albrecht touch him, but my Oakley was practically naked in bed.

"Take me home," Oakley murmurs, his fingers trailing through my hair. "Please."

I reach for a blanket and wrap it around him before heading for the door. Without a word, they split to let me through.