The Butterfly Killer

Chapter 26

26

The room where the poker game was being held was so stereotypical it was almost sad. It was definitely disappointing. Burns had expected more than the cheap table and fold out chairs. There were refreshments served by a young girl who didn’t look to be drinking age herself. No other women were there. Only men. And Burns was the only “spouse” which gained a lot more attention than Mercer had probably wanted for this undercover operation they were doing.

The first comment came only a few minutes after their arrival. They hadn’t even been seated yet before a bald heavyset man started prying.

“Faggots, huh?” The man was Angelo Sanchez, a renowned architect. Bigot and homophobe as well it seemed.

Burns had to hold himself back from punching the fucker in the face. He feigned worry, holding onto Mercer’s arm like a scared husband would do.

“James…” He peered up at Mercer, turning inward toward the man’s chest as if he were trying to seek shelter.

Mercer’s arm wound tighter around his shoulder, pulling him close. The protective stance did make Burns feel safer. Though part of his fear was an act, he did feel anxious around all these men who probably had close connections to Cortez. What business they were in would reveal how dangerous they were, but Burns nor Mercer would be able to tell just by looking at them.

“Ironic coming from you, Mr. Sanchez.” Mercer’s words had bite.

Angelo’s face went beet red. “The fuck you talking about?—”

“Mr. Sanchez.”

Cortez parted the small group that started to form around the dispute with his presence. His voice alone had Mr. Angelo Sanchez whipping around like a boy who was about to be scolded by his mother.

“M-Mr. Cortez. I was simply?—”

“Annoying my guests?” Cortez gave Sanchez a dull look. “Mr. Mercer, you’ll be taking Mr. Sanchez’s chair.”

He turned to walk toward the table.

Sanchez sputtered. “W-Wait! My chair? But I put a hundred-fifty grand deposit for it months ago!”

Cortez waved Sanchez away like he was nothing more than a buzzing fly. “Leo, escort Sanchez out.”

A burly man who towered over most of the men of the group, came out from the shadows like ink. He grabbed Sanchez by the arm and began to drag him away.

Sanchez understood quickly there would be no negotiating. He’d been kicked out. It was better for him and what was left of his dignity to leave quietly.

Burns didn’t bother hiding the satisfaction on his face. He leaned into it and gave a long sigh.

“Thank you, Mr. Cortez.”

He didn’t know where Sanchez’s seat was or if there was a seating chart in the first place. He didn’t bother asking either. He pulled out the chair next to Cortez.

“Do you mind if I sit?” He asked but didn’t wait for an answer. He plopped down and immediately waved for the girl serving drinks.

She brought him over a glass of something he didn’t ask about. He coyly sipped it as the other men started to sit down, including Mercer who took the seat on his right.

“Should I call you Mr. Mercer?” Cortez picked up his own drink that had appeared beside him without him saying or lifting a finger.

Burns put on a sweet smile and leaned his elbow on the table. “Mrs. Mercer will suffice.”

That actually got a twitch out Cortez. It was just a slight movement from the corner of his mouth, but it was enough. Burns was slowly breaking into the man’s walls and he might not even know it.

The young girl serving the drinks hovered by Cortez’s shoulder. Burns tried to make it less obvious he was looking at her. Cortez finally acknowledged her. She bent down and whispered something in his ear. He nodded.

Again, Burns saw something in his expression. It was gone in a fleeting second but he knew he’d seen it there.

The girl went back to her table where she continued to mix drinks. Burns watched her, interest piqued, but he didn’t know if what he was feeling amounted to anything at all.

The rest of the men had taken their seats around the table. The man acting as the broker dealt out the cards and then the starting bets. The chips had already been bought before they arrived. Burns had wanted to ask how much Mercer had put into the starting pot, but he decided it didn’t matter. It was Mercer’s money and if he wanted to spend it on this case, Burns wasn’t going to stop him. And if Burns had that kind of money to be flaunting during a case like this? Yeah, he would probably being doing the same thing.

The dealer dealt Burns his cards. He gave the man a sweet smile, putting on that boy next door character. He played quizzical as he looked at the cards. His face said they were foreign intestines and that he didn’t understand what he was holding.

This could work out for him in two ways. Either the men would think he had nothing or they would think he had something but wouldn’t know what to do with it. He might even lose his edge in the game if he got too bet or hand happy.

Burns took his time analyzing the cards though he only needed a second. After a long period, he slowly sat them down. He lazily took his drink, sipping as if he had no real motivation in this game. This gave him the opportunity to look around the table and gage the mens’ faces.

They were good. Better than the small fries Burns used to play against in college.

“Mr. Mercer, your father is on the city council?” A man smoking a cigar sitting across from Mercer asked. He puffed smoke from his mouth as he slid a couple chips into the pile in the center of the table.

Norman Brightman. He owned three bank franchises which monopolized the four state area. He hadn’t built the business himself of course. His great-grandfather had done all the work and he was reaping all the benefits.

“He is,” Mercer replied without divulging anymore information. He gave crumbs when these vultures were craving entire slices.

“Would I be wrong in assuming you don’t share your father’s views?” Brightman eyed Burns.

Mercer turned his cards over, setting them face-down on the table. His fingers tapped over them. “You would be right. I think having a husband would be evidence enough of that.”

That garnered snickers from the rest of the room. Brightman joined in. Smoke came out of his nose.

“What about the other passions he has? He’s been very frank about dealing with the corruption within the city and the state.”

Mercer’s father was anti-abortion, anti-trans, anti-gay, and anti everything including the corruption tearing through the city. Before the cartel, it was the KKK, and before the KKK it was highway robbers. In all of the city’s history, there hadn’t been a time when it wasn’t plagued with someone power-hungry.

Mercer let his silence linger. The table went around, folding or raising.

“My father and I don’t see eye-to-eye. I see the benefits the cartel offers to our city.”

A chill went down Burns’s spine. He tensed, a small smile on his lips he didn’t feel anymore. He wanted to meet Mercer’s eyes. Maybe then he would see that Mercer didn’t really mean that. However, there was a small inkling of doubt that made him sick. A hole started in his stomach and it wouldn’t be hard for Mercer to make that even bigger.

Burns needed to trust his partner. But the more Mercer showed the truth behind his mask, it was becoming harder and harder to believe Mercer was acting on the “good” side of his split-personality.

Burns couldn’t hear what else was said. He got lost in his thoughts and by the time he got unstuck from them, it was his turn again.

Time passed, three of the men folded. It was Burns, Mercer, Cortez, and a man named Vince left.

Burns took a sip of his drink as he leaned in close to Cortez. He’d been drinking so much he didn’t need to pretend to be tipsy. If he wasn’t grounded on the task at hand, he might have fallen right over.

“Soooo…Cortezzz. How did you get into charity work? It’s one thing to support it, but to hold these large events? It must take a lot of energy and time.”

Cortez sighed. “I’m out.”

Almost everyone at the table was surprised.

Cortez chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not losing my touch. I think I’ve won enough times. It’s only fair to let someone else have a go.”

Burns was only slightly put out by it. Had he wanted to beat Cortez’s ass at cards? Maybe, but that wasn’t a requirement to get the information they needed.

Some of the men had thought it was a joke, but when the next round came, Cortez continued to stay out though he still had some chips. It was rude. Burns wouldn’t invite someone like that back to a table, however, this was Cortez. The men around wouldn’t say anything even if the man was a sore loser.

Slowly, the table dwindled down to just Burns and the man Vince. He matched his name: alabaster skin, blue eyes, and bald with a skull tattoo. He didn’t look like the sort of men Cortez liked to hang around publicly—the sleazy but “presentable” type who wore suits even to the beach.

Burns kept his sweet and “innocent” smile steady as he looked Vince down. His fingers played with his chips. The little clinks were taunts that couldn’t be proven. Vince grunted, his lip curling as he nodded to the dealer, raising.

Burns folded.

Vince grinned as he took the decent pot. They went back and forth like this until Burns had enough drawing this out. Cortez hadn’t left the table, but he’d pretty much checked out, letting the other men schmooze amongst themselves.

Vince was in deep concentration. But it didn’t matter. The cards were already decided. Fate had taken course, but a man like him didn’t seem like the one to care about something set in stone. Any immovable force was just another challenge he must accept.

Sweat pricked at the corners of his temples.

“What’s got you so agitated?” Burns mused, leaning over to sip Mercer’s drink as his own was empty. He licked his lips, eyes fluttered to Mercer’s and holding for a second longer than necessary. Though, it felt necessary then.

Look babe, I’m winning for you.

If this was real life, Burns would definitely be asking for a celebratory blow job once they left. Or perhaps even in just the parking lot. The disgusted looks on all these mens’ faces might just be enough to get him off.

Burns was realizing too late that he was becoming too entwined in this character. He forced his gaze away from Mercer’s, trying to quell the dirty thoughts flickering through his mind—reminding himself that he didn’t actually have to do any of that—and ruefully grinned at Vince.

Brightman snickered as Vince’s face turned red. “This dumbass owes Cortez money. Instead of paying it off, he asked for another loan and a chance to win it back at this table. Said he’d make triple what he owes Cortez and hand it over.”

The rest of the table laughed. Vince’s face turned redder than a ripe tomato about to pop. Judging by the dark look in Cortez’s eyes, that just might happen.

Burns pushed all his chips in. “All in.”

Someone whistled. Burns felt Mercer stiffen beside him. Was he scared? Of what?

A tiny voice in the back of his head said he was playing with much more than fire. The fire was already burning and Vince was the gasoline going to make it blow up in his face. However, Burns couldn’t stop himself. This rush he felt toying with these men was more than he’d ever felt. This strange pleasure was better than anything—even the justice he was seeking.

Though, as he thought that, he was rocked as he remembered just who he was doing this for. Marcus deserved better than the stupid game Burns was playing with these men.

Vince clenched his jaw.

“Come on,” Brightman said, clapping the man on the back. “Don’t let a fairy bitch humiliate you.”

Vince snarled, shoving Brightman’s arms off him. But he had no choice. He was all in.

Brightman whooped.

Vince ignored him as he tossed his cards into the middle. The dealer was already drawing the next cards.

Burns didn’t hold back his smile. He giggled as he let Vince flip his cards over.

“Bastard,” Vince hissed under his breath.

The table groaned in unison.

“You surprise me,” Cortez said.

The table went silent as Cortez pushed away from the table and stood. “A pretty house husband who is more than a piece of ass.”

Burns didn’t let the back-handed compliment ruffle his feathers. He didn’t look up from the table, instead, picking at invisible lint on the sleeve of his shirt.

He heard the click of the gun and then the press of the barrel against his temple.

“Oliver Rhys Burns. FBI agent.”

The men around the table gaped in shock. Then their expressions turned to anger.

Burns felt Mercer begin to move.

“Hold it, Agent Mercer.”

Cortez’s bodyguard came out from the shadows and held a gun pointed at Mercer’s head.

“Did you not think I know everything about a city council member’s family? I knew who you were and what game you were playing the second you walked into my house.”

Burns still didn’t look up. He waited.

“Stand up. Both of you. Hands up.”

Burns followed the order. Mercer did too though he moved more slowly. Burns didn’t know if there was a plan forming in Mercer’s head, but he hoped it wasn’t something that would get them killed. Burns tried to trust Mercer’s judgment most of the time, but he didn’t trust Mercer to have Burns’s safety at the forefront of his mind when it stood in the way of Mercer getting what he wanted.

More of Cortez’s men appeared. They took Burns and Mercer by the arms. They had heavy duty handcuffs. They were around Burns’ wrists before he could even think about struggling.

Cortez turned to face the other men sitting at the table in shock. “My apologies, gentlemen. I have some important business to attend to.”

Burns knew as he gave one final glance over the men sitting at the table without any intention of helping them. Cortez wasn’t going to let him or Mercer out alive. What they saw today, their testimony, might not be enough to put him away for all his crimes, but kidnapping two FBI agents would be enough to put him away for a couple years until they had the evidence.

The man holding Burns’s arm shoved him toward the door when he didn’t move fast enough. Burns wrenched his arm away in attempt to have some kind of authority. That earned him a slap to the back of the head that made him stumble and dizzy afterwards.

He shook his head with a snarl, glaring at the smirking man. Burns dropped the character he’d been playing for the entire night. He didn’t act out again, knowing it would make no difference. He had to wait for the right moment. They still didn’t know how Cortez was connected to the Butterfly Killer. They might not even know each other though that seemed unlikely.

Outside, there was a black SUV waiting for them. They were shoved into the back seat, pushed to the middle and then a man on either side sat beside them.

Burns flushed as he was pressed close to Mercer’s side. It wasn’t the time to be embarrassed over something innocent, but his body seemed to forget they weren’t undercover anymore. He resisted the urge to wiggle in the seat. Having one of Cortez’s men on his left, caging him in, didn’t make things any better. There was no room left to breathe and he was forced to think about Mercer’s body heat, the way his thigh pressed against his.

Thankfully, the adrenaline of being kidnapped wasn’t making him hard like he’d heard some guys say. However, to his horror, his dick did twitch when Mercer turned his head and whispered in his ear.

“The guy next to you has been eyeing you since we got here,” he said, low enough no one else could hear. But the man on Mercer’s side noticed him talking.

He smacked Mercer’s head. “No talking!”

Mercer didn’t once look away from Burns. A spark of anger lit behind his eyes. It terrified Burns and he was glad the look wasn’t meant for him.

He thought over Mercer’s words. He gave his partner a confused look, looking for answers in Mercer’s eyes as to what he meant by that. Well, he knew what he meant, but he didn’t know what Mercer wanted him to do with the information.

The car started and they were driving away. Cortez was in another car in front of them. Burns watched the car and kept an eye on Cortez though he didn’t know what good that would do him.

Mercer wasn’t surveying the area like Burns was compelled to do. Burns fed off his partner’s calm exterior. He knew he couldn’t trust what Mercer showed on the outside. He could never gauge the man’s emotions or thoughts, but if there was one thing he needed right then, it was a false sense of security. Calm was the closest thing he was going to get and he was going to take it.

He needed it for his sanity’s sake.

A few minutes rolled by and Burns only finally started to calm down. His racing heart had become melodic. His body almost seemed numb but also hyper aware of every little touch.

Mercer’s words played over in his head. The guy next to you has been eyeing you since we got here.

Burns slowly tilted his head up to look at the man next to him.

The bodyguard stared straight ahead. His body was tense. Unlike Mercer, his eyes were flickering back and forth, surveying for danger. However, he very clearly avoided looking at Burns.

Well, fuck. Did Mercer want him to do what he thought he wanted him to do?

Burns’s eyes looked over the man. He was fit as expected, his clothes hugging his body tightly. The black slacks and button up shirt didn’t slim his muscles down at all. If Mercer was wrong about his assessment and the man turned on Burns, he was going to be beaten to death and it wouldn’t take much to do it with the size of the man’s biceps.

The car turned a corner. Burns exaggerated the force, practically falling into the man’s lap. The man jerked upright. His eyes shot down to Burns who gave a coy smile.

“Sorry,” he said, trying to sound innocent as possible.

The man’s eyes widened. He looked down at Burns like he was a snake about to strike. He didn’t get what this man found attractive about him. Maybe it was the character he’d been playing? Perhaps stealing other men’s trophy husbands was a kink of his.

Either way, Burns fell back into the role he’d built up. He was surprised how easy it was. It was like flipping a switch. And if he was being honest, it was fun being this person he’d created. He felt more confident, sexier somehow, and like he had more power than when he was holding a gun.

Burns righted himself, but it was made difficult with his hands tied behind his back. He pretended to fall again. He fell almost face first into the man’s lap. The growing tent in the man’s pants didn’t go unnoticed.

Mercer was right. Again.

Burns pushed down the urge to roll his eyes. He put on another smile, this one more coy as he looked up at the man who was flickering through a number of emotions. Fear, lust, and nervousness. There was hesitance like he wanted to go for it, whatever that might be, but he held himself back.

Mercer nudged Burns. He sat upright again and looked through the windows.

Shit. They were heading toward a warehouse. Once they were inside, there probably wouldn’t be another chance to escape or get the upper hand.

It was time to turn up the facade.

The car parked. Cortez was already inside the warehouse, waiting for them.

They pulled Mercer out first. They probably already assessed he was the main threat here. That would work in his favor, but he didn’t know how much that would get him.

Mercer was being shoved toward the front of the warehouse. That left Burns and the other bodyguard.

The guard got out first. He pulled Burns out, more gentler than the other guard had done to Mercer.

When Burns’s feet were on the ground, he clenched his thighs and bit his lip. “Hey, is there a chance I can go to the bathroom?”

The guy’s brows furrowed. “No?—”

“You can watch me! I just need to go sooo bad.”

He wiggled his hips. The guy’s face turned red. There was no doubt his thoughts had turned very dirty. Burns ignored the fact he didn’t feel grossed out. He kinda wondered what the guy was thinking about doing to him, but he firmly shut those ideas down.

The guy sighed. “Okay, but if you try anything…”

Burns grinned. “Promise to punish me?”

The guy glared, but it wasn’t genuine. He grabbed Burns’s arm and turned him around. “Shut up.”

Burns kept the giggle low so the guy could only vaguely hear it. He was pushed toward the sparse woods opposite of the warehouse and on the other side of the gravel road the SUV was parked on.

The guy pulled out a flip phone—disposable—and dialed someone.

“I’m taking the other agent to piss.” There was some yelling on the other end. “It’s fine. I’ll shoot him if he even farts.”

Burns frowned. Why did that offend him?

The guy laughed. “Sure, sure.”

Burns did roll his eyes. He was starting to think this guy wasn’t hot.

The guy hung up. “Go piss.”

He pushed Burns towards a tree. Burns gave the guy a glare over his shoulder. The guy grinned as if they were still flirting with each other. He seemed more loose. Like being away from the rest of the group gave him more confidence.

Burns figured the cartel wasn’t exactly the most accepting of groups. Being gay was probably just as bad as being a traitor or snitch.

Burns turned his back to the guy and unzipped his pants. He pulled down his underwear so it settled right under his ass. It was awkward to stand with his ass out and to know the man was staring at it.

He did need to piss so he did.

He heard the man get closer. As he finished and was about to zip himself back up, the guy pressed him up against the tree.

“Little tease, aren’t yeah? A slut like you can’t help yourself, can you?”

The man had no qualms grabbing Burns’s soft dick. Burns couldn’t hold back the yelp. The man ignored it and started grinding against Burns’s unclothed ass. He was fully hard now, rutting against Burns like he hadn’t come in years.

Burns faked a moan. It was hard to get hard, but the friction was enough to get an erection.

He thought back to where the guy’s gun was. Right side, tucked in his pants. Even if his hands weren’t tied, he wouldn’t be able to reach it with the man’s arm blocking his reach.

Burns pushed his ass out, panting. “Please, I want to suck your cock. I need it in my mouth, please.”

The guy groaned. “Yes. Get on your knees.”

Burns did. He fell. He bit the inside of his cheek as he landed on rocks and twigs. The guy was frantic as he unzipped himself. He pulled out just his cock, leaving the gun secure in his belt.

The cock made Burns pause. It was daunting. Large, thick, and leaking precum. Very much a dick. A penis. Was he really going to do this?

The gun and threat of death said he was going to do it.

Still, he looked for some kind of disgust. There wasn’t. Which was cause for concern because he didn’t think he was remotely attracted to this guy.

“Come on. Open your mouth, slut.”

Burns’s heart skipped. Slut. Being called that shouldn’t make him feel this way.

He began to open his mouth. The guy lead his cock forward. Just as the tip was going to touch his tongue, he pulled away.

The guy growled. “What?”

Burns smirked. “This would be easier if I had my hands free.”

The guy frowned. “No.”

Burns pursed his lips. “As much as I’d like to choke on your cock, we don’t have a lot of time before your buddy’s start looking for you.”

The guy thought about it.

Burns leaned forward and licked the head. The guy shivered. “It’ll be worth it. I promise.”

The guy sucked air through his teeth. “Shit. Okay.”

Burns waited for the guy to reach over him and unlock the handcuffs with a key that’d been tied around his neck. When the cuffs were off, it was a relief to have mobility of his arms again. He hissed as a slight sharp pain went through both arms, but it was followed by a good stretch.

“Now, get to sucking.” The guy grabbed Burns by the hair and shoved his face into his crotch.

Burns had no choice but to right himself by grabbing ahold of the man’s hips. The man’s dick pressed against his cheek, smearing his face with pre-cum.

His fingertips grazed the top of the gun. It was there, so close.

But the cock was closer. It burned his skin and for a second, he did want to suck it. He wanted it down his throat. He wanted the man to fuck his face. As he imagined it, he remember Mercer, his calm facade and wondered if Mercer would approve. What would he do if he found out Burns had actually gone through it?

The man’s impatient grunt dissipated his thoughts.

He grabbed the gun and in a split second, he had the barrel pointed at the man’s face.

The man froze.

Burns rose to his feet. “Turn around.”

The man slowly followed the order.

“Now take off your pants.”