The Butterfly Killer

Chapter 24

24

Roman was eerily calm as he unlocked the motel door and kicked it open with the tip of his foot. He held Marcus’s arm, firmly, but not enough that Marcus couldn’t break away from it. He was pulled into the musky room with a simple tug.

Running or fighting didn’t even cross his mind. He did think how weird it was that he wasn’t thinking it in the first place.

The motel room was small. There was one queen size bed in the middle, a box TV that just looked sad and depleted, and a bathroom he couldn’t really see it was so dark.

Roman flicked the light on as he closed the door, locking both locks. He closed the blinds as well.

Marcus turned to face Roman. He didn’t like have his back to him. It felt too much like submission. He might be starting to see Roman as a human being and not a rabid animal, but he wasn’t going to let him have that kind of control and power over him.

Roman straightened. Marcus hadn’t noticed that he was usually slouched—a result of bending over a desk for long periods maybe. He was tall without standing to his full height, but now he seemed otherworldly tall. It created a sense of unease that twisted Marcus’s stomach.

He read Roman’s body cues, thinking of the best course of action to stop the ticking bomb before it went off.

All his training went out the window when Roman stalked toward him and wrapped those long fingers around his neck.

“We were getting somewhere, Officer.” He tsked. “We’re going to have to start all over.”

Marcus let out a yell as Roman turned him around and shoved him face first into the stale smelling bed. The bedsprings squeaked and he bounced as the whole bed frame jostled.

Panic sparked in him. He thrashed his arms, but Roman grabbed them like he’d expected the reaction and shoved them high up on Marcus’s back.

Roman’s free hand covered Marcus’s mouth, muffling anymore screams he might let out. He whipped his head to try to get the hand off. At the same time, Roman straddled his back and put all of his weight on top of him.

Marcus bucked. Roman locked his thighs tighter around his waist. He pressed his hips downward. He used Marcus’s held arms as if they were reigns. As if Marcus was a wild buck who needed to be tamed.

The humiliating thought made Marcus’s face burn. Anger simmered under the surface. He almost became blind with it. All that he’d been holding back in the hope he could gain some kind of sympathy from Roman exploded from within him.

Roman couldn’t actually care about him. He couldn’t grow attached because he wasn’t a stereotype Marcus could “figure” out. Marcus had viewed Roman’s manipulation as a bad thing while doing the exact thing without success. He was ashamed at his own stupidity.

He’d gone still beneath Roman. His pulse continued to race and his breath was ragged from exerting himself so much. His leg hurt worse because of the fight he’d put up and for what? Just to go back to where he started?

Roman moved his hand from Marcus’s mouth and lowered it to cup Marcus’s chin. Marcus clenched his teeth, thinking about biting Roman’s hand. He could taste the blood and smell the metallic scent with a little sick anticipation.

He didn’t do it. He still had some sanity though it felt like he was on the teetering edge of a manic episode.

“Do you hate me now?”

Marcus glared at the ugly bedding. He went rigid beneath Roman, a ticking time bomb that with the wrong move would go off. Except he didn’t know if he could possibly do any kind of damage to Roman. He seemed above emotions, above caring, and above humanity at all.

Untouchable. Like anything Marcus did would have no impact on him. It was relieving and frustrating at the same time.

His voice shook with anger and a little defeat. “I’ve always hated you.”

He despised what Roman did. If he wasn’t so blinded by the time he’d spent with Roman, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

He closed his eyes, reeling from the wave of nausea that overcame him.

“But I forgive you.”

Roman lifted his hands. Marcus’s hands were free, but he didn’t do anything with them. It was Roman who turned him over onto his back. Still, he stared at the ceiling.

He hadn’t lied. This wasn’t another tact of manipulation. He did forgive Roman for the murder of his mother because he hadn’t done it. The other murders…those weren’t his to forgive.

He tried to feel angry at Roman or at least conjure some disgust at the man who’d hurt innocent people. He was more angry at himself for not wanting to strangle Roman or do the same that he’d done to those women. This feeling of nothingness plagued him. It was this none reaction that made him feel more disgusted with himself.

Roman straddle Marcus’s thighs. Marcus jolted, hands clenching into fists as the man settled his weight on top of him.

His body buzzed. A thrum of interest fluttered in his stomach. Like a thousand butterflies. Except these butterflies had teeth and they could eat him from the inside out if they wanted to.

If Roman commanded it.

Behind the stoic mask Roman wore, Marcus could faintly see the confusion. He wasn’t rendered defenseless—Roman had a much tougher emotional shield than that—but there was a tiny crack in his facade.

Marcus wanted to know if he could make it bigger. He wanted to know if he could stick his fingers inside and pry a little of that shield away. Just a peak. That’s all he needed. He knew Roman could pretend to be human but was he actually?

He lifted his hand. He went slowly, giving Roman the chance to pull away. He didn’t. He let Marcus place his hand on his cheek, let him cradle his face like he needed affection. He did. All this time, Marcus had thought the way to gain Roman’s trust was to coax him with physical intimacy. It had worked to some degree, but humans weren’t solely their reproductive organs. And Roman wasn’t just any normal human.

Care. Roman needed someone to care. It was a big oversight on Marcus’s part.

Marcus smiled. It was real, soft. He put all of himself into it, reaching deep within himself to pull up all the empathy he could manage for the man in front of him.

Another crack. Larger than the first. Roman was crumbling, pieces of himself falling like raindrops on Marcus’s face. His smile grew. He feasted on the bits of Roman’s humanity. He savored them, cataloguing the taste to memory.

Roman leaned over him. His hands fell to the mattress on either side of Marcus’s head. His fingers clawed at the fabric, searching for purchase, fighting the fall that Marcus wanted so badly.

Marcus leaned up to strike the final blow.

The kiss was a snake bite. Venomous, but it wouldn’t kill Roman. He’d be paralyzed and at Marcus’s mercy.

It was merely more than a graze, nothing like they’d shared before because this wasn’t about lust or a game of manipulation. It was tender and meant something because Marcus meant it.

Roman crumbled. He rolled to the side, sagging into the mattress like dead weight. He curled against Marcus, face buried in his neck.

The tears dampened Marcus’s shirt. They soaked into his skin, a piece of Roman that became a part of him.

Roman’s sobs racked through his own body. He felt them deep in his chest. There was no satisfaction this time.

In a soothing gesture, he rubbed Roman’s back as his sobs became more violent. It wasn’t pretty. The cries he let out louder by the second.

The corners of Marcus’s mouth turned down. He wanted to help stop Roman’s sadness. There was nothing he could do though. Roman’s sadness was a build up of trauma and hopefully guilt for what he’d done.

Marcus started to think Roman wasn’t capable of that, but he stopped those thoughts as soon as they came.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep. He had every intention of staying awake, but it seemed his soothing techniques worked so well he was affected too.

He was roused by the sound of the shower. Lying on his side, he faced the motel door. He flipped around and bit his tongue when he saw Roman standing just beside the bed.

His eyes and lips were swollen from crying. However, he looked better. Rejuvenated, just as Marcus had been when he sobbed on Roman’s shoulder.

He sat up in the bed. The sheets were strewn around him. He didn’t know if it was him or Roman who’d rolled around to make them so tangled. He was well rested.

They stared at each other for a long minute. Marcus was about to break it when Roman spoke first.

“The water should be warm.” His voice was gravely. By the way he’d been sobbing, Marcus wasn’t at all surprised.

Marcus’s eyes flickered to the open bathroom. A rolling cloud of steam made its way to the short hallway connected to the main room.

When he looked at Roman once more, he saw a hint of a plea.

Marcus looked away before he became enslaved to that hint of vulnerability.

“Help me?”

Not a second later and Roman was at his side, helping him stand. He had to limp over to the bathroom, but he didn’t care as much. This was just outward appearances. Roman had shown him his insides, the most intimate parts of himself. Marcus didn’t feel so bad about Roman seeing his weaknesses all that much anymore.

The bathroom was small. He and Roman just barely fit inside. The door was left open, giving them a little more room. It took both of them to get Marcus out of his clothes. He didn’t question it when Roman undressed himself too.

The hot water was a godsend. It awoke and soothed muscles that had been wound tight since the start of the recent murders.

He didn’t so much as flinch when hands enclosed on his hips. His eyes were closed as he tipped his head back, letting the spray wet his hair. He ran his fingers through it as the other set of hands roamed over his chest.

“Let me wash you.”

He was gently pulled from the shower head’s vicinity.

They managed to trade places in the tiny tub. Roman was too tall to stand under the shower head. The water hit his shoulders, but he was too focused on Marcus to care.

He squirted some soap from the complimentary shampoo bottle into his hand. He foamed it up before he massaged it into Marcus’s hair.

It was a quick wash, but Roman seemed like he wanted to go longer. Marcus wanted that too even though it was slightly awkward when Roman washed his dick and balls which ended with him hard. They didn’t have time for that .

They switched places again. Roman washed and rinsed much quicker than the time it took for him to wash Marcus. Either it was because any second Marcus could lose his footing and hurt not just himself but both of them or because Roman had wanted to take his time washing Marcus.

Marcus didn’t think deeply about it. That wasn’t because he didn’t want to. He cut his thoughts short because if he did think deeply about it he would end up trying to manipulate Roman. He was trying to get past that urge. He was trying to be above that.

The towels were gross. The material caught on his dry skin. The sensation caused a visceral reaction that made him scrunch his face.

Roman crouched to dry Marcus’s bad leg. “Does it hurt?”

Marcus frowned then realized what Roman was asking. “No. It’s fine.”

The pain wasn’t much of anything. He still had to limp because it hurt, but it wasn’t like how it had been before. That had been like nails driving into bone. He couldn’t take a step without breaking into a sweat and feeling nauseas.

Roman gave him a look that seemed like he didn’t fully believe Marcus. He was much more gentle thereafter.

Marcus tried to mentally fight the erection that bloomed once more. He bit the inside of his cheek and dug his fingers into the palms of his hands. He even thought about old case files—that should have done the trick. It did. Somewhat.

His dick finally went down, but the lust simmered in his veins.

Like temptation personified, Roman kneeling before him made it so hard to resist. His still damp hair curled against his slightly tanned skin. The droplets ran down his naked chest, leaving trails along his neck. One dripped tantalizingly off his hardened nipple.

“—Marcus.”

Roman was no longer kneeling on the scuffed tiled floor. He was already halfway dressed, pulling on his shirt as he called out for Marcus.

Marcus cleared his throat and shook his head. “Still a little tired.”

He reached for his dirty clothes sitting on the back of the toilet. Roman stopped him.

“Wear these. They’re clean.”

Marcus took the offered clothes. They were sweatpants and a black t-shirt. There was a pair of clean boxers and socks.

“They’re all new if you’re worried about that,” Roman muttered as he turned to the sink. A black duffle bag sat on the counter, unzipped. He grabbed toothpaste and two toothbrushes from within.

Marcus watched Roman brush his teeth through the mirror as he got dressed while sitting on the lid of the closed toilet.

“How long have you been planning this?”

Roman spat in the sink. He met Marcus’s eyes in the mirror.

“Awhile,” he said, looking away. He spat again, turning on the faucet to watch the paste wash away. “Victim three. Do you remember her?”

Marcus’s brows furrowed. “The babysitter.”

Frustration overtook Roman’s features. He shook his head, eyes closing before he opened them again with a spark of annoyance in them. “Not my victim. His .”

Marcus thought back to the original third murder. Selena Matthews. Twenty-four. Her mother was watching her three kids while she had a night to herself. The Butterfly Killer’s technique had developed since he started. It was technically his fourth murder, but back then they hadn’t connected Marcus’s mother’s murder.

“There’s something no one got right in that fucking report.” Roman dropped the toothbrush and grabbed the counter’s edge for support. “She had another kid. Five years older than the first. She would have been sixteen when she got knocked up.”

Marcus listened, but he wasn’t fully understanding.

Roman was trembling with a type of rage that Marcus saw in only the most desperate of people. It was the kind of rage seen in cornered animals when they knew they didn’t have a way out.

“He was there. Eight year old boy. He couldn’t fight back. Not really. But he tried. He fucking tried and you know what that piece of shit did?”

Roman turned so abruptly Marcus almost slid off the toilet. Roman got up in his face, his eyes blazing with manic, but he wasn’t truly there. His eyes were focused on something only he could see. His imagination was feeding him a loop of despair he’d created. He was making himself suffer for something he couldn’t have even prevented.

His eyes came back into focus. He was looking at Marcus now. Pure disgust and disappointment.

“He beat him unconscious and threw him away like he was trash. All because he was his fucking son!”

Roman slammed his fist into the wall. Marcus jumped and closed his eyes. His heart raced as he thought Roman might turn his anger toward him.

He felt Roman move back. Marcus opened his eyes. Roman looked calmer, but still on the verge of exploding.

Marcus gathered just enough courage to ask what had been on his mind since the beginning. “H-How…How do you know this and not the police?”

Roman threw his toothbrush back into his duffel bag. He splashed some cold water on his face to cool now. There was some resemblance of composer coming back.

“The man you call the Butterfly Killer is el profanador, the desecrator. He works for Dante Cortez, the?—”

“Hernandez’s partner. The Mexican cartel,” Marcus finished. He stared at the open bathroom door. He suddenly felt safer here with Roman than out there with a badge and gun.

Roman nodded. Marcus was too caught up in his thoughts to really notice the man watching him. It was only moments later that he realized Roman was gauging his reaction. He didn’t know what for. Everyone who was in law enforcement in their area knew about Dante Cortez and the rumors. He’d been charged multiple times, but every single one didn’t stick. The man was a slippery eel with lots of connections and deep pockets.

“So that’s why he can be sloppy,” Marcus murmured more so to himself.

He thought it was odd that the Butterfly Killer had been able to scrape by without leaving a witness or being undetected in the database with the amount of DNA traces he’d left behind. Unlike Roman, the Butterfly Killer was messy.

“He’s arrogant,” Roman spat. He had the other toothbrush in his hand, toothpaste already on it. He held it out to Marcus. “This isn’t even part of his job in the cartel. It’s his hobby. ”

Marcus took the toothbrush. “And what about you?”

His stomach twisted as he started to brush his teeth. He forced himself to meet Roman’s eyes. He needed to be looking at him when Roman said this next part. He needed a reminder that Roman was just as bad as the original Butterfly Killer.

Roman stilled. Marcus started to stop brushing, but he caught himself and started again, more vigorously.

“I won’t say that what I’ve done was purely to get his attention. This sick…” His brows scrunched as he pondered his thoughts and the right choice of words. “…these desires I have are parasites. If I don’t feed them, they’ll end up controlling me.”

Marcus leaned over and spat in the sink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is that what you think happened to him? His parasite got the best of him?”

Roman frowned. “Don’t make fun of me.”

Marcus was serious. “I’m not. It’s a genuine question.”

Roman looked to the mirror like he would find the answer in his reflection.

“I know that’s what happened to him. He gave me this disease.”

“He…?”

Roman glared at his reflection, looking a second from bashing his fist into the glass.

“He’s my father, Marcus.”