The Butterfly Killer

Chapter 25

25

Marcus hobbled out of the bathroom after Roman who was hellbent on dropping the bomb of the century and running away like a coward.

“What the fuck do you mean he’s your father?”

Roman busied himself with looking out the window. The sun was yet to break over the horizon. It was pitch-dark with no one else except for them awake.

“He sired me. Knocked my mom up. Donated his sperm. How else do you want me to put it?”

Marcus grabbed the edge of the bed. He huffed in frustration. “You’re not fucking Skywalker. This isn’t a joke! Are you being serious?”

Roman threw the duffle bag on the bed. He threw his hands up. “No, Marcus, I’m pulling your fucking leg! Yes! I’m being serious. Why the fuck would I want that bastard as my father?”

Marcus scoffed, rolling his eyes. He looked to the ceiling as he processed the information. “So this was to get his attention. I already knew that, but I can’t believe it was all for?—”

“For what?” Roman crossed the room and roughly grabbed him by the chin.

Marcus grunted as his neck was forced to crane up in a painful position to look Roman in the eyes.

“What do you think you know? You don’t know anything. For all that you’ve done researching me, you don’t know a damn thing. And this time we’ve spend together? You still don’t know a goddamn thing.”

Roman’s chest heaved. His breath fanned over Marcus’s face. Mint from the toothpaste. Hunger in those eyes. He wanted to devour Marcus. He wanted to put him in his collection.

Parasite? Roman was the parasite. He was worming his way into Marcus’s heart and mind, bending him into the thing he wanted. He wanted a bug to put on display. He wanted a reaction that he could savior and remember as he cut Marcus open.

“You’re right,” Marcus reluctantly said. “I don’t know you. I thought you were a selfish prick who only cares about himself and fame.”

Confusion crossed Roman’s face.

Marcus pushed Roman’s now lax hand from his face. It dropped to Roman’s side.

“You’re more than that. You’re more than your father.”

A flicker of anger crossed Roman’s features. His eyes blazed. “I’m just like him. Don’t lie to me about that.”

He backed up. He started toward the duffel bag again. Marcus reached out for him. He couldn’t reach him though. He fell short, falling onto the bed with gritted teeth. He tried one last time to break through.

“He didn’t have a reason. You do. He’s the reason.”

Marcus didn’t think he could hate the Butterfly Killer anymore than he already did. He’d taken his mother. He’d taken so many people’s lives, probably much more than Marcus would ever know. And he’d taken Roman’s life from him. He’d stripped whatever humanity Roman still had and turned him into a misshapen form of himself.

Roman thought he was a reflection of his father. It had fucked with his mind, warping him into a disfigured version of who he might have been.

Marcus hated that piece of shit to the core of his being. He’d make sure that son of bitch paid for what he’d done.

Roman had gone quiet. Marcus wasn’t unsettled by it. He knew Roman was thinking about what he said, thinking about his past choices and how they might have been prevented if the Butterfly Killer wasn’t his father.

Marcus let him have the moment. He let Roman think deeply about it and let him sit with the bomb he’d let off.

But he still didn’t know who the Butterfly Killer was.

He got to his feet. He took tiny cautious steps to Roman’s side. He placed his hand on top of Roman’s. He jolted, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

“What’s his name?”

Roman’s upper lip curled. “Miguel Cortez.”

Marcus’s breath caught in his throat. He had to force himself to take a steady breath. “He’s Cortez’s brother.”

It wasn’t a question. Marcus didn’t need clarification. It all made sense to him now. Why would the cartel protect a liability? It was because he was family.

“What’s your plan?”

This time Marcus wasn’t asking for permission to know what Roman’s next move was. He was demanding for the information. Roman had shared so much already that it was more for Roman’s benefit to let Marcus in on the rest.

There was a hint of resistance as Roman clenched the straps of the duffle bag. It was his lifeline. It was all he had with him and Marcus prayed for both their sakes there was a weapon stashed in there. He also hoped Roman knew how to use it.

“Miguel doesn’t know who I actually am. He left me to die that night. I don’t know if he knows I survived.” Roman sighed. “He knows I’m the copycat. We’ve been in contact, but I know he’s edging to take me out. Either because of his ego or because the cartel is breathing down his back about the media attention.

“The cabin was the safest place to be until I got word a few days ago to meet in person. I’m going to kill him. You’re my bargaining chip to get close.”

“Why would the cartel want me?” He hadn’t meant much to the police department in the first place. He couldn’t be used to get anything for the cartel.

Roman gave a soft laugh. “No one has ever gotten as close to finding Miguel as you have. But that’s not the reason they want you. There’s a dirty cop in the precinct. They work for Cortez. They need you out of the picture because sooner or later you’re going to find them out.”

Marcus gawked. “A dirty cop…who?”

When Roman didn’t answer fast enough, he grabbed his arm. “Who?”

Roman shook his head. “I don’t know. That’s all the information I have.”

“And how do you know all this?”

Roman slung the duffle bag over his shoulder. He turned to face Marcus.

“Not everyone in the cartel likes Miguel. He’s not just a liability, he’s a threat to anyone close to him. He’s got sick perversion his brother lets him get away with.”

Marcus’s skin crawled. Miguel had to be pretty sick if the criminals around him thought he was bad.

“So, an inside informant.”

Roman nodded. He wrapped his arm around Marcus’s waist and started toward the motel door.

“He’s been feeding me information only recently when Miguel started showing interest in me. He’s facilitating the meeting we’re about to go to.”

“Meeting?”

They were outside now. It was quiet. Dead silent. Not even a buzz of a bug or the blow of the wind. Not a car nor a scuffle of an animal.

Goosebumps rose on Marcus’s arms and legs. He held onto Roman as he was helped to the car.

Roman stopped next to the passenger side. His fingers flexed against Marcus’s hip.

“Miguel will be there. I have it all planned. Don’t worry.”

That was all Marcus could do. Worry. He didn’t voice his anxious thoughts. He got in the car, in the passenger seat this time, and waited for Roman to get in.

It wasn’t a matter of escape anymore. He didn’t need to. He was right where he needed to be to get closer to the Butterfly Killer—Miguel. He didn’t know if he should refer to him as Miguel or the Butterfly Killer. Miguel seemed too personal, like he was seeing him as a human when he was more monster than anything else. But calling him the Butterfly Killer was giving him too much credit. He hated giving serial killers nicknames. It inflated their ego.

Miguel it was. Miguel the fucking deadbeat asshole.

The car started. They got onto the long road that seemed to head nowhere. Marcus could have asked where they were meeting Miguel and this informant, but it didn’t seem to matter. Where they met wouldn’t change a thing. There was no predicting what was going to happen when they were face to face with Miguel.

Nothing could prepare Marcus.

A diner. That was where they were meeting the infamous el profanador .

It took them two hours to reach it. Settled in the heart of a small town with only three other shops, a church attached to the jailhouse, and a decrepit park, the diner looked like it hadn’t changed since it was built in the forties.

Roman parked at the corner just before the diner. He shut the car off. Neither of them moved. The sun had broken over the horizon, blanketing the small town in a warm glow. It would have been picturesque if it wasn’t for the reason they were here.

A few passersby gave them looks, but it seemed more out of curiosity than hostility.

Roman’s phone buzzed. He didn’t look at it.

He reached around to the back of the seat where the duffle bag sat. He unzipped it and reached inside. He pulled out a sleek black CZ 75 pistol. He tucked it into the back of his waistband.

Marcus couldn’t help as he stared at the gun. It wasn’t so much as surprise as it was realization that this was real. They were doing this.

“Let’s go.”

Marcus got out, his legs a little unsteady. The cold air from the mountains traveled with them. It brought a chill to the air worse in the morning without the warmth of the sun to chase it out.

He took a moment to look around. The colors were golden around him, but there seemed to be something cold about them. The world around him seemed bleak. He didn’t know if it was because he was feeling bleak or if it was just his eyes adjusting to the morning light.

“Okay?”

Roman got onto the sidewalk and stood beside Marcus. He was patiently waiting. Marcus looked away from the mountains and the rising sun.

“Yeah,” he said though he wasn’t. He couldn’t truly be okay when he didn’t know what his fate would be.

Roman touched Marcus’s neck. It wasn’t a commanding touch. It was gentle, a graze of a feather.

“Trust me?”

The tender touch messed with Marcus’s thoughts. He wanted to hate Roman without a doubt in his bones. He didn’t want hesitation he didn’t want a “but” in mind. There were excuses on the tip of his tongue and each time he thought of them, it broke down the shields that were supposed to protect him from Roman, not hurt himself.

“I trust you.” The truth shouldn’t have felt so good. It shouldn’t have given him comfort. He should be ashamed things were ending this way.

Roman dropped his hand. Disappointment fell over Marcus. He hadn’t thought Roman would kiss him in public. But he’d wanted Roman to. He’d wanted one more kiss before this bubble was popped.

Roman took the lead. Marcus followed, feeling more like a zombie. It was a combination of getting barely any sleep and the nerves getting the better of his stomach.

They entered the diner. The smell of pancakes, sausage, and eggs hit his nose. The lingering sweetness made his teeth ache, but the savoriness made his mouth water.

Coffee called his name. He longed for a cup.

A waitress carrying a tray with three plates full of food passed them by with an exhausted smile. “Welcome to Pete’s! Have a seat wherever you like!”

She turned her back to them, heading toward a table in the back. “I’ll be right with you in a short moment!”

The diner wasn’t packed, but it was enough to keep one waitress busy. Marcus didn’t see another worker in sight so she must have been working the tables and the register while someone was in the kitchen.

He glanced around the tables. He didn’t know who he was looking for, what face would be Miguel and Roman’s informant. But when his eyes looked over a table away from the windows, he knew he’d found them.

Roman was already heading their way.

Marcus took the men in. The one on the outside seat was most definitely Miguel. It wasn’t even the hair and nose that matched Roman’s to the dot. It was the look in his eyes.

Marcus wouldn’t say there was a certain look in a psychopath’s eyes. Not every psychopath anyway. But there was something about someone so deranged it made human instinct kick in.

When you were around a dangerous predator, your subconscious knew. Whether you listened to that subconscious or not, acknowledged the fear which you felt, would depend on your own willingness to admit you were prey.

Marcus’s steps slowed. It hit him then that he was going to meet the man he’d been chasing all these years. He now knew his face.

Miguel had been watching them since the moment they walked in. He’d known it was them. His eyes were on Roman. He recognized him to be his copycat. There was admiration in his eyes. It was like he was saying “well done” and “of course you’re my predecessor”.

However, under that praise was jealousy. It was a burning hatred that came with being direct competition to a man who couldn’t settle with being second fiddle.

The man next to Miguel disappeared next to the serial killer. His dark hair was slicked back. He had a thin mustache and a goatee. A plate of eggs and bacon sat in front of him, untouched. His forehead sheened with a layer of sweat under the cheap diner lights.

He watched Roman and Marcus closed in on the table but looked down. His fists clenched.

Miguel stood. “Ah. Roman. You didn’t say you were a good looking fella.”

He went to pull Roman into a “friendly” hug. Roman pulled away, a cool look on his face.

“I am not here to fake friendliness.”

Miguel raised his hands, a mock smile on his face. His eyes flickered to Marcus for the first time. His smile grew into something that looked more like a grimace—a grin that was more ominous than a whale opening its mouth.

“Marcus Palmer.” Miguel gestured to the other side of the booth. “Sit down. I’ll flag the waitress.”

Miguel sat down. Marcus looked up at Roman for direction. Roman nodded toward the booth. Marcus sat first, scooting to be across from the other man who was sweating more profusely. He didn’t look well at all. Nerves? How could someone so bold to rat on the cartel be so spineless?

Roman scooted into the booth seat next to Marcus. Miguel raised his hand to get the waitress’s attention. She came by shortly.

“Hello. What can I get for you?”

She took their orders without needing a pen and pad. Marcus couldn’t stomach anything except coffee and a biscuit. Roman ordered a hot cup of tea. She left as quickly as she came.

Miguel’s eyes tracked her, falling to her ass. He wasn’t overt about it.

Roman narrowed his eyes. If his eyes could kill, Miguel would only be brain matter in the seat.

Marcus knew it was like stepping into a sleeping bear’s cave when he stared at Miguel. He couldn’t stop himself from doing it though. He felt starstruck. He’d met a handful of famous people before, mostly politicians, but he’d never had this feeling of awe he was having right now.

But the more he looked at Miguel, the more the affect wore off. Miguel wasn’t interesting to look at. He didn’t have the same aloofness Roman possessed. He wasn’t nice to look at either. He was jarring. The pits in his face, the sprinkling of hair on his jawline, and his skinny form all made Marcus want to look away.

It was a reminder that Miguel wasn’t some invincible big figure.

He was just a man.

“Here you are.” The waitress—Rose—sat their drinks down along with Marcus’s biscuit. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Miguel grinned with teeth, a folded five dollar dangling from his fingers. “Sure thing, sugar.”

Rose looked absolutely disgusted, but she took the cash tip with a grin.

She scurried off. Marcus had completely lost his appetite. He drained half the coffee, glaring at Miguel before Rose was even out of sight. He slammed the cup down.

Miguel glanced over at him. “Have something to say, boy?”

Marcus ground his teeth. There was a little bit of coffee still in his mouth. He thought about spitting it on the bastard.

Roman put his elbows on the table, blocking some of Miguel’s view of Marcus. “Talk to me. That’s what we’re here for.”

Miguel looked like he didn’t want to leave Marcus alone. But he shrugged, taking a short drink before he started to talk.

“We have a proposition. You work for us and we’ll give you protection.”

“No.”

Miguel raised a finger. “Just wait a moment. You haven’t heard the full offer. Clean up crew. Weaponry. Cars. Cash. Women.”

Miguel showed his teeth as if that was the selling point. There was a crack in his dealer facade when he noticed nothing was peaking Roman’s interest.

He slumped. “Fine. I don’t think you know what exactly we’re giving you, kid. We’re sanctioning your ass. We’re giving you permission to do whatever the hell you want, but with supervision.”

“I don’t need your permission,” Roman said. His face was blank. “I’m playing to your rules out of respect.”

Miguel’s expression dropped. It was the same look Roman wore. Marcus felt like he was looking at two reflections that weren’t entirely the same.

“You think I would let some copy cat run me off my own field?” Miguel reached over to the man sitting next to him. He grasped the man’s hair and yanked his head back.

“Juan, would you mind telling our amigo what exactly is going to happen?”

Juan was shivering. Marcus wanted to look at Roman to see what he could make of the man’s current state. He couldn’t look away though. He watched with a sort of hypnosis as Miguel placed his hand on the nape of Juan’s neck.

Juan opened his mouth. He didn’t say anything. There was only a wheeze that came from the back of his throat and when Marcus looked inside Juan’s mouth, he saw why.

His tongue was cut out.

“Jesus!” Marcus turned away though he’d seen worse. It was the surprise that had him saying it. If he knew Miguel was going to get a sick thrill at his reaction, he would have bit his tongue.

Marcus chastised himself. Not the best choice of words right now.

Roman stared blankly as his informant who definitely had gotten caught. Miguel knew Juan had been feeding Roman information. Though, Marcus didn’t know why Miguel was only pulling out his trump card now. He didn’t know why he would pretend to offer Roman a deal when he knew Roman was already planning something.

Marcus took a steady breath and looked at Miguel again. He looked calm, but there was just a little too much tightness in his smile for it to be real. He was bluffing. He didn’t know why Roman had been getting the information from Juan. He just knew it had happened. Perhaps he didn’t even know for sure if Juan had double crossed him. He might just be going off a hunch.

Roman had to do the same. He had to bluff so he didn’t dig themselves deeper into this mess.

Themselves. Them. Was Marcus now thinking of him and Roman as a team ?

“So, you’ve figured us out.” Roman said it so casually that he almost convinced Marcus that this was normal.

Miguel laughed after a second. “You’re interesting.”

He clapped Juan harshly on the back of the head. The man grabbed the table, closing his mouth, and looked like he was going to be sick.

“By now, my man is behind the wheel of your car. My car is parked around the corner. You’re going to walk out there without a fuss.”

Roman sipped his tea. He savored it. Marcus watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “This is quite a plan. Did you know all along or did you guess?”

Miguel didn’t take it as an insult. He shrugged. “I like to work adventurously. Where’s the fun if you know every detail?”

He grinned with his teeth. It was unsettling.

“And if we don’t follow your plan?”

Marcus shouldn’t have gotten hung up on the “we”. It seemed he wasn’t the only one thinking of them as a couple.

Miguel pursed his lips. “Messy but doable. I want you alive and the pig too.”

Miguel’s eyes flicked to Marcus. “He’s more valuable alive.”

Marcus thought about the pistol tucked into the back of Roman’s pants.

Would Roman use it? Would Marcus use it?

His skin crawled as he imagined the cold metal in his hand. Except it might not be cold. Just mildly warmed from being pressed against Roman’s back.

Roman leaned to block Miguel’s view of Marcus. “Is your boss okay with that?”

The fake bravado Miguel put on cracked a little. The mention of his brother being his boss must have struck a nerve. “He’s not my boss. I only follow his suggestions because I respect him.”

Roman snorted. “Sure.”

Marcus had been around Roman to know when he was letting his emotions show on purpose or not. Right now, he was putting on a show just for Miguel and Miguel was snapping at the bait like a hungry fish.

“Get up!” Miguel hissed.

Roman slowly got up from the booth. Marcus followed close behind him. Miguel got up and that was the first sign of the gun he was holding. Marcus gulped tightly as he looked into the barrel. The darkness made it easy to spiral down into thoughts that made him lightheaded. He had enough strength to close his eyes for a moment and count in his head.

10…9…8…

He opened his eyes on five and continued to count in his head as Miguel ordered them to start walking out the front of the diner.

3…2…1…

Rose came out from the kitchen. She wasn’t paying attention, trying to fix her hair that had come mostly undone during her back and forth.

A wet sign warning guests had been placed next to the half wall she had stopped by and which they were heading towards.

Marcus put all his acting to the test as he pretended to slip on recently cleaned floor. Rose had just started to walk forward when Marcus “tripped” which ended with him colliding with her.

“Are you serious?” Miguel grabbed Marcus and yanked him back before shoving him into Roman. “Sorry, babe.”

Miguel gave Rose a creepy smile before he turned his angry gaze onto Marcus. “Keep walking dipshit.”

Marcus followed the order. He resisted the urge to turned around and see if Rose had picked up the business card he’d been holding onto for dear life since Roman had taken him.

It was Agent Mercer’s business card.