Sicarii 1 Read online

  Ben replaced the back and turned the clock back over.

  Four fifty-one.

  There was no doubt in Ben’s mind. The time had been changed. And so what? It didn’t have to mean anything.

  Yet Ben wanted it to.

  Because nothing else about his uncle’s death made sense. Other than the TV, the only thing taken was the man’s life.

  To face the idea Uncle Greg had been killed just because seemed worse than being killed for something valuable.

  The TV hadn’t even been valuable. Hell, it hadn’t even worked well.

  Ben was about to put the clock back on the shelf when his cell phone rang.

  He answered it. “Hello?”

  “It’s me.” There was no mistaking the sticky-sweet tone. Ben used to look forward to talking to Shelly.

  Recently, the sound of her voice made him cringe. “What’s up?”

  “I was wondering when you’d be back on campus?”

  Ben leaned back on the sofa. “I’ve still got to go through my uncle’s apartment.”

  “Can’t someone else do it?”

  Since most of it was headed to the dump, probably. “No, I need to go through it.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “A few days, maybe. Why?”

  “They’re going to have a party at Richie’s this Saturday. I was hoping we could go.”

  Ben counted the cracks in the ceiling. “I just buried my uncle. I’m not exactly in the partying mood.”

  “It won’t be for another three days.”

  “Three days isn’t exactly a lot of time to grieve.”

  “I thought you hadn’t seen him in years.”

  “Eighteen months. But he raised me. We were close.” Until Ben went to college. It wasn’t Greg’s fault. Ben had been busy: tests, classes, dating, more tests.

  He regretted not forfeiting the dating in favor of an hour a week on the phone with the old man. Even if his sense of humor consisted of jokes that lost their funny when Ben graduated from middle school.

  Now he’d give anything to hear one of Greg’s cheesy puns.

  The worst of them would have been miles ahead of anything from Shelly’s mouth.

  “I really want to go to this party.”

  “And I have a responsibility to my uncle. He was the only family I had.”

  “Can’t you just go back after the party? We’ve got almost a month before classes start again. It’s not like the stuff’s going anywhere.”

  Ben ran his thumb over the name etched into the back of the clock. The engraving was so perfect it was almost undetectable. “I need to take care of this. I’m sorry.”

  “What about the party?” Laughter trickled in from the background.

  “Where are you?”

  “Monica’s. She’s having her baby shower today.” Which meant James Milford would be at the bar, getting drunk. Ben had shared a few classes with the guy over the years. They weren’t exactly friends, but about three weeks ago, in the middle of the night, Ben had found James sitting in the hallway between their dorm rooms, crying his eyes out.

  James attended Tech on a work scholarship. It paid his tuition and gave him enough to keep from starving to death. The payoff was a degree and a guaranteed job with HighTower Electric.

  A kid meant he had to take a full-time job. A full-time job meant he couldn’t remain in the scholarship program. Without that, he couldn’t afford tuition.

  James Milford had not only lost his virginity to Monica Crawford, he’d lost his future.

  After that night, Ben’s sex drive all but died. The nail in the coffin was three weeks ago when Kelly mentioned how lucky Monica was.

  Lucky?

  Ben hadn’t so much as let Shelly give him a blowjob since.

  At first, he blamed it on cramming for finals, then finals, then exhaustion from finals. Now he had his uncle’s death as an excuse to not be alone with her. But after he got back, he had to tell her the truth. He had no interest in having kids, let alone having them before twenty-one.

  “Why don’t you get Monica to take you?”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “So?”

  “You don’t go to a party pregnant.”

  “Why not?”

  “She can’t drink.”

  “She could go and not drink.”

  Shelly made an angry sound. “Look, if you don’t want to take me to the party, just say so.”

  It was the opportunity Ben had waited for. There were fifty miles between them, so she couldn’t even throw anything at him. And if she screamed, he could hang up. “Look, Shelly. I really think you need to have someone else take you to parties.”

  “You make it sound like you’re planning on never taking me again.”

  “I’m not.”

  “What?”

  “I said I’m not. I’m not taking you to any more parties, or dinners, or anything else.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  “I’m not even sure we were really together.”

  “I can’t believe this. You’re breaking up with me over the phone.”

  “To break up with someone, you have to be going out with them. We were dating, that’s all.”

  “And what the hell do you think going out means?”

  “It means something more serious than dating.”

  “And we weren’t serious?”

  Been turned the clock over. He counted the numbers, the spaces between the numbers. Four fifty-one.

  “Well?” Shelly said.

  Ben stood and carried the clock back over to the mantel. He slid it into the space between the rows of books. “No, Shelly. We weren’t serious.” He picked up the book he’d left on top of the others.

  Dandelion Wine. One of Greg’s favorites. Second only to…

  “Shelly, I need to go.” Ben hung up, cutting short whatever she was about to say. He walked up the line of books until he reached another one of Ray Bradbury’s classics.

  Fahrenheit 451.

  2

  Sam Waters sank lower into his seat, and Karl Delinsky continued to read the piece of paper he’d snatched from Sam’s hand.

  Sam should have never taken the damn poem out. He should have never written it to begin with.

  Another burst of laughter rippled across the classroom. Jessica Spear held up her cell phone, tracking Karl, who climbed up on his desk. He stood, placing his hand over his heart.

  “Unseen, unspoken, there are no words. For I have watched you. Listened to you. Dreamed of you.” He waved the paper in the air. “Can you believe this shit? Sam thinks he’s a regular Edgar Alfred Pope.”

  “Edgar Allen Poe,” Sam said.

  “What was that?” Karl hopped off his desk.

  “Nothing.”

  “No, you said something.”

  “It was nothing.”

  “Yeah, I bet it was nothing.” Karl made a dramatic sigh and continued reading. “If only you would see me. But I am afraid of what you will say.” He whacked Sam in the head with the piece of paper. “Pay attention, fuckwad. I’m reading.”

  “Just give it back.”

  “Tell me her name and maybe I will.” The way Karl grinned made Sam afraid he knew. But that was impossible. He hadn’t used any pronouns in the poem. Let alone names.

  “It’s no one.”

  “I watch you.” Karl barked a laugh. “Seems like Sammy here’s a regular little stalker. Do you hang around her window at night and beat the meat.”

  Nick Green pounded his desk. Other students followed suit until the entire classroom rumbled. The girls laughing was the worst.

  Jessica turned her phone in Sam’s direction. Okay. The phone was worse. How long would it be before the moment wound up on every level of social media hell that existed, and any student with a cell phone could watch?

  Karl propped his hip on Sam’s desk. When he turned his attention back to the paper, Sam snatched it from Karl’s hand.

  “I was reading t
hat, faggot.”

  The one word might as well have been a punch to Sam’s stomach. Before he could remind himself Karl called everyone a faggot, the guy jerked him from his desk and shoved him to the ground.

  “Leave him alone, Karl.”

  Joe Tinsley came down the aisle with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He was a good head taller than anyone else in the class, except for Jessica who played on the girls’ basketball team.

  Joe didn’t play ball, he wrestled, and it showed in defined muscles along his arms and legs. Even the jeans he wore couldn’t conceal the slope of his thighs.

  Sam had tried wrestling. Being small didn’t stop him from doing well. In fact, he’d done better than well. He even pinned Joe on more than one occasion. But wrestling also made him realize he liked boys in the same way others liked girls. Rolling around on a mat with his hands in all the right places on those boys wasn’t safe.

  Rolling around on the mat with Joe?

  On more than one occasion, he had to feign an emergency bathroom break and lock himself in a stall.

  Karl Delinsky drew himself up to his full height. The top of his head barely reached Joe’s chin.

  A hush fell over the classroom. The kind of quiet that only happened when a teacher walked in with a chip on their shoulder and the promise of a pop quiz if someone so much as sneezed without raising their hand.

  Karl crushed the piece of paper. Then with a shit-eating grin on his face, he dropped it on the floor.

  Joe gave the other boy a tired look. “Pick it up, Delinsky.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Joe shook his head. “You know, your attitude is exactly what got you kicked off the football team.” He set his bookbag down by his desk. “That and the fact you can’t throw worth a shit.” He faced Karl again. “Now, pick it up.”

  “Fu—”

  Joe spun Karl around, cutting off Karl’s protest by smashing his face against a desk. His cheeks turned beet red, and the tendons in his neck stood out with the effort to push Joe off.

  Jessica moved in with her cell phone, getting a nice close up of Karl’s watering eyes. He glared at her, but she obviously had no loyalties when it came to a juicy video to stick on her Instagram.

  “I’m only going to ask you one more time. Pick up the piece of paper. Otherwise, I’m going to do more than twist your arm. Understand?”

  “Go to—”

  Joe shoved Karl’s arm higher. His mouth fell open with a high-pitched squeak.

  “Pick up the piece of paper, Karl.” Joe leaned closer. Even at a whisper, what he said carried. “Pick it up, or I’m going to make you cry like a little girl.” He stepped back, and Karl whirled around.

  Everyone froze. Everyone waited. Joe seemed to be the only person confident Karl wouldn’t throw the punch.

  Keeping his eyes on Joe, Karl reached down and picked up the crumpled paper. “Here.” Karl held it out to Joe.

  “Not me.” Joe tipped his head at Sam. “Him.”

  The anger returned to Karl’s expression. He held out the piece of paper to Sam. He took it and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.

  “Good Morning, class.” Mrs. Briggs entered the room, and the tensions snapped. Karl returned to his seat.

  Joe slid into the desk across from Sam and tossed him a nod and smile.

  God, Sam wanted to kiss him. And he’d never wanted to kiss anyone before.

  A knock on the motel door woke Jacob from a dreamless sleep. He always slept well after a night at Marcel’s.

  No matter how much his body ached, it was always in a good way.

  The knocking continued.

  Jacob grabbed his jeans off the floor and tugged them on. He parted the curtain over the air conditioner.

  Logan. Great, just who Jacob didn’t want to see at nine in the morning with less than four hours rest.

  Jacob left the chain on and opened the door. “What do you want?”

  Logan flashed his thousand-dollar smile. Jacob remembered the man before he got all his teeth capped. When they were nothing more than yellowed squares lined up on a receding gum line. “Is that any way to talk to your favorite customer?”

  “You’re not my customer.”

  “I used to be.”

  A lifetime ago. When Jacob thought he was in love, and to keep that love, he had to do what he was told. Then when he realized what he had wasn’t love at all, he wound up tied to Frankie Dutch’s belt via the unbreakable heroin chain.

  Jacob had never been one to use drugs, but after having it shoved up his arm a few times against his will, he belonged to it. Just like he did the man who held his leash.

  But Frankie had been gone for years.

  Not long after Marcel had scraped Jacob out of the gutter, he’d severed those ties between Jacob and Frankie.

  “I’m not interested in whatever you’re offering.” Jacob started to close the door.

  Logan shoved his cowboy boot in the gap. “C’mon. We both know you’re still turning tricks. You can set your own prices. I’ll even put a cherry on top.” He took a baggy with white powder out of his pocket and held it up.

  “I don’t do that anymore, either.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “No. I don’t. Now go.”

  Logan didn’t remove his boot. “Look, I know Frankie didn’t treat you right. But I’m not him.”

  No, he was worse. He’d been one of the losers Frankie used to shuffle into the room when Jacob was begging him for no more. That’s when Logan liked Jacob the best—on the verge of tears and so used up he could barely stand.

  Jacob got slapped more than once for suggesting Logan just go find a corpse to fuck instead.

  “Not interested.”

  Logan leaned into the gap in the door. “It’s been over two years, he’s not coming back. And most of his boys are already working for me.”

  Fools. How many of them would wind up diseased before they were twenty? Jacob had been lucky. He should have been dead by now. If not from catching something from the bottom feeders Frankie sold him to, then the dirty needles he’d used.

  For the longest time, he was afraid the tests would come back positive. But he’d never gotten so much as the clap. Several tests over the course of a year, and the nurse practitioner at the health clinic assured Jacob he was clean.

  He still went every few months just in case and paid for the tests with his own money. Not because he didn’t trust Marcel but because he was afraid somehow they’d mixed up the results, and the last thing he wanted was for Marcel to get sick because of him.

  “C’mon, Jakey boy.”

  “Don’t call me that.” He hated the nickname. Hated it because Frankie gave it to him and how he’d said it like calling a dog.

  “Why not? It suits you.”

  “Goodbye, Logan.” Jacob shoved the door hard enough to make Logan wince. But he still wouldn’t move his foot. “Go away.”

  “What are you waiting for? I know you were in love with the guy, but he clearly shit and split on you.”

  Jacob ground his teeth. “I wasn’t in love with him. He had me strung out. Then he sold me, Logan. To people like you.”

  “That’s because you have irresistible assets.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to get you to do.” He shoved his cowboy boot farther into the door, forcing the chain taught. “Okay, listen. Just hear me out. I’ll let you choose who you want to see. I’ll even make sure they all wear condoms.”

  Jacob didn’t care if they wore hazmat suits, but Logan was not going to go away. Not until he got what he wanted, and Jacob wasn’t strong enough to force him to leave.

  “Fine.” Jacob stepped back from the door. “We’ll talk. Only talk. But I’m telling you now, you’re wasting your time. Move your foot so I can open the door.”

  “You wouldn’t do something stupid like lock me out, would you?” His smile stayed, but the viciousness in his eyes burned hot. The scars Jacob carried made it
impossible for him to forget what it meant.

  “No. I won’t lock you out.”

  Logan pulled his foot out of the door. Jacob closed it enough to unlatch the chain. He opened it back up but didn’t step away from the gap.

  “Have to move if I’m going to come in.”

  Jacob tightened his grip on the knob. He stepped out of the way, opening the door wider.

  “I knew you’d come to your senses.” Logan took one stride, putting one foot in and the other out. Jacob slammed the door, smashing it into the side of Logan’s head and caught the man’s leg up to his knee in the gap.

  He stumbled back. Jacob tried to shut the door, but Logan stuck his arm in.

  “That was a real stupid thing to do, Jakey boy.”

  “I told you I’m not interested.”

  A trickle of blood made a crimson line down Logan’s temple. “Yeah, well, now you owe me.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.” Jacob shoved the door, but Logan pushed his shoulder too deep in the opening.

  “Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Jacob. You’ve been tossed. Frankie’s moved on to greener pastures. I want you with me, and you will be with me.”

  “No.” Jacob braced all his weight against the door. His bare feet slid on the carpet. “I won’t.”

  “So you say.”

  Logan wedged another inch through the door. If he got in, he’d make good on his promise. He’d hurt Jacob. And Logan knew terrible ways to hurt a person.

  “Do you know why Frankie hasn’t come back?” Jacob’s grip threatened to slide. “Have you ever stopped to ask yourself that question?”

  “Probably hightailed to his island. Made enough money to.”

  “Only if it’s the kind of island found at the bottom of six feet of concrete.”

  The smile on Logan’s face faltered. “You don’t have the guts to kill anyone.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.” Jacob held up his hand, flashing the small insignia burned into the skin between his thumb and first finger. “But the man who put this here does. And he did.”

  Logan stared at the mark. “Bullshit.”

  “No bullshit.”

  “So what, you’re supposed to be a whore to some gang? I got news for you, Jacob. The gangs in these parts aren’t more than a bunch of oversexed teenagers with a penchant for rap music.”