


TnT

by slyc_willie



Category: Erotic Horror
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-04-20 03:49:29
Chapters: 8
Publisher: literotica.com
Story URL: https://www.literotica.com/s/tnt-ch-01
Author URL:
https://www.literotica.com/stories/memberpage.php?uid=748325&page=submissions
Summary: <p>1. Incestuous twins Talon and Thorne develop a dangerous kink.</p>
<p>2. The twins strike again, frustrating the detectives.</p>
<p>3. Riaz and June catch a break in the case.</p>
<p>4. The detectives track down the twins and learn their past.</p>
<p>5. The twins take another victim; Riaz finally gets to unwind.</p>
<p>6. Talon and Thorne are finally brought in for questioning.</p>
<p>7. Talon and Thorne take revenge . . . and June.</p>
<p>8. The aftermath.  It's all over now . . . isn't it?</p>
Erotica Tags: Anal Sex, Erotic Horror, Incest, June, Oral Sex, Rattlesnake
Man, Riaz, Talon, Thorne, Twins
Average Rating: 4.54





TABLE OF CONTENTS


TnT Ch. 01

TnT Ch. 02

TnT Ch. 03

TnT Ch. 04

TnT Ch. 05

TnT Ch. 06

TnT Ch. 07

TnT Ch. 08




        TnT Ch. 01


_(Author's note: this story deals with some very gritty and harsh subject
matter. This is not for those looking for a straightforward sex story. There
are many themes that some people might find objectionable, but to reveal them
might give away parts of the story prematurely. If you continue reading,
please keep this warning in mind.)_  
  
_(This is the first of an eight-part series.)_  
  
**Part One**  
  
Talon stretched painfully as he sat at the desk in the spacious apartment's
living room. He cracked his neck, then his back, then his knuckles. For a
moment, he looked away from the laptop before him, admiring the decorations of
the small abode. Posters from dozens of movies dating back nearly twenty years
competed with the purloined menus from equally as many restaurants for space
upon the walls. He liked the look of the comely abode which he had called home
for more than four years. In all that time, it had gained its own personality,
becoming as eclectic and unique as its inhabitants.  
  
"What're you working on?"  
  
The masculine, but naturally lilting voice drifted from the bedroom doorway
behind him. Talon smirked as he settled his fingertips to the laptop's
keyboard. "Just posting on one of my forums," he responded.  
  
He heard the faint swish of feet upon carpet behind him, but did not turn to
acknowledge it. Instead, he continued typing, until a pair of slim-fingered
hands settled briefly to his shoulders before sliding down his bare torso.
Slender yet muscular arms settled against his chest. His eyes fell to the
detailed ink of the rattlesnake tattoo coiled around the right arm, which
exactly matched the design on his own.  
  
Talon breathed in, instantly feeling a twinge of arousal. "Thorne," he
muttered, trying to continue his typing. "Not now."  
  
A dark but seductive chuckle sounded in Talon's right ear as a smooth-skinned
face slid alongside his own. "I want," was all that was said.  
  
Talon faltered in his typing, closing his eyes as he relished the feel of
those familiar, talented hands gliding across his chest and abdomen, before
they delved further and brushed through the close-cropped nest of dark hair
above his penis.  
  
"Can't you, um—" He paused a moment, clearing his throat. "Can't you give me
just a minute?"  
  
The hands suddenly retreated, the smooth faced disappeared. But it was only
the briefest of respites before the owner of both stepped into view on Talon's
right side. He stood at the corner of the desk, waiting.  
  
Talon could not help but look. The slender man was in obscenely good shape.
Uniformly alabaster skin glowed beneath the soft light of the room's lamps.
Thorne's face was as if chiseled from the same block as that which
Michelangelo had carved David, replete with dark curls about the head. Beneath
that, the toned body was smooth and strong, with not an ounce of hair to be
shown, not even around the base of the impressive, uncircumsized penis, which
angled out and down in a state of casual arousal.  
  
Talon grinned, instantly forgetting his online activities as he beheld the
beautiful, hairless figure before him. He was mesmerized by the sight of such
smoothness around Thorne's genitals. Acting on impulse, he reached out to
caress the silky shaft and hairless testicles beneath. Thorne responded with a
deep, emphatic sigh, parting his thighs.  
  
"How'd you get it so smooth?" Talon asked. "There's, like, no stubble."  
  
"That new epilator I got off eBay," Thorne responded, pushing his hips out to
encourage further caresses of his genitals. His cock swelled, and was soon
jutting out at full mast. "Fuck, that feels good."  
  
Talon chuckled. "Okay, you win," he said, then rose. He cupped Thorne's face
and kissed him sensuously, making them both moan. "Let's go to bed, brother."  
  
* * * *  
  
_Making love to my twin brother is like making love to myself_, Talon thought
as he settled atop Thorne in a sixty-nine. He sighed as his stiffened cock
slid past his identical twin's lips before he lifted his brother's penis,
admiring it for a moment before tucking it into his own mouth. Muffled moans
of satisfaction issued from both their throats as they settled into a
practiced rhythm.  
  
Talon loved the way the smooth, bulbous pink head of his brother's cock slid
across his tongue toward the back of his mouth. The sensations Thorne elicited
with his own oral ministrations were equally heavenly. The more his brother
sucked him, the more aroused and aggressive he became with his attention upon
Thorne's cock.  
  
For many long, sublime moments, the incestuous pair serviced one another, each
of them bucking, each of them sucking, neither willing to let go of the stiff
phallus trapped within his mouth. Fingertips danced and raked across smooth,
pale skin. They murmured and gasped, sucked and swallowed. The passion they
held for one another became more and more ardent with each passing moment.  
  
Finally, Talon felt his brother's cock swell to full rigidity, a sure sign of
impending release. Sucking voraciously, he pumped his mouth up and down, even
as he undulated his hips, spearing Thorne's mouth over and over. When the
heated rush of fluid sluiced over his tongue, inundating his senses, Talon
came as well, pouring his seed into Thorne's mouth.  
  
For several blissful moments, the fair-skinned brothers writhed and moaned,
savoring and swallowing the fruits of their deliciously incestuous labors. As
twins, they instinctively knew how to prolong each others' orgasm without
making it painful, and tenderly sucked one another until both young men were
soft.  
  
Only then did Talon roll off his brother's body, panting and spent, the gritty
flavor of Thorne's semen lingering in his mouth as he stared at the ceiling in
post-erotic bliss. He licked his lips and smiled sublimely, knowing that he
could never enjoy a better lover than his own twin.  
  
* * * *  
  
Kaylee looked herself over in the mirror. _I'm putting too much effort into
this_, she thought as she scrutinized her makeup. She leaned in, wiping away a
bit of mascara from the edge of her left eye. _Fuck it_, she told herself.
_This is good enough for a one night stand._  
  
She straightened and sighed. _God, I look like a tramp_. She considered
changing the shimmering gold blouse -- beneath which her braless breasts,
though of average size, were conspicuous -- for something less eye-catching.
She liked the black tights, which showed off her toned legs and firm, round
ass, as well as the black leather ankle boots which flared out in homage to
classic eighties fashion.  
  
_Maybe the white blouse?_ she thought, taking a step toward the walk-in closet
of her apartment. But she stopped herself with a chastising thought. _No. If
you're gonna do this, you're gonna go all the way. You want this. Fuck, you_
need _this. Just one night of anonymous sex with some hot guy you don't even
know and will never see again . . . yep. The perfect thing to get over Jesse._  
  
With a last, apprehensive look in the mirror, she flicked off the light and
left the bathroom.  
  
* * * *  
  
Had she entered on her own, Kaylee would most likely have turned about and
returned to her car the moment she stepped into the nightclub. It had been
almost two years since her departure from the madcap modern dating scene, for
which she had been immensely grateful.  
  
But she was not alone.  
  
"Gonna be great, girlfriend!" shrieked her best friend Leticia, maintaining an
iron grip on the willowy brunette's arm as they threaded their way through the
sea of bodies. Leticia's vicarious excitement for her friend's return to the
meat grinder of the social scene was almost annoying for Kaylee.  
  
"You gonna find some hunky stud, mix it up on the dance floor -- use them
moves, baby! -- then take him back to the love pad and rock his fucking brains
out!"  
  
Kaylee rolled her eyes, reevaluating her decision to go out for the hundredth
time. _God, this is such a fucking mistake_, she quietly lamented.  
  
A couple of strong mixed drinks served in purple fluted cylinders later,
however, and Kaylee's reservations were melting away. Despite having added a
few pounds during her now failed relationship, she remained a lightweight when
it came to alcohol. Her inhibitions were slowly draining away, but not yet
enough to give in to the numerous invitations -- most from drunken men who
slurred their way through clumsy come-ons -- she endured.  
  
"Oh, come on, girlfriend, that boy was _hawt_!" Leticia exclaimed after Kaylee
had turned away the most recent potential suitor. For herself, Leticia very
prominently and proudly flashed her recent engagement ring to any brave fellow
who deigned to proposition her. Her role was clear: she was here for Kaylee,
not for herself.  
  
Kaylee shrugged, sipping the last of her second drink. "I didn't like his
cologne."  
  
Leticia fixed her friend a look. "Who the fuck cares about cologne when you're
sucking a guy's balls?"  
  
The brunette grimaced. "What if he puts it down there, too?" she challenged.
"Some guys do, you know. Then I gotta smell it _and_ taste it. No thanks."  
  
Her friend huffed in exasperation. "Okay, girl, I get it: you ain't too
thrilled about putting the pussy on parade. But _fuck_, Kaylee, you been
sitting home every Friday night eating Cherry Garcia and watching that same
old lame-ass movie--"  
  
Kaylee glared. "It's not 'lame-ass,'" she countered defensively. "So what if
_The Princess Bride_ is, like, my favorite movie of all time?"  
  
Leticia gazed up at the dark ceiling of the nightclub, as if seeking strength
from some higher power that hovered somewhere beyond. After a moment, she
leveled her eyes on her friend. "Look. Jesse seriously fucked you over. He did
some trashy little bitch--"  
  
"Thanks for reminding me, Dr. Phil," Kaylee interrupted sourly.  
  
"--and now you're thinking you ain't all that anymore," Leticia continued,
unperturbed. She laughed ironically. "Which, obviously, is a bunch of fucking
bullshit, since you been getting so many eyes since you waltzed that tight
little booty of yours in here."  
  
Kaylee looked dejected. "It's not that easy, okay?" She breathed out heavily
over her drink. "I can't just . . . fuck some random dude. I gotta . . . feel
_something_, know what I mean?"  
  
Leticia softened. "Okay, I get that," she said with an empathetic nod. "Hey,
look. If you wanna go, we can go. It's no big deal."  
  
Kaylee shrugged, stirring the last bits of slush in her glass. "Go get me
another drink," she ordered with a rakish smile. "I'll think about it."  
  
* * * *  
  
Amid another round of drinks, random self-admonishment and self-pity, Kaylee
finally got all of her frustrations off her chest. ". . . all this time, he's
telling me he likes my tits, there's nothing wrong with them . . . and what
does he fucking do? Bang some fucking stripper with the fakest fucking balloon
tits this side of Taylor Swift!"  
  
Leticia laughed uproariously, slapping her hands to the tiny table between
them. "Tell it, girl!"  
  
Kaylee grumbled, took another sip of her drink. As she had done several times
during the previous several minutes, she stole quick glances toward a
particular corner of the horseshoe-shaped bar. "Hey," she said, garnering her
friend's attention.  
  
Leticia leaned in, inebriation obvious upon her colored cheeks. "What."  
  
The brunette nibbled her lip a moment, smiling around the tip of her straw.
"Don't get your hopes up, and don't look, but . . . I think the guy at the end
of the bar's been checking me out. And I think he's kind'a hot."  
  
Leticia instantly whipped her head around. "What? Who? Where?" After a few
moments, she returned her attention to her now-glaring friend.  
  
"I said, 'don't look.'"  
  
Leticia chuckled. "Okay, girlfriend. I promise I won't look. Where is he?
What's he look like?"  
  
Kaylee's eyes darted toward the end of the bar, catching glimpses through the
moving throng of party-goers. She couldn't help but smile. "He's at the far
end of the bar," she said. "Kind'a skinny, thick black hair, fucking sexy-ass
eyes . . . ."  
  
Leticia cackled. "Oh, listen to you, girl!" she exclaimed. "Go for it! Go get
him!"  
  
But the slender brunette blushed. "I don't know," she began, and then her face
fell. "Shit. He's gone."  
  
A sly smile spread across her friend's face. "You said thick dark hair and to-
die-for eyes?" she asked.  
  
Kaylee read Leticia's face, noting the other woman's gaze was fixed on
something behind her. She turned, seeing the same man she had been stealing
glimpses of, approaching cautiously.  
  
Leticia leaned across the table. "Oh, he's a cute one," she said, then slipped
off the bar stool. "You have fun, now."  
  
Alarm flooded Kaylee's face. "What? You're going? Wh--" She sputtered with
sudden unease as her friend strode away. Heat flooding her cheeks, Kaylee
stared down at her half-finished drink, afraid to focus on anything -- or
anyone -- else.  
  
"Excuse me."  
  
She looked to her left. The man with the gorgeous eyes now stood beside her.
He wore a white silk shirt with the top couple of buttons undone, revealing a
smooth, athletic chest. Naturally dark lips contrasted with both his pale skin
and thick, shaggy black hair. In any other situation, Kaylee would have
assumed such a man to be gay.  
  
He raised his hand and smiled disarmingly. "If you're going to shoot me down,
just get it over with."  
  
Kaylee gave a blushing smile. "Is it that obvious?"  
  
He shrugged. "Well, when a beautiful woman turns away every single guy who
approaches her, it kind'a makes a man nervous, you know?"  
  
her eyes drifted down his body. _Nice jeans_, she thought. _Just tight enough
to show off your package. Assuming it's not a rolled-up sock, anyway_. "Not
too nervous, obviously," she said as she returned to his eyes.  
  
He grinned. "I figured I'd take my chances. Can't be any worse off than I
already am, right?" He offered a hand. "My name's Thorne."  
  
She hesitantly accepted his hand with a dubious look. "'Thorne?'" she asked.  
  
He stooped briefly to kiss her fingers, then straightened with a wry smile.
"Yeah, I know. Sounds like some nickname from West Side Story or some shit,"
he said. "But it's really my name. Wanna see my driver's license?"  
  
Kaylee chuckled. "No, that's okay."  
  
He gestured to the vacant seat. "May I?"  
  
She pursed her lips in thought. The fact that Thorne was gorgeous she could
not dispute. But Jesse had been a hunky stud, and she did not want to get
caught up in a similar situation. _But then, if all I'm gonna do is fuck . . .
._  
  
"Sure," she said.  
  
His smile broadened as he took the chair. "Okay, step one accomplished."  
  
"What's step two?"  
  
Thorne shrugged. "I have no idea. I didn't think I'd get this far."  
  
His humility made her chuckle, and for the first time in months, she felt a
slight twinge of arousal in the pit of her stomach.  
  
* * * *  
  
The witching hour of midnight resulted in a flood of patrons to the nightclub.
The cacophony of the music and conversational din flooded over the burgeoning
couple as they talked, making them lean closer across the small table between
them, faces mere inches apart, just so they could be heard.  
  
"I can't hear what you're saying!" Kaylee blurted at one point with a laugh.  
  
Thorne grimaced, looking around at the oppressive crowd surrounding them. They
had both been jostled several times as partiers crowded the nearby bar. "Hey!"  
  
"What!"  
  
"Why don't we go somewhere else?"  
  
Kaylee stared at him for a moment. This was the tipping point, she knew. She
could not deny the insistence of her libido, which had been sparked, then
fanned, then fueled into a full-blown inferno the more she spoke with Thorne.
The fact that she wanted sex was not up for debate. But, was she willing to
give in to this gorgeous, smooth-talking, well-dressed man?  
  
Heartbeats passed. Kaylee found herself licking her lips. The alcohol she had
consumed made her braver than she would otherwise have been. She answered with
a nod and a coy smile.  
  
Thorne smiled back, slipping from his chair and extending his hand. Kaylee
took it and settled her feet to the floor. She swayed for a moment as the rush
of inebriated blood coursed through her. But Thorne was quick to steady the
young woman with an arm around her waist, and he guided her through the
shoulder-to-shoulder crowd toward the door.  
  
Once outside, the cool air and sudden freedom of movement made them both emit
gratified sighs. Fanning away the cloud of cigarette smoke from a dozen or so
nearby smokers, They made their way to the parking lot, with Kaylee taking out
her phone on the way. The sudden clarity of the air as welcoming.  
  
"I gotta tell my friend I'm leaving," she said, even as she started tapping on
the screen.  
  
"Sure," Thorne said with a smile.  
  
Kaylee paused, looking up at Thorne. "Um . . . where _are_ we going?"  
  
He took a step past, then turned and faced her. "It's your call," he said. "We
could, uh, grab something to eat, hit a little coffee bar just up the street,
or . . . ."  
  
Kaylee arched an eyebrow. "Or?" she prompted.  
  
He smiled rakishly. "My hotel's just down the block," he said, punctuating his
statement with a suggestive look.  
  
Again, the willowy brunette blushed. She sucked in her lips a moment,
contemplating her options. The fog of alcohol parted only for the desires of
her Id. "Can I be honest with you?"  
  
Thorne cocked his head. "Haven't we been all night?"  
  
She smirked. "Okay, but, what I meant was, um . . . ." She trailed off, unsure
of how to say what was on her mind.  
  
He reached out and touched her cheek, brushing his thumb along the soft skin
beneath a hazel-hued eye. "Before you say anything else, can I just tell you
that I think you're incredibly beautiful?"  
  
Briefly, Kaylee felt her knees wobble. She emitted a strained sighed. "Oh,
God, don't say things like that," she said in a quavering voice.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
She huffed and stepped back. "Because I . . . I mean I'm not looking . . . I
don't want . . . I mean, I just wanna . . ." She expelled deeply in
frustration. "Fuck!"  
  
Thorne chuckled. "Okay, I can do that, too."  
  
She looked back at him and let out a short, rude laugh. "Are you looking for a
girlfriend?"  
  
Thorne licked lips which had become somewhat dry from the two cocktails he had
imbibed. "You want me to be honest?"  
  
She nodded vehemently. "Yeah."  
  
He shrugged. "I'm not sure," he said. "I know I like you, and I'm not gonna
lie and say I haven't been undressing you all night with my eyes, but . . . if
this is gonna be a 'first date' kind'a thing, I'd be willing to go the
distance."  
  
Kaylee smiled sweetly. "God, why can't all guys just be honest like that?"  
  
Thorne laughed. "'Cause if they were, I wouldn't have a chance?"  
  
She echoed the laugh, then suddenly stepped close, nearly pressing her body to
his. Her eyes, despite being dulled by alcohol, blazed fiercely. Her
expression was one of seductive sincerity. "You have a chance," she breathed.
"Look. I don't know if I want another relationship right now. I got fucked
over by my ex and I'm feeling kind'a shitty about myself. But I do know . . .
."  
  
He lifted a hand and smoothed back a few strands of thick, curly brown hair
from her face. "What do you know?" he asked, powerful dark eyes staring down
into hers.  
  
She trembled slightly. Blush rose hotly to her cheeks. "I know I wanna fuck
you," she said at last.  
  
He smiled, then lowered his head and lightly, wetly, slid his lips across
hers. "My hotel it is, then," he whispered.  
  
* * * *  
  
Thorne fumbled with the pass card at the lock to the hotel room door, finally
sliding it in the right way as Kaylee giggled like a schoolgirl beside him.
Once the little green light flashed, he shoved the door open with his foot
while gathering the now-eager brunette in his arms. She laughed and sighed
amid heated kisses as he carried her into the room. Whatever reticence she may
have harbored earlier was now gone.  

Door falling shut behind them, Thorne carried Kaylee to the king-sized bed in
the room and deposited her there with smothering kisses and lightly-clawing
hands. A single lamp cast amber light which washed across their skin. He
pulled down the neckline of her top, exposing a firm breast and puckered
nipple. As he sucked the latter into his mouth, the brunette gasped and
writhed, clutching his head.  
  
"God, I'm so turned on," she hissed, flicking the tip of her tongue across his
ear.  
  
He suddenly released her nipple to let it cool in the conditioned air of the
room, and stood at the end of the bed. "Good," he said, giving his conquest a
predatory look as he ripped his shirt open. Buttons danced across the floor as
the silk garment fluttered to the floor.  
  
"Mmm," Kaylee mewed, scooting back on the bed, fanning her lean legs back and
forth. Her eyes were mesmerized by the sight of the tattooed serpent coiling
down Thorne's arm. _Hot fucking tat_, she thought. She was aware of the
wetness between her thighs, which had already begun to soak through the fabric
of her stretch pants.  
  
Thorne grinned as he popped the top button of his jeans, then the next, and
the next, and the next. Kaylee watched every movement, drinking in the
miniscule glimpses of naked flesh beneath her imminent lover's clothing. Her
mouth hung slack as she anticipated the view of his full nudity.  
  
Then, suddenly, the jeans slid down Thorne's well-toned thighs, exposing his
full nakedness. For a moment, he stood proudly, hands at his sides, as his
half-erect cock bobbed out. The complete lack of hair around his sex made his
genitals appear to be even more prominent than they would otherwise be.  
  
Kaylee gasped, eyes bulging wide as she drank in the sight of him. She grunted
as her pussy suddenly spasmed in anticipation. "Holy shit," she murmured,
unable to avert her gaze from the impressive cock before her.  
  
"I guess you like," Thorne commented, moving onto the bed.  
  
She breathed out, then giggled, then swooned. "Wow," she remarked at last,
curling forward and reaching a hand to Thorne's genitals. She stroked the
firm, pale shaft, smile growing as a drop of pearly fluid seeped from the
slit.  
  
"Your turn," he directed, reaching down to tug on her shirt. She gave in
easily, allowing her small but firm breasts to become exposed. Lightly tanned,
they sat proudly on her chest, with small pink nipples pointing upward.  
  
Thorne doubled over and laved first her lips, then her neck, then her breasts
with teasing and talented swipes of his tongue. Every moment found Kaylee
becoming more and more aroused.  
  
He peeled off one boot, then the other, then reached for the waistband of her
pants. She lifted her hips eagerly, allowing Thorne to peel the fabric from
her hips all the way down her slim thighs and off her feet. As he tossed the
garment behind him, he looked upon the nudity of his lover with a satisfied
grin.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked.  
  
Kaylee trembled, settling her thighs together. The carefully-trimmed patch of
dark pubic hair above her sex was all that was visible. "Anything," she
panted.  
  
Smugness coloring his face, Thorne pushed her thighs apart, exposing the damp
treasure between her thighs. The fragrance of Kaylee's sex drifted to his
senses. He looked upon her exposed pussy with interest. The outer lips were
thick and dark, framing sleek, pale labia which were just beginning to bulge
outward.  
  
He kissed the inside of her right calf. "Tell me," he whispered. "Tell me what
you want."  
  
Her head fell back onto the bed. "Oh, God," she moaned. "Just do it . . . do
anything you want . . . ."  
  
"Anything?" Thorne asked rhetorically, before rudely shoving her thighs wide
apart. "Like this?" He descended upon her, pressing his mouth to her slippery,
ripe pussy, sucking the folds of tender pink flesh between his lips.  
  
"Oh, fuck!" Kaylee exclaimed, arching her back deeply, even as she slapped a
hand to the back of Thorne's head. She seethed and hissed, grinding her
saturated sex against his mouth. Heavy eyes watched the way his nose pressed
to her pubic mound. She moaned in heat, nibbling her lip as she savored the
sensations of his tongue gliding firmly between the slick folds of her pussy.  
  
His oral attention was just a tease, for Thorne was soon pushing himself up
over her body, smiling down upon her. His lips and chin were moistened with
her essence. She shuddered for a moment, face flushed and eyes glittering.  
  
"You're, um, pretty damn good at that," she muttered.  
  
"Oh? I could keep doing that if that's what you want."  
  
"No," she said quickly, reaching down to snare his cock with her hand. She
rubbed the smooth head against her clitoris. "I don't think I can go another
second without this inside me."  
  
Thorne grinned, then gave her a quick kiss. "First things first," he said,
leaving her for a moment as he leaned over the edge of the bed. He fumbled
through his jeans, then came back with a small, foil-wrapped package.  
  
"Right," Kaylee said. "Can't be too careful." She sat up suddenly with a
mischievous look in her eye. "Can I put it on?"  
  
Thorne shrugged and handed the condom over. "Be my guest," he said, then
leaned back on his hands. His stiff cock pointed straight at the young woman.  
  
She started to tear the package, then hesitated, regarding the engorged
phallus before her wistfully. "Wait. I gotta suck that thing, first," she
declared, then doubled over, slipping her hand around the base of Thorne's
cock and pointing the tip at her mouth. She sucked it in deep, nearly half on
the first plunge.  
  
Thorne watched Kaylee's head as she bobbed. She wasn't very skilled at giving
head, he realized. Now and then, he flinched as her teeth scraped the shaft.
_Not nearly as good as my brother_, he thought.  
  
Gently, he nudged her head with his fingertips. Kaylee stopped and slid her
mouth from his penis, lips wet and dripping. "I'm not too good at that, am I?"
she asked, looking dejected. Her eyes dipped with shame. "I know. My ex always
said I sucked dick like a badger with half it's teeth missing."  
  
He placated her with a smile. _No, you aren't good at it at all_, he thought.
"I just want to be inside you."  
  
She looked back up with a blushing smile, then tore open the wrapper of the
condom. Carefully, she rolled the latex sheath down Thorne's shaft. "Good
thing these things stretch," she commented. "You really do have the biggest
dick I've ever seen."  
  
He suddenly shoved her back, making her fall onto the mattress with a
surprised grunt. He leaned over her, pushing her legs apart and back, and
lined up his penis with her pussy. Dark eyes blazed down upon her. "And right
now, it's all yours," he said.  
  
She swooned, then gasped and yelped as his cock suddenly speared deep within
her snug tunnel. Eyes squeezed shut, mouth slack, she emitted a long, low,
gracious moan as she was steadily filled. She wasn't aware that she was
holding her breath until she felt the protestations of her lungs. By then, his
weight was pressed against her pelvis, heavy, hairless balls against her
buttocks.  
  
"Oh, f-u-u-ck," she groaned.  
  
"Exactly," he muttered, then began pumping in and out, stabbing into Kaylee's
body at a rhythmic pace. She gasped and sighed beneath him, hands alternately
clawing the sheets of the bed and Thorne's strong arms, shoulders, and sides.
The bed squeaked and shifted. The headboard rocked between the frame and the
wall behind it.  
  
Just when the woman was on the verge of orgasm, Thorne suddenly stopped and
pulled out. As if manipulating a life-sized doll, he rolled Kaylee across the
bed and pulled her up onto her knees. Mind befuddled by sexual overload and
alcohol, she was barely able to adjust to the sudden change before he was
entering her once more, this time from behind. One of his hands pushed her
shoulders down to the mattress. The other gripped her hip.  
  
He fucked her hard and fast, slapping his hips against her quivering cheeks.
Kaylee all but spasmed every time his balls smacked against her clit. She
grabbed handfuls of bed sheet and gripped them tight, bit down into the pillow
against which her sweaty face was pressed. The stirrings of her orgasm began
in the pit of her stomach and became magnified exponentially, until she was
quivering in orgasm before she even realized it.  
  
The clenching of Kaylee's vaginal muscles around his invading cock, the
knowledge that he had taken this woman and reduced her to a sexual plaything
for his enjoyment, triggered Thorne's release as well. He grunted and buried
himself to the hilt within her, cock burning as it poured forth the liquid
heat of his body.  
  
For several moments, neither of them moved. Kaylee panted, wheezing, into the
pillow. Thorne swayed on his knees, holding onto his lover's hips for support.
His cock burned within the rippling depths of Kaylee's cunt, slowly softening.
He regained his breath and slid from her. Kaylee slid her legs out from
beneath her and gathered the pillow beneath her in her arms.  
  
Her sweaty face, surrounded by disheveled hair, turned to look over her
shoulder. She felt more drunk now than she had all evening. All she saw of
Thorne was the slightly-blurred form of what, to her, was a pale-skinned
Adonis. She smiled in satisfaction. "That . . . was a hell of a . . . fuck,"
she managed to say.  
  
Thorne pushed up from the bed. "Ready for round two?"  
  
Her eyes bulged. "Seriously?"  
  
He chuckled. "Let me, uh, grab another condom from the bathroom. Be right
back."  
  
She giggled. "Um . . . okay . . . ."  
  
* * * *  
  
When her lover returned not more than a minute later, he seemed rejuvenated.
He dragged Kaylee to the corner of the bed and proceeded to pummel her
saturated pussy with rapid pumps of his fingers while sucking fiercely on her
clit. The intense sensations had her gasping and twisting upon the bed,
expelling incoherent squeaks and panting moans before he suddenly stood and
entered her.  
  
Kaylee could only give in to the moment and allow herself to be taken. The
dominant part of her relished the rough and incessant way in which her lover
all but used her. She reminded herself that she had begun the night in search
of the fantasy of casual sex, and here it was in all it's primal glory.  
  
When he pulled out from her seething pussy, ripped off the condom, and grabbed
her head to pull her toward him, she dutifully, wantonly, held her panting
mouth open to catch the thick streams of semen that erupted from his cock.
Only some of it landed upon her outstretched tongue, however, with the rest
splattering her cheeks, chin, neck, breasts, and abdomen. Falling back on the
bed to again regain her composure, she only languidly acknowledged his brief
excuse to leave the room once more.  
  
He returned in full force, bearing down upon her and licking up the streaks of
fluid from her body before getting her on her stomach once more. Pushing her
legs together, he entered her from behind, his thighs framing her own, and
gathered a handful of long, brunette hair in his hand as he fucked her.
Kaylee's eyes rolled back in her head; she lost track of time, space, and any
and everything else that dared enter her mind.  
  
After he ejaculated all over her buttocks and back, he again stood from the
bed. "Be right back," he said, stepping around the bed toward the bathroom.  
  
Panting and borderline delirious, Kaylee nevertheless managed to push herself
up onto her knees upon the mattress. "Wait!" she exclaimed.  
  
Thorne stopped, turning back with an inscrutable look. "I'm just gonna be a
sec," he said, then grinned. "Then we can go again."  
  
Her eyes bulged. "Are you fucking serious?" she snapped. "You on fucking coke
or something?"  
  
Thorne chuckled, folding his arms upon his chest. "No," he responded simply.
"I'm twenty-three. I don't need shit like coke. Come on; isn't this what you
wanted?"  
  
Still breathing heavily, Kaylee's eyes wandered in random patterns. "Well . .
. yeah, but . . . holy shit, dude, give a girl a break. I'm gonna be sore in
places I never been sore before."  
  
He grinned rakishly, looking her over. Kaylee's skin yet glistened with smears
of fluid. A tendril of cooling semen dangled from her chin. "You're a mess,"
he remarked.  
  
She laughed sharply. "No shit. I need a shower." She crawled to the end of the
bed and stood on wobbly legs. But Thorne stepped before her, blocking her
path.  
  
"Guess it's time to tell you."  
  
Kaylee frowned, sluggish from the effects of sex and alcohol. "Tell me what?"  
  
Thorne smirked and cocked his head over his shoulder. "Come on out," he
called.  
  
Kaylee's confusion spiked, and she looked to the bathroom doorway as the light
suddenly flicked on. Through the doorway stepped a figure perfectly identical
to the man who stood before her, complete with matching rattlesnake tattoo,
just as naked, and just as arrogantly smirking. He stepped up beside Thorne,
slipping an arm around the latter's shoulders.  
  
For a moment, Kaylee's eyes darted back and forth between the two men. They
could have been clones, she realized, for all the perfect similarities. Slim,
athletic builds, hairless bodies save for thick tangles of black hair upon
their heads, fierce, penetrating eyes, chiseled features, naturally red lips .
. . .  
  
"What the fuck?" she managed to sputter at last. "Twins?"  
  
Talon laughed softly. "Gee, wonder how she figured that out," he quipped.  
  
"Oh my God," Kaylee suddenly blurted, then slapped her hands over her mouth.
"Did you . . . were you both . . . ." Her hands fell away. Her voice rose in
timbre to that of an angry shriek. "_Did you both fucking fuck me?_"  
  
In unison, Talon and Thorne snapped their fingers, winked, and smiled.
"Bingo."  
  
She bristled. "Was this just some kind of fucking game to you guys? Pick up a
girl, then tag-team her?"  
  
The twins nodded in unison. "Pretty much."  
  
Her mouth fell agape. Sobriety borne of anger suddenly flooded her body. "You
assholes!" she yelled, and brought up her arm in a vicious, powerful slap that
crashed across Thorne's face.  
  
The blow cocked his head to the side. He looked upon his brother, seemingly
not at all affected by Kaylee's strike. He blinked once, then twice, the
muscles beneath his eyebrows working. "Did she just hit me?" Thorne asked
casually.  
  
Talon pursed his lips, glancing from his twin to the woman before them. His
gaze was suddenly inhuman and uncompromising. "I believe she did."  
  
With a sense of slow, calculating malevolence, Thorne trained his dark eyes
upon Kaylee. The coldness of his expression transcended every apparent tender
moment the two had previously shared.  
  
Kaylee swallowed thickly, anger changing abruptly to fear. "Look, I just
wanna--"  
  
But her words were cut off as Thorne's fist slammed heavily into the side of
her jaw, just before her left ear. Head nearly snapped around, Kaylee tumbled
to the floor, stunned with pain.  
  
Talon emitted a troubled sigh. "Well, now we have a problem," he said, looking
upon the prone nude woman.  
  
"Sure looks that way," Thorne added.  
  
"She might be disposed to claim she was raped."  
  
"And assaulted."  
  
Talon nodded. "True." The twins exchanged knowing looks, making a swift
decision without the need for conversation. "We can't have that."  
  
Oblivious to the conversation behind her, Kaylee shook as she tried to support
herself on her hands. The left side of her face was numb; she tasted blood,
felt a loosened tooth. Shock flooded her nerves, her mind. She could not form
a cohesive thought.  
  
As Talon stepped to the bed, whipping a pillowcase from its pillow, Thorne
straddled the young woman's back, pushing her back down onto the rough Berber
carpet. His hand covered her mouth as she began to squeal in fear and protest.
Talon then squatted before her, wringing the pillowcase in on itself so that
it formed a twisted length of fabric. Ignoring the horror in Kaylee's eyes, he
crossed his hands and slipped the loop of material past her head as Thorne
took his hand away.  
  
Kaylee could only begin a terrified shriek before it was cut short. Talon
jerked the impromptu garrote tight, transforming the woman's scream into
nothing more than a mouse-like squeak. She struggled and pushed, but Thorne
kept her immobile, snatching her wrists with his hands. Her feet kicked, toes
digging into the carpet.  
  
Talon watched the woman's face as it darkened. Her terrified eyes were fixated
upon his, attempting futilely to beg for release. But Talon's stoic expression
would not be shaken. He was mesmerized, fascinated, as like a child watching
his first successful science project. He noted each vein as it bulged and
darkened, the way her lips swelled with blood, the way her tongue protruded as
it also became engorged. Then came the burst of capillaries in Kaylee's eyes,
a dramatic explosion of crimson that washed over the whiteness.  
  
Finally, her struggles stopped. Her body became limp. Talon held the garrote
taut for another few seconds, for good measure, then let go. The woman's face
fell heavily onto the carpet.  
  
Lurching to his feet, Talon took in, then let out, a deep breath. "Holy . . .
wow," he expelled. His eyes were wide and glimmering, revealing a state of
arousal he had never before experienced. "That was . . . fucking _intense_!"  
  
Thorne suddenly chuckled, remaining where he was, his face at crotch level. He
arched a single brow as he noted his brother's fierce erection. "You're hard."  
  
Talon glanced down and shook his head in wonder. "I am . . . so _fucking_
turned on right now," he declared.  
  
With a wicked grin, Thorne suddenly lunged forward, engulfing his brother's
cock in his mouth, sucking passionately. Talon could only groan in bliss,
reaching back to steady himself against the wall behind him as his brother
ardently sucked him to a quick and intense orgasm.  
  
* * * *  
  
They carried the body into the shower, where Thorne washed it of any remaining
sexual residue while Talon dressed and left the room. He returned only a few
minutes later with a laundry bag pilfered from a housekeeping cart, into which
the brothers stuffed the corpse. Making sure to gather all of their clothing
and items -- as well as those of their victim -- they carried the heavy bundle
to the nearest bank of elevators. All they left behind were the pass keys for
the room. At just past three o'clock in the morning, the entire hotel seemed
to be as silent as a dessert.  
  
The elevator took them down to the parking garage. Thorne stepped out first,
looking about for any potential witnesses. A lone security guard dozed in his
folding nylon chair several feet away. There were no security cameras Thorne
could see. Quickly, they carted their bundle to Talon's black SUV and heaved
it into the back.  
  
A little less than an hour later, the SUV stopped along a darkened road a mile
off the highway north of the city. The brothers carried the body into a
thicket and shook it out of the laundry bag. Rigor mortis had yet to set in;
the dead woman's body flopped as it fell amongst stagnant water and bug-
infested shoots of grass.  
  
Talon tucked a pair of cigarettes between his lips and lit them both. He
passed one to his brother. Both inhaled deeply, then exhaled, sending grey
clouds which dissipated on the gentle nighttime breeze.  
  
"Well," Thorne said at last as they both stood reclining against the side of
the black vehicle.  
  
Talon puffed his cheeks as he blew out a puff of air. "Hell of a night."  
  
His twin chuckled. "That's an understatement."  
  
Talon cocked his head, looking at one of the dead woman's feet as it jutted up
from the grass. "All things considered, she wasn't a bad fuck."  
  
Thorne scoffed. "You know, that's always pissed me off," he said.  
  
"What has?"  
  
"What, exactly, makes a chick a good fuck?" Thorne asked. "I mean, seriously.
All a girl's gotta do is spread her legs or open her mouth. _We_ do all the
fucking work. Okay, so she can squeeze her cunt. Big fucking deal. We have to
keep up the pace. We have to fuck them."  

Talon shrugged. "Guess it's relative," he mused. "Some girls are really good
at giving head, or --"  
  
"I never met one," Thorne muttered derisively. He sucked on his cigarette.
"Not as good as you, anyway."  
  
Talon rolled his eyes with a smile. "You're biased. I'm just saying, there are
things a woman can do to be good at sex."  
  
Thorne's sour expression remained. "I doubt it. But if there's a chick who's
good at sex, she's probably a lesbian."  
  
The twins exchanged looks, then laughed.  
  
"Let's get home," Talon suggested.  
  
"No shit," Thorne agreed. "I'm fucking exhausted."  
  
**End Part One**




        TnT Ch. 02


_(Author's note: this story deals with some very gritty and harsh subject
matter. This is not for those looking for a straightforward sex story. There
are many themes that some people might find objectionable, but to reveal them
might give away parts of the story prematurely. If you continue reading,
please keep this warning in mind.)_  
  
_(This is the second of an eight-part series.)_  
  
**Part Two**  
  
Leticia Covens stared at the scratched tabletop before her in the softly-lit
dining room. While it lay within her own home, everything seemed alien, as if
she had somehow stepped into someone else's body, someone else's life. In the
three days since Kaylee had disappeared, she had harbored the dwindling hope
that she would simply show up, smiling and safe, with lurid details of a
weekend of trash-novel sex.  
  
Instead, a phone call from Kaylee's mother had delivered the disheartening
news. The woman had barely been able to speak, but she had not needed to; the
obvious distress was all Leticia needed to hear to confirm the dark fears she
had already begun to harbor.  
  
"You okay, babe?"  
  
Her husband's question made her frown. "Why the hell do you think I'd be
okay?" she asked bitingly.  
  
He grimaced, unsure of what to do or say. "Um . . . there's a detective here.
You want me to tell him to come back later?"  
  
Leticia sucked in a breath, face drawn. "No. Might as well do it now."  
  
With a supportive hand upon his Leticia's shoulder, he husband departed. She
heard him speaking to someone in the foyer, then footsteps across the tiled
floor approaching closer.  
  
"Mrs. Covens?"  
  
She glanced up, brown eyes heavy. The man possessed dark skin and a short,
military buzz, with features that combined Middle Eastern and Western heritage
seated upon a frame which showed the results of an impressive amount of
exercise. Leticia may have considered the man attractive if not for her
current state. Her expression was one of dark resignation. The true reality of
the situation had not yet hit her; following the initial flood of tears had
come numbness, which yet lingered.  
  
"I'm Detective Riaz Parande," the man said. "You obviously aren't in the best
of moods right now, but I would appreciate anything you could tell me about
Friday night."  
  
Leticia nodded somberly. "I, uh, hope I can help you find . . . him," she said
awkwardly.  
  
Riaz placed a small digital recorder on the table and sat down across from
her. "Detective Parande witness interview with Leticia Covens, friend of the
deceased Kaylee Mills," he intoned professionally, then gave Leticia his
attention. "So, Kaylee met someone that night?"  
  
Leticia nodded. "Yeah, um . . . he was a white guy. About her age. Real pretty
boy. Skinny, but built, too."  
  
"Do you remember his name?"  
  
She shook her head. "I, uh, sort of gave them space," she said, voice
quavering. She sniffled suddenly. "I should'a stayed with her."  
  
"You had no reason to suspect anything," Riaz told her, although his
businesslike tone was less than reassuring. "Do you remember any other details
about him? Hair color, style? Eye color? Height and weight?"  
  
Leticia wrung her hands, staring at the recorder as she spoke. "Uh, he was,
uh, about six feet tall. And, like I said, skinny but built. Like a swimmer, I
guess. Black hair, kind'a all over the place. Shoulder length. That's about
it."  
  
The detective nodded. "Did he approach her?" he asked. "Was there any
indication she already knew him?"  
  
Leticia shook her head. "No, she didn't know him. She saw him sitting at the
bar, and I guess she liked what she saw. Maybe gave him some eyes or
something. Then he just sort'a . . . showed up at the table. Kaylee was, like,
making a puddle already . . ." She snorted derisively. "God, that sounded
bad."  
  
"What time was this? When he approached her?"  
  
She huffed. "Uh . . . maybe ten? Ten-thirty?"  
  
"And, did she leave with him?"  
  
Leticia nodded. "I got a text from her around midnight . . . saying they were
going somewhere else."  
  
His dark eyes studied her face. "Did she say where?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Did you hear from her after that?"  
  
Leticia sniffled again, eyes suddenly glistening. "No," she answered in a
strained voice.  
  
Riaz eased back in the chair a moment, contemplating the woman's information.
He took a small case from the breast pocket of his polo and slipped a business
card free. "If you remember anything else, please give me a call."  
  
Leticia nodded, fresh tears trickling down her cheeks. She neither spoke nor
looked up as the man took up the recorder and left.  
  
* * * *  
  
"I don't understand," Riaz lamented as he met with his partner outside the
medical examiner's office.  
  
"Not something I usually hear you say," June replied as she unfolded her arms
and pushed away from the wall. With her height, small breasts, and short curly
hair, she looked almost like an effeminate man.  
  
"Who the hell abandons their friend to a guy she just met in a nightclub?" he
asked rhetorically.  
  
June arched a slender brow. "Is that what happened?"  
  
"Pretty much," Riaz confirmed. "Kaylee Mills goes to a nightclub with a
friend, who ducks out after she picks up some pretty boy stud. Nothing but a
text message after that. Poof! She disappears for three days until a bicyclist
finds her body this morning."  
  
June sighed. "Not too much to go on, obviously."  
  
Riaz looked disgusted. "About as much to go on as a shadow on glass."  
  
June indicated the large door beside her. "Maybe the ME will give us something
more."  
  
"I sure as hell hope so," grumbled Riaz as he pushed open the door.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Sorry, detectives, but I don't have much to give you beyond the basics,"
informed the doughty medical examiner. She faced them across a cold metal
table upon which the unflattering corpse of the deceased lay, recently sutured
after autopsy.  
  
Riaz soured, glaring at the body as if it was keeping secrets from him. "Give
us the basics, then."  
  
"Cause of death was asphyxiation. She was strangled by some kind of very
flexible fabric. Polyesther. Maybe a bed sheet or pillow case. Time of death
was between two and four a.m. Saturday morning."  
  
"Was she raped?" June asked.  
  
The examiner cocked her head. "She had sex, that's for sure, but I can't say
it was rape. It was, however, fairly rough, and prolonged. Found traces of
human semen on her neck, but too little of it, and it was very contaminated.
The presence of chemical residues suggests her body was washed post-mortem."  
  
"So, the guy kills her, then washes her body before dumping it," Riaz mused
with a deep frown.  
  
"Suggests pre-meditation," June commented.  
  
"Maybe. Or just a level head." He nudged his chin toward the examiner.
"Anything else?"  
  
"One thing," the woman said. "There were fibers beneath her toenails. Carpet
fibers, from the looks of them. If I had a match, I could confirm a possible
crime scene."  
  
Riaz arched an eyebrow. "I'm assuming these are not exotic fibers?"  
  
The examiner smiled wanly. "Unfortunately, no." Then she smiled crookedly.
"But, based on the abundant amount of foreign chemicals, including a higher
concentration of commercial cleaning agents than you would find in any home, I
would say with a fair amount of certainty that the fibers came from a hotel or
motel."  
  
Riaz pursed his lips in thought. "Thank you, doctor."  
  
Minutes later, Riaz and June headed down the hallway toward the doors to the
outside. Riaz' face was even darker than his complexion normally provided.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Excuse me, are you the bartender who was working last Friday night?"  
  
"Uh, yes, sir. Why?"  
  
Riaz held up a photo. "Do you remember seeing this woman?"  
  
". . . Seriously, man, a thousand chicks come in here every Friday night. If
they ain't flashin' their tits to get free drinks, I don't pay attention to
them."  
  
"Are you sure? She came in around ten o'clock."  
  
"Sorry, man. She's cute, but not hot enough to rate in my book."  
  
"Thanks for your time."  
  
* * * *  
  
"You were the bouncer working last Friday night? Do you remember seeing this
woman?"  
  
". . . She don't stand out to me, dude."  
  
"She left with a guy around midnight. Thick black hair. Pretty boy."  
  
"Dude, you just described half the fuckers that come in here."  
  
"Thanks for your time."  
  
* * * *  
  
Riaz slammed the door of the unmarked cruiser closed in disgust. Nostrils
flared as he breathed, glaring through the windshield at the city outside.
"Fucker's just going to get away with it," he muttered.  
  
June gave her partner a worried look. "Why are you taking this one so
seriously? How many homicides have you investigated over the past, what,
twenty-three years?"  
  
"Twenty four," replied Riaz through clenched teeth. "And yeah, I've probably
been lead on a couple hundred murders. I don't know why this one's bothering
me."  
  
June considered her thoughts carefully for a moment before she spoke. "How old
is Kitna?"  
  
Riaz's brow furrowed deeply at the mention of his daughter. He cast a sidelong
look at his partner. "What?"  
  
June met the older man's look squarely. "Didn't she just turn twenty-two? Same
age as the victim, right?"  
  
Riaz opened his mouth to speak, then stopped himself. His defensive ire
dissipated. "You think I'm projecting the circumstances of Kaylee Mills' death
to my daughter's situation?"  
  
June shrugged. "Just a thought. Kitna just had a hard breakup, right? You were
telling me something about that a few weeks ago. Not much of a stretch to
think your little girl might find herself feeling vulnerable, just like Kaylee
Mills, and wanting to hook up with a stranger, just to feel like a desirable
woman again."  
  
Riaz's face reddened. "Hey."  
  
June turned in her seat to face him. "I'm not saying she'd do that. But, as
her father, and a career cop, and with this case . . . yeah, maybe you are
projecting a little. But what do I know? I just made detective a few months
ago."  
  
Riaz glared for a moment longer, then lowered his gaze. He said nothing more,
but had to admit that perhaps his still-new partner had a point.  
  
* * * *  
  
Thorne sat on the edge of the couch in the living room, remote in hand as he
stared at the large flatscreen television upon the wall. A sly smile stretched
his lush lips. "You gotta see this, Tal," he called.  
  
His brother looked up from the counter in the spacious kitchen, cocking his
head over a naked shoulder. "See what?"  
  
Thorne chuckled. "Just . . . watch," he said, aiming the remote as he tapped
the volume control.  
  
The screen showed a video clip of a glossy black body bag being carted upon a
gurney to a waiting ambulance. ". . . the body of twenty-two-year-old Kaylee
Anne Mills was discovered early this morning by a man out for a bicycle ride.
According to police, she had possibly been sexually assaulted, then brutally
murdered by strangulation at some other location before her body was dumped
here some time early Saturday morning."  
  
Talon stared at the screen, slowly chewing the first bite of the sandwich he
had crafted. He felt his heart palpitate.  
  
The feminine voice-over continued. "Police are at a loss to determine the
identity of Kaylee's murderer. She was last seen leaving the Burning Iguana at
midnight Friday, with a man described as being around six feet tall, with pale
skin, slender build, and dark hair. If you have any information regarding this
case, please contact the police department at the number below . . . ."  
  
Thorne cocked his head, a smug smile pulling at his mouth. "Cops don't have a
fucking clue," he said.  
  
Talon came around the breakfast bar and eased onto the couch beside his twin.
He swallowed the bolus of food and licked his lips. "Seems that way," he
agreed.  
  
Thorne reached for one of two bottles of beer on the glass-topped coffee table
before them. "Know what I'm thinking?" he asked before taking a swig.  
  
The corners of Talon's mouth curled. He took another bite of the sandwich,
chewed, swallowed. "We could do it again."  
  
Thorne studied his brother's face in profile. "What was it like?"  
  
Talon turned his attention to his twin. He did not have to ask his brother to
clarify his question. He bit off another part of the sandwich, thinking before
he responded. "The weirdest part was her eyes," he said at last. "I mean, she
was begging the whole time, without saying anything, and then all of a sudden,
there was this burst of blood and she wasn't looking at me anymore . . .
that's when it hit me, really; _she's dying_. And then . . . just like that,
she was gone. Just a body. All that . . . potential . . . I mean, whatever she
could have been, it was just _gone_. We took it from her."  
  
Thorne smiled slyly. "Is that what turned you on?"  
  
Talon chuckled. "I dunno. Maybe. It was a serious power trip."  
  
Thorne held his brother's gaze. "I wanna know what that's like," he declared,
softly but firmly.  
  
His brother took another bite of the sandwich, stared without interest at the
screen as the latest weather report was unveiled. His mind was going through a
hundred and more ideas and thoughts at the same time. "We'll have to be really
careful," he said at last.  
  
Thorne grinned. "I got an idea."  
  
* * * *  
  
A light rain had coated the downtown streets, making them shimmer beneath the
soft orange street lights. Thorne had been a little disheartened at first, but
the weather cleared quickly, and with the warmth of the season and the city,
the balmy night returned.  
  
He glanced to the clock on the dash of the SUV. It was just after ten-thirty,
and from what Talon had told him after checking various forums online, this
was the best time to find what he was looking for.  
  
His eyes swept back and forth from one side of the street to the other as the
vehicle rolled along just beneath the speed limit. Various closed-down
businesses lined the street, with a few bars and seedy nightclubs
interspersed, cheap neon signs advertising the local domestic favorites. It
was a dilapidated part of town, with structures dating back to the forties and
fifties. Thorne would not normally have found himself in such an area.  
  
Movement caught his eye, and he slowed a bit as he passed a slightly plump
Hispanic woman, clad in stretch pants a little too small for her frame. She
sported abundant breasts beneath a round face that smiled tiredly, hopefully,
at him. Thorne frowned at the woman's obvious muffin top, and kept rolling
along.  
  
Directing the SUV down a side street lined with post-war era houses, Thorne
again spied movement ahead. This one was slender, almost too skinny, with
curly, dyed blonde hair that seemed to have been inspired by an eighties music
video. Her face was cute enough, he decided as he passed her. She caught his
look and stopped walking, watching as Thorne slowed the SUV to a stop.  
  
_Yeah, that's it, babe_, he thought maliciously as he watched the woman in the
rear-view mirror. _You need some money, right? Well, come and get it . . . ._  
  
Depressing the button on his console, Thorne lowered the passenger-side window
as the girl approached. He figured she was in her late teens or early
twenties. Pale skin sported lingering acne, but she had nice lips and wide,
round eyes. Her features were somewhat Hispanic, but mostly white.  
  
"Hey, what you up to?" she asked once she reached the window.  
  
Thorne shrugged. "Looking for some fun. You?"  
  
She smiled. "I could be some fun," she said.  
  
He smiled and unlocked the door. "Get in. Let's go for a ride."  
  
She pulled open the door and stepped in. "Whatever you want, baby."  
  
Thorne directed the car down the street, noting the brief passage of a police
sedan on a cross street ahead. He made sure to come to a full stop at the stop
sign, watching the red tail lights of the cop car as it rumbled away on his
left.  
  
"Cool tat," the girl remarked, eyes wandering along Thorne's arm.  
  
"Thanks. It was inspired by a great man."  
  
"So, you ain't a cop, are you?" the girl asked.  
  
Thorne chuckled. "No, I'm not," he said, looking her over as the SUV rolled
forward.  
  
The girl kept up her fake smile as she reached across the console and groped
Thorne's crotch. Then she eased back and lifted up her T-shirt, showing small
breasts. "Wanna touch me?"  
  
Thorne reached across and cupped one of the girl's tits. A dark pink nipple
pushed against his palm.  
  
"So, what're you looking for?" the girl asked, more comfortable now that she
was satisfied she had not been picked up by vice. "You want a blowjob, sex,
what?"  
  
Thorne shrugged his shoulders. "What's a hundred bucks gonna get me?"  
  
Her smile suddenly became genuine. "Anything you want, sweetie. By the way, my
name's Sylvia."  
  
Thorne smiled upon her with all the detached affection of a predator in
anticipation of a kill. "Thomas," he said.  
  
* * * *  
  
The girl didn't protest when Thorne informed her that he had a motel room they
could go to, and in fact seemed relieved, even excited. Thorne assumed her
apparent arousal was due to the promise of a hundred dollars; from what Talon
had learned online, the going rate for most prostitutes in the area was around
half that.  
  
As he had done when picking up Kaylee, Thorne fumbled at the door before
unlocking it, giving Talon the time to hide. Once the door was open, Thorne
made the gallant gesture of stepping aside so the streetwalker could enter
first. She batted her eyes at him as she stepped in, and immediately started
pushing her shorts down off narrow hips.  
  
"In a hurry?" Thorne asked as he closed the door.  
  
Sylvia looked over her shoulder as she revealed her naked behind. "Just to get
to it," she said, then actually blushed. "I'm kind'a horny. You're a pretty
hot guy, you know."  
  
Thorne dragged a cheap metal-framed chair from the little table by the window
and placed it facing the end of the room's single bed. "Give me a show," he
suggested.  
  
Sylvia turned around, stepping out of her shorts. Naked from where the hem of
her shirt stopped a few inches above her now naked sex to the tops of her
scuffed old sneakers, she ran her hands up and down her body. Her pubic mound
sported the shadow of dark stubble; it had been a day or so since she had last
shaved. Still, her clitoris was prominent, encased in a fleshy hood framed by
somewhat meaty outer labia.  
  
"You wanna watch me play with my pussy?" she cooed, backstepping to the bed.
She scooted back upon the covers and casually splayed her skinny legs wide.  
  
Thorne stared. "Yeah. That turns me on," he said.  
  
The girl smiled cattily, licking her fingertips as she supported herself on
her other hand. Keeping her eyes on Thorne, she began massaging her fleshy
pussy, making the lips flare out. A little wetness glistened in the light of
the motel room lamps.  
  
"I wanna see your dick," she whispered huskily.  
  
He chuckled as he sat, and unbuttoned his jeans. As the prostitute continued
to pleasure herself, Thorne unzipped the fly, lifted his hips, and pushed his
jeans down his lean, muscular legs. His cock was already half-hard, hanging
out over his smooth-shaved sacs.  
  
"Oh, cool," the girl commented, drinking in the sight of Thorne's penis. "I
never seen a guy who shaves down there."  
  
"Like it?" he asked, casually stroking himself. He swelled to full thickness
within a matter of moments.  
  
"Mmm," she answered, then brought her hand to her face. She sucked on her
middle finger, getting it wet, then settled it back between her legs. As
Thorne watched, the girl pushed the moistened finger inside her tunnel, slowly
easing it in and out. "You're seriously making me hot."  
  
The prostitute's words, Thorne figured, were an act, although she seemed to be
genuinely aroused on at least some level. Ultimately, he did not care, but
part of him was enjoying drawing out the anticipation. "Do you want my cock?"
he asked as he slowly pumped his hand up and down.  
  
"Oh, yeah, baby, I want it," she cooed.  
  
"What do you want to do with it?"  

She licked her lips, steadily finger-fucking herself. She fell back, propped
up on her elbow, and pushed her shirt up to expose her tiny breasts once more.
She pinched an engorged nipple. "Anything you want. Just, uh, if you wanna
suck job, don't shoot your load in my mouth. Seriously. I'll throw up all over
the place."  
  
Thorne stared. "So tell me," he directed in a firm tone. "What do you wanna do
with my cock?"  
  
Sylvia sucked her bottom lip, eyes fixated on Thorne's penis. "I wanna feel it
inside me," she breathed.  
  
He stood, stepped out of his jeans, and approached the bed. His stiff cock led
the way like the prow of a ship. "You want me to fuck you?"  
  
The hooker gave him a slutty grin, lifting and spreading her legs. "Yeah."  
  
Thorne climbed onto his knees on the bed, stroking his shaft slowly in
anticipation. But his eyes were not on the girl's lewdly-displayed sex; they
settled to her throat. For a moment, he imagined how it would feel to wrap his
hands around that throat and squeeze.  
  
His cock twitched.  
  
"Come on, baby," Sylvia urged him, reaching down to spread the lips of her
pussy apart. "Give it to me."  
  
He smiled darkly as he tore open the condom and rolled the latex covering down
his shaft. Sylvia's eyes followed the movements of his fingers. She licked her
lips longingly. Thorne had to admit he was both a bit surprised and a bit
touched at the girl's apparent eagerness. Was she that excited, he wondered,
or was the promise of money that powerful an aphrodisiac?  
  
He pushed those thoughts aside as he settled between her thighs. He took her
ankles in hand and looked down at the sight of his covered penis nudging the
entrance to the girl's vagina. Her clitoris glowed gently, and Sylvia let out
a short gasp as Thorne's cock rubbed against it. Then, he slowly began
penetrating her. Inch after inch was swallowed up in the prostitute's
surprisingly snug tunnel. The heat of her body soaked through his shaft.  
  
"Oh, yeah, baby, that's it," she groaned, letting her head fall back. She
closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensations.  
  
He eased in and out, taking a few moments to enjoy the sensations. As much as
he enjoyed sex with his brother, he could not deny the unique sensation of
burying himself to the hilt inside a woman's body.  
  
As the girl cooed softly beneath him, Thorne let his hands wander over her
body. He pushed up her shirt, smoothed his hands across her breasts. Her
nipples, dark and thick, pushed into his palms. Sylvia giggled. She was
enjoying herself.  
  
He leaned in a bit further, still gently sliding his cock in and out of her,
and let his fingertips dance across the base of her throat. He watched the way
the tendons jutted out beneath the skin, the way the slight bulge of her
esophagus moved when she swallowed. He placed his hands around the base of the
girl's neck.  
  
Her eyes opened, a sudden expression of worry within them. But Thorne smiled
disarmingly and returned his hands to her breasts. She smiled back, but it
seemed reserved, as if some basic instinct was beginning to warn her.  
  
Thorne began moving with firmer, stronger strokes, making Sylvia's body
tremble with each invasive push. She once again closed her eyes, lips parted
just enough to let a heated puff of air escape each time her lover thrust
home.  
  
Movement caught Thorne's eye, and he glanced to his right, to the doorway of
the bathroom. Talon stood nude, slowly stroking his erection as he watched his
brother, eyes gleaming anxiously for what was to come.  
  
Reaching down to the girl, Thorne surprised her as he rolled her onto her
side. She yelped, then laughed softly as she settled onto her hands and knees.
She arched her back in invitation, and glanced over her shoulder. "Ooo, you
like doggy, baby?"  
  
Thorne's smile was cold. "I like a lot of things," he growled, then shoved
hard inside the girl. Sylvia emitted an almost pained gasp, eye flying open
wide. Her body reverberated with each suddenly rough, pounding thrust Thorne
made within her. She had not been prepared for the change.  
  
"H-hold on," she muttered, reaching down between her legs. "I'm kind'a bunched
up--"  
  
"I don't care," Thorne responded rudely, leaning over her, pushing her body to
the mattress. "I bought you. That means I do what _I_ want with you."  
  
Sylvia gasped again, this time in shock and discomfort. She grimaced, her
right arm trapped beneath her body. A dozen thoughts cascaded through her
mind, none of them making any sense. She was aware only of the fact that she
was being overwhelmed, physically, sexually, emotionally.  
  
Thorne paused for a moment, calming his own breath as the girl panted beneath
him. He reached for one of the pillows and shook the case from it, then
whipped it around until it became a rope. "Ready for more?" he asked the girl.  
  
She started to push up, extracting her arm so she could draw strands of hair
away from her face. "Dude, seriously, that kind'a hurt . . . ." She trailed
off at the sight of Talon in the bathroom doorway, then whipped an indignant
look back and up at Thorne. "What the fuck? You didn't say nothing --" Sylvia
stopped, eyes quivering as she saw the taut length of coiled fabric Thorne
held. "Wh-what's that for?"  
  
Obvious malevolence glowed upon Thorne's face as he smiled evilly. "It's for
killing you," he said simply, then whipped the garrote around her neck. He
jerked it tight, pulling the girl's head back.  
  
"No," she managed to sputter. "P-please . . . ."  
  
Coming up alongside the bed, Talon caressed his brother's firm buttocks.
"Tighter," he said. "She can still talk."  
  
Thorne growled and jerked the opposite ends of the cloth garrote back and
forth savagely, while continuing to pound into the prostitute's pussy with
relentless, animalistic fury. Her upper body danced back and forth as he
jerked this way and yanked that way.  
  
Finally, he howled as his orgasm coursed through him, and arched his back,
bringing Sylvia up with him. The weight of her body hung from the twisted
fabric of the garrote. Her arms fell limply to the bed. But Talon did not seem
to notice. He rutted and gasped through his climax, finally collapsing upon
the streetwalker.  
  
Talon watched his brother panting atop the still woman. His eyes glowed from
having witnessed something so primal, so primitive, so incredibly arousing.
His brother was like a beast laying atop the taken virgin, not that either
allegories were truly applicable at the moment.  
  
Thorne finally pushed up and extracted himself from the prostitute's body
before rolling it over. The girl's glassy, wide-open eyes, parted lips, the
trickle of blood from one of her nostrils . . . she was dead. Unceremoniously,
he peeled off the condom and held it over the dead girl's face, letting the
fluid within trickle onto her lips and into her mouth. "So much for not taking
it in her mouth," he remarked. With a dark laugh, he sat back on the bed.  
  
"That was fucking incredible," Talon said, smiling in awe.  
  
"I . . . I could feel it," Thorne said with a look of wonder upon his face. A
rakish grin stretched his lips as he regained his breath. "I knew right when
she was gone. It was . . . it was, like, _snap_!" He shook his head. "Wow.
Like you said: fucking intense!"  
  
Talon chuckled. "Told you. Nothing else in the world like it."  
  
"No fucking shit." Thorne fell back on the bed, head hanging over the edge. "I
need a cigarette."  
  
Talon suddenly jumped onto the bed, pushing his twin's legs apart. "Uh-uh. I'm
gonna fuck you, first."  
  
Thorne lifted his head with a chuckle, gazing with adoration upon his brother
as he felt the head of Talon's engorged cock rub against his anus. "Guess it's
only fair . . . ."  
  
* * * *  
  
"One . . . two . . . three!"  
  
The bundled body sailed through the air before landing with a wet, heavy smack
amid the muck and debris of the storm ditch. The two brothers stood above the
edge of the ditch, breathing out from the exertion. They exchanged a look,
neither one of them needing to say a thing.  
  
Hands flashed out. They smacked fists into palms three times.  
  
Talon grinned. "Paper covers rock," he said, then reached into the back of the
SUV for a red-painted plastic container.  
  
Thorne soured. "Fine," he said, snagging the container. He held out his hand
for the barbecue lighter, then stepped to the edge of the ditch and jumped in.  
  
"Make sure you pour a lot on her face," Talkon called. "Burn off the jizz."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Thorne replied, stepping gingerly through the muck. He reached
the body, unscrewed the cap on the container, and poured out over a gallon of
gasoline onto the wrapped-up corpse. He wrinkled his nose at the caustic fumes
that assailed his senses.  
  
"Get ready to run back," Talon said. "Who knows what else might catch fire
down there."  
  
Thorne capped the now-empty gas can, then reached out with the barbecue
lighter. It clicked once, twice, three times before a flame finally blossomed.
He leaned in until the flickering flame just about touched the bundle . . . .  
  
"Fuck!" Thorne cried, jumping back from the sudden eruption of fire. It all
but exploded before him, engulfing the body. Nearly falling as he staggered
backward, Thorne made his way to the edge of the ditch and tossed the gas can
and lighter toward his amused brother before climbing up. The annoyed
expression on his face only made Talon laugh harder.  
  
"Not fucking funny," Thorne grumbled as he rejoined his twin by the SUV.  
  
"Yes it was," countered Talon, offering a cigarette.  
  
Thorne took the smoke, cupped his hands around Talon's Zippo. Breathing in, he
turned to face the pyre below.  
  
"You know, I almost feel like saying something poignant," Talon remarked, his
eyes reflecting the conflagration below.  
  
"Like what?" asked Thorne. "'_She was a good enough fuck, but now she's
dead._'"  
  
Talon shrugged. "Guess that works."  
  
Thorne deposited the empty container and lighter in the back of the vehicle
and slammed the hatch closed. "I'm hungry."  
  
Talon perked. "Tacos?"  
  
"Sure. But they better have the spicy salsa this time. I hate when it's all
watered down and shit."  
  
**End Part Two**




        TnT Ch. 03


_(Author's note: this story deals with some very gritty and harsh subject
matter. This is not for those looking for a straightforward sex story. There
are many themes that some people might find objectionable, but to reveal them
might give away parts of the story prematurely. If you continue reading,
please keep this warning in mind.)_  
  
_(This is the third of an eight-part series.)_  
  
**Part Three**  
  
"Might have another one for you."  
  
Riaz scowled at the captain's words as he and June stood in the small office
of their immediate superior. "Another what?" he asked, arms folded defensively
across his broad chest.  
  
The captain stared tiredly beneath a grey-haired brow. "Another body. Might be
linked to the DB you picked up on Monday."  
  
Riaz's brow furrowed. "How?"  
  
"Young woman. Strangled and dumped. Recent sexual activity." The captain
pushed a file across his desk, which was quickly taken up by June.  
  
Riaz narrowed his eyes in thought. "You talking about the burned body found
this morning?"  
  
The captain nodded.  
  
June flipped through the file, her expression stoic as she glanced through the
crime scene pictures. "But the Mills woman wasn't burned," she said.  
  
"Go see the ME," the captain directed. "I think you might be interested."  
  
* * * *  
  
In the sterile, pale-lit cavern of the the medical examiner's environment,
Riaz and June once more faced the round-bodied coroner over a stainless steel
table. The white sheet covering the body between them was darkened in spots.  
  
"You really wanna see this?" the examiner asked.  
  
Riaz nodded curtly. June said nothing.  
  
"Okay . . . ." With a flourishing flutter, the sheet was drawn back, revealing
the charred remains beneath. A strong scent suddenly swirled through the air.  
  
"Oh, God," June commented, slapping a hand to her mouth and taking a step
back. Riaz seemed unaffected other than a twitch of his broad nose.  
  
"Told you it wasn't pretty," said the examiner.  
  
June fought down the impulse to retch as she stared at the thing that had once
been a human being upon the table. "It . . . it smells like . . . ."  
  
"Bacon," Riaz said with a short nod, his features dark. "Why don't you wait
outside?"  
  
". . . sure . . . ."  
  
As June headed out the door, Riaz addressed the examiner with penetrating
eyes. "So, tell me how this relates to Kaylee Mills."  
  
The woman smiled, almost proudly. "The main thing that tipped me off was that
she was strangled by a polyester fabric, just like your first DB. The burn job
was definitely amateur," she said. "Fire took off any surface evidence, but it
takes a while to cook off certain membranes . . . like those in the mouth."  
  
"And . . .?"  
  
The frumpy woman reached for a file and flipped it open over the body. "And, I
managed to get a sample."  
  
Riaz frowned a moment. "You got a sample from her killer . . . from her
mouth?"  
  
"Yup. Semen. Dirty girl. May or may not be viable for a DNA profile; I'm still
waiting to hear back from the lab."  
  
Riaz was suddenly interested. He looked over the horribly disfigured remains
upon the metal slab. "So my guy's killed again."  
  
"All I see is the same basic M.O.," the examiner said carefully. "Strangles
her, dumps her, tries to clean the body."  
  
Riaz ground his teeth. "Two bodies," he said. "Same basic pattern. Great. Now
I've got a serial killer on my hands."  
  
The woman threw up her hands. "I can't say one way or the other," she
declared. "I just read the evidence."  
  
Riaz nodded, thinking. "Thank you, doctor."  
  
She stared back. "Thank me when I don't have any more bodies like this coming
into my lab," she said.  
  
* * * *  
  
_Knock knock knock . . . ._  
  
A weary, haggard-faced woman in her early forties answered the door. "You
cops?" she asked.  
  
"Detective Riaz. This is my partner, June Barret."  
  
The woman's eyes dipped down. She pushed open the door and stepped back. "Come
on in," she invited in an emotionless voice.  
  
A minute later, Riaz and June sat upon an aging couch that looked to have been
new in the mid-seventies. The walls were plastered with cheap lithographs and
pictures framed in imitation wood.  
  
"I tried to raise Sylvia to be a good girl," the woman said, not looking to
either detective as she spoke. "You know, she graduated high school in the top
ten percent."  
  
June rubbed her hands. "Mrs. Gonzales," she said. "I know this isn't easy for
you. But I'm going to ask some very frank questions."  
  
The woman nodded, face inscrutable.  
  
"Sylvia was arrested twice for solicitation, wasn't she?"  
  
Again, the dead girl's mother nodded.  
  
"Was she prostituting herself?"  
  
The woman worked her jaw, breathing in and out through her nostrils.
"Sometimes she went out, told me she was just gonna hang out with friends . .
. then she was buying new clothes, or she'd be wearing some new God damned
necklace or something . . . I . . . I didn't want to know what she was doing.
Just hoped she'd be alright."  
  
Riaz suddenly spoke. "Mrs. Gonzales," he said in a forceful tone. "Was Sylvia
a prostitute?"  
  
The woman's face contorted, yet she fought against the flood of tears. ". . .
yes."  
  
Riaz pressed on. "Do you know where she normally worked?"  
  
She shook her head. "I never asked. I didn't want to know . . . but . . . I've
heard she was sometimes seen around the northern part of Roosevelt."  
  
June nodded, making a note. "Did you ever see her with anyone in particular?"  
  
"No. I never really knew who she was hanging around with."  
  
"When was the last time you saw your daughter?"  
  
The woman swallowed thickly. "When she left Monday night," she said. "About
nine o'clock. She said she was going to some club. It's what she always says."  
  
"Do you know what club?" asked June.  
  
The woman simply glared.  
  
Blush colored the younger detective's face. "Right. Well, thank you for
answering our questions, Mrs. Gonzales." She stood and gave the woman her best
reassuring look. "We're going to do everything we can to find who did this."  
  
* * * *  
  
"So, how was that?" June asked as Riaz drove the sedan.  
  
"You're getting better," he remarked. "You showed the right amount of
sympathy, kept to the facts."  
  
June smiled. "Cool. I might be a real detective yet."  
  
Riaz allowed himself a small chuckle. "Just stop throwing up when you see dead
bodies."  
  
June's face fell. She looked sheepish. "Sorry about that."  
  
He gave her a quick but reassuring wink. "First one's free," he said. "After
that, I put in for a new partner."  
  
She blinked. "Are you serious?"  
  
Riaz chuckled dryly.  
  
* * * *  
  
Armed with a pair of Sylvia Gonzales' prom pictures, the detectives decided to
split up. There were two main avenues where prostitutes plied their trade,
making it simple to divide the labor. June took Presa, which bordered the park
within which the dead woman had been found, while Riaz was left with
Roosevelt, lined with mainly commercial businesses.  
  
Riaz scowled as he drove. Returning to Roosevelt, with the intention of
looking for streetwalkers, rekindled a sour flame. It had been more than
twenty years since his days on the vice squad. He would rather have left them
to the erosion of time.  
  
He spied a borderline attractive Hispanic woman who gave him a hopeful look as
she sat at a bus stop. That was a common tactic for prostitutes, Riaz knew;
they could appear to be waiting for the bus, and use that as defense if they
were questioned.  
  
Riaz made sure he made eye contact as the sedan rolled by, then turned onto a
side street and stopped. Moments later, she approached. He had his badge
ready.  
  
The woman tugged on the passenger-side door and slid inside, then froze when
she saw the detective's badge. "No-no-no-no," she sputtered rapidly, wagging a
finger. "I ain't done nothing wrong, _cabron_."  
  
"Relax," barked the detective. "I'm not vice. I'm not gonna take you in. Just
wanna know if you've seen this girl around here." He held up the picture.  
  
The woman barely glanced at it. "I don't know nobody, motherfucker," she spat,
then stepped out and slammed the door.  
  
Riaz sighed. _This is going to be a long night_, he thought.  
  
* * * *  
  
The length of Presa that was commonly prowled by prostitutes was fairly short,
consisting of less than ten city blocks. It began with a trio of cheap motels
and ended with houses from the forties fronting the street. Interspersed were
a few dive bars and a mechanics shop; the latter was closing down for the day
as June strolled past.  
  
A pair of young women lingered outside one of the bars as the detective
approached. Both looked to be in their early to mid-twenties, Hispanic, clad
in tight jeans and somewhat revealing tops.  
  
"Hey, girls, got a sec?"  
  
They looked June over with dubious, amused eyes. "What the fuck do you want,
_weda_?"  
  
She smirked and flashed her badge. "Answers," she said, then produced a
picture of the victim. "You know this girl?"  
  
One of the streetwalkers rolled her eyes and turned away. "Fucking vice," she
muttered.  
  
"No, I'm not vice," June retorted. "Homicide. A girl was killed last night.
You hear about that?"  
  
"I heard about it," the other girl said, looking at the picture. A glimmer of
fear danced in her eyes. "Is that her?"  
  
"Yeah. Do you know her?"  
  
The prostitute made a face. "Maybe . . . I don't know. I just keep to my own
shit, you know?"  
  
June pressed a little. "Look, if you've seen her around, especially last
night--"  
  
"We wasn't out last night, _byatch_," snapped the other girl, grabbing her
friend's arm. "Come on. We ain't got time for this shit."  
  
The second girl gave June a sheepish look as she allowed herself to be led
away. June huffed in exasperation, then took a breath and kept walking.  
  
* * * *  
  
Girl after girl approached his car, and upon the revelation that Riaz was a
cop, most clammed up and looked for the earliest opportunity to leave. After
more than an hour, he was fighting off the frustrated urge to call it a night
and head home. But a single glance to the pretty face in the photograph he
held compelled him to continue.  
  
Outside a run-down business park, Riaz pulled to the curb to allow a wild-
haired brunette, bedecked with freckles across her face, to slip into his car.  
  
"Hey, sexy guy," she chirped, already leaning across the console between the
front seats, her hand gliding across his thigh. "What you looking for?"  
  
Jaw set, Riaz held up both the picture of Sylvia Gonzales and his badge in one
hand. "I wanna know about her," he said curtly.  
  
The hooker jerked her hand back, but unlike the others, actually looked at the
picture. Her eyes flickered back and forth between it and Riaz. She gave him a
defensive look. "You vice?"  
  
Riaz shook his head. "Homicide," he said. "That girl was found dead this
morning in the park off Presa. You know her?"  
  
She ground her teeth. "Yeah, I know her."  
  
The detective read the woman's face. "See her last night?"  
  
She took in a shuddering breath, let it out. "Yeah. We work the same walk
sometimes," she revealed. "Talked sometimes. We were pretty cool, know what I
mean?"  
  
Riaz shifted, leaning closer. "You see her get picked up last night?"  
  
Slowly, the prostitute nodded. "Yeah. Some dude in a black SUV. We been
talking a few minutes before. Usual shit. I went down the street, she was,
like, a block up. I saw the dude stop for her, and she got in."  
  
"Black SUV," Riaz prompted. "Chevy? Honda?"  
  
"Fuck, I don't know," the woman said. "I didn't look that close."  
  
Riaz eased back into his seat. _Great. Black SUV. That should narrow it down_,
he thought dejectedly.  
  
"Alright. Thanks," he said curtly.  
  
The woman looked around outside the sedan, then licked her lips suggestively.
"Hey, uh . . . free blowjob for homicide?" she offered. "Maybe you put in a
good word with vice for me?"  
  
He turned his head to glare at her. "Get out of my car," he growled.  
  
The streetwalker threw up her hands. "Okay, okay, was just asking . . . ." she
trailed off as she stepped from the car.  
  
Riaz took out his phone as the passenger door closed and the hooker walked
away. He tapped on the screen, then held it up to his ear. It rang three times
before his partner's voice filled his ear.  
  
"Hey, Riaz," June answered in a strangely upbeat tone. "I was just about to
call you. Got something here."  
  
He perked. "Yeah?"  
  
"Yeah. I'm at the Rambler Motel on Presa. Get over here."  
  
"On my way."  
  
* * * *  
  
June was waiting just inside the doorway of the motel's small detached office,
which occupied the corner of the parking lot opposite the L-shaped, single-
story structure. Riaz parked in one of many free spaces and approached his
partner.  
  
"She's a handful," June warned as Riaz strolled past and into the office.  
  
Riaz just smirked. The cloistered room reeked of cigarettes. There was just
enough room for two or three people to stand before a closed-off counter with
a thick plastic window. Beyond the window was a heavyset woman with stringy
grey hair fried from a lifetime of chemical use. Her smoker's wrinkles were so
pronounced it looked as if her lips were about to turn in on themselves.  
  
She glared at Riaz as he approached the window, diverting her attention from
an old television shoved into the corner of her booth-like enclosure. "You the
other cop, huh? Your dyke partner said you'd be right over. Stop for some
Muscle Milk along the way?"  
  
Riaz cocked his head, assessing the rude woman. "When was the last time this
place was inspected?" he asked.  
  
The woman's eyes bulged with indignance. "Oh, don't you start that shit! I
been running this place for thirty-two years! I--"  
  
"Ma'am."  
  
"What!"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
She glared back, but the dark, penetrating look upon Riaz's face forced her
into silence. She dropped her gaze.  
  
"Now," Riaz said calmly. "If you would like to explain to me what is so
important here, I will be more than happy to listen."  
  
The woman worked her jaw for a moment, composing her thoughts while forcing
down her pride. "Like I was telling your partner," she said, struggling to
keep her voice level. "I had some uptown pretty boy come in last night around
ten. He said he wanted a room. I said it was thirty bucks. He paid cash. I
gave him a key. I--"  
  
Riaz interrupted. "What makes you think he was uptown?"  
  
The woman scowled. "What I get around here is wetbacks, spics and niggers
driving El Caminos and old DeVilles, and that's when they driving anything at
all. Most'a them don't speak anything that even sounds like English. That boy
last night was as clean and white as could be, and he wasn't wearing no
Goodwill specials, either."  
  
"What did he look like?"  
  
"Didn't your dyke partner tell you?" the woman asked, then shook her head as
she reached for a pack of cigarettes. "He was a tall, thin white boy. Hair
like a black mop. Nice shirt, nice jeans, _damn_ nice ass."  
  
Riaz glanced briefly to June, who smiled knowingly. Though the description of
the man was vague, it was close enough to the one Leticia Covens provided to
be encouraging.  
  
"Oh, and he had a tattoo on his arm," the woman added. "Looked like a snake."  
  
"A snake," Riaz repeated. "Where on his arm?"  
  
"Like, all the fucking way down. Good ink; not that bullshit prison crap."  
  
"Did he pay cash?" Riaz asked after mentally cataloging the information.  
  
She answered through a cloud of thick grey smoke that swirled within her
enclosure. "Do I look like I got a credit machine?" she snapped, then took up
an aged and stained ledger from beneath the counter and slid it through the
small slot beneath the window. "He did sign in, though. Third name from the
end on the last page."  
  
Riaz opened the ledger, finding the most recent set of entries conveniently
enough thanks to a pen demarcating it. He looked at the third from the last
entry. "Thomas Jones," he said aloud. "Signed in at 9:54 p.m. Room four."  
  
"Yeah, that was him," the woman said. "So, you wanna know what happened, or
what?"  
  
Riaz lifted his eyes. "What happened?"  
  
"Okay, so, this morning, the room four key's in the dropbox," the woman
rattled, every word riding a caustic cloud of smoke. "So I send my spic
housekeeper to go clean up. She comes back and tells me the sheets are
missing. I tell her to check the garbage, since some guys jizz up the sheets
with whatever hooker they picked up and get all embarrassed about it for some
fucking reason. She comes back and says she only found a pillow case. So I--"  
  
Riaz arched an eyebrow and interrupted again. "Do you have it?"  
  
The woman frowned. "What, the pillow case? Why the fuck you want that?"  
  
"Humor me."  
  
She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I told my spic housekeeper to put it in the
wash."  
  
Riaz's face darkened. "Did she?"  
  
"Fuck if I know. Lazy little bitch. You know, I bet she does some
streetwalking, too."  
  
Riaz struggled to keep calm in the face of the woman's racist vitriol. "Where
do you wash your sheets?"  
  
"Housekeeping room is the door between seven and eight," she said.  
  
Riaz looked expectant. "We'll need the key."  
  
With a huff, the woman reached below the counter and came up with a ring of
keys. She slapped them on the counter between them. "The bronze key with the
red dot on it."  
  
Riaz smiled. "By any chance, is your housekeeper still around?"  
  
"Better be," the woman spat. "She gets room one as part of her pay."  
  
Riaz snatched up the keys and tossed them to June, who snagged them from the
air.  
  
"On it," June said, quickly heading out the door.  
  
Riaz turned back to the motel owner one last time. "By any chance, did you see
what Thomas Jones was driving?"  
  
"Yeah, I did," she said. "I bet I even got it on my security camera. It was a
black Toyota. One'a them Rav-whatevers."  
  
Riaz smiled slowly. "I would really appreciate a look at the tape," he said.  
  
* * * *  
  
Despite the fact that the enclosure within the office was like a concentration
camp gas chamber due to the motel owner's chain smoking, Riaz endured it as he
watched the security tape. The system was technologically ancient, recorded on
VHS cassette, and Riaz assumed the poor quality was due to the tape having
been repeatedly recorded over.  
  
Still, it gave him what he needed. He fast-forwarded through the tape from
where it began just after eight in the evening, bringing it back to regular
speed when the time stamp along the bottom of the screen read 9:51.  
  
"Camera's on the roof, here," the woman explained. "I got it set up so I only
need the one to see all the doors. Well, almost."  
  
Riaz did not respond as he watched the screen. The angle of the camera did
indeed cover almost the entire parking lot and all of the doors to the motel
rooms . . . except for the first five doors.  
  
At the time stamp of 9:53, the top of a black vehicle appeared on the bottom
part of the screen. The angle did not allow Riaz to see who got out. Two
minutes later, the vehicle -- a black SUV with the distinctive Toyota symbol
on the back hatch -- pulled forward slightly, then turned into a parking spot
just slightly off-camera, where Riaz deduced room four lay. He could not see
who got in or out of the vehicle.  
  
Riaz watched for another minute, conscious that the odious woman was also
watching, and standing rather close as she puffed on her cigarette. He cleared
his throat loudly to give her a hint; she did not seem to catch it.  
  
He pushed the fast-forward button and watched as, at the time of 10:02, the
black Toyota pulled away and drove off-camera.  
  
"That's it," the motel owner remarked.  
  
"Not, it's not," growled Riaz. "I'm assuming he came back." He continued to
watch as the frames sped by.  
  
Suddenly, the SUV reappeared about an hour later, and Riaz jabbed the play
button to bring the video back to real time. This time, the SUV did not pull
into the parking spot as it had before; instead, the driver pulled the vehicle
in, then backed into the space.  

Even with the bad video quality, the detective was able to make out two
blurred forms in the front of the truck. The driver was male, with dark hair,
clad in a light-toned shirt. The front-seat passenger was female, with blonde
hair.  
  
_Sylvia Gonzales_, Riaz instantly deduced. His heart thumped.  
  
The man stepped out, and Riaz pressed pause. He could not make out any clear
features, but he was able to gather an impression of the man. He looked young,
around mid-twenties. His hair was a thick black mass around his head,
obscuring, from the camera's angle, any good look at his features. He seemed
fit and slender, wearing a short-sleeved shirt that revealed a serpentine-
shaped tattoo on his right arm.  
  
Pressing play once, more, Riaz watched as the man stepped along the length of
the SUV and disappeared off camera. The detective could not see the woman get
out, nor the door to which they had gone. The back quarter of the vehicle was
off screen.  
  
Riaz straightened, contemplating. _This is my guy_, he thought. _Has to be_.
He pushed fast-forward again, watching the time stamp as it raced through the
minutes. Nearly an hour and a half went by before a sudden glow reflected off
the glossy paint of the Toyota. It was the light spilling from the open motel
room door just beyond the camera's field of view. Riaz pressed play once more,
and watched.  
  
The black SUV rocked slightly, then the same slender, dark-haired man stepped
around, smoking a cigarette. He paused by the driver-side door to flick the
butt away. Even with the poor quality, Riaz could make out the smile on the
young man's face.  
  
The detective's face twitched ever so slightly. _You're a smug little punk,
aren't you?_ he thought.  
  
A moment later, the man opened the door to the Toyota and slid behind the
wheel. The vehicle drove off screen a few seconds later.  
  
Riaz pushed the eject button and pulled the tape from the machine when it
popped up. "Thank you for your cooperation," he said to the slovenly woman as
he stepped out of the booth.  
  
"Yeah, yeah . . . hey! Where you going with my tape?"  
  
Outside by the parked sedan, Riaz found June leaning against the car, arms
folded, face smug. Before Riaz spoke, she reached through the open passenger
window and held up a plastic evidence bag. Within was a mass of faded brown
fabric.  
  
"Pillow case?" Riaz asked with a smile.  
  
"Pillow case," June confirmed.  
  
Riaz held up the VHS cassette. "People's exhibit A," he said with a wry smile.  
  
* * * *  
  
He rubbed his temples as he sat beneath the harsh, life-draining cascade of
fluorescent light in the hall outside the forensics laboratory. It had been a
long, trying day, with all the driving around, fast food, the heat and that
foul woman's omnipresent cloud of cigarette smoke that surrounded her like a
nebula. Riaz was happy to see the end of it. Of course, doing so meant the
following day would be just around the chronological corner.  
  
"Hey."  
  
He lifted his head, sullen eyes reading the face of his partner. June gave a
smile that was one part concern, one part amusement.  
  
"We done?" he asked.  
  
She nodded. "They won't have anything for us until tomorrow morning," June
said. "You know how it is with forensics." She laughed suddenly. "Hell, you
know better than me. At least the captain gave us high priority."  
  
Riaz nodded and stood. He smiled upon his partner. "You did good today," he
said.  
  
June beamed, lightly punched one of Riaz's meaty shoulders. "You know, for
being a gruff, cynical, patronizing asshole, you're not such a bad teacher."  
  
He laughed, much more vehemently and genuinely than he would have allowed.
"Get your ass home, Barret," he ordered. His smile faded, but did not
disappear. "Leave this shit behind for a while."  
  
June winked. "I plan on it. I already told Sophie I'm on my way."  
  
He nodded. "Good. Enjoy the evening."  
  
His partner smiled. "I will," she said. "Say hello to your family for me, will
ya?"  
  
Riaz did not respond as June headed away. He envied both her youth and her as
yet to be compromised life.  
  
_Say hello to my family,_ he thought. _As if I still had one . . . ._  
  
* * * *  
  
The small apartment was as much home as any four walls could be. Even after
more than a year, unpacked boxes lay against the walls, containing trappings
and memories Riaz was not yet sure he wished to reopen. He was content -- or
so he liked to believe -- to ignore the boxes and languish during whatever
time he had off upon the large papasan couch which faced the cheap flatscreen
TV upon a black, pressboard stand.  
  
He dropped his keys onto the tiny breakfast bar, put the six-pack of beer in
the fridge. He slipped the phone from his pocket, noting for the fourth or
fifth time that day that a message was awaiting him. He knew who had sent it;
he had already seen in his missed calls log that she had called. For a moment,
his finger hovered over the screen, ready to call up the message service.
Instead, he set the phone aside and headed to the shower in the next room.  
  
Clean but not refreshed, he returned several minutes later and took a beer
from the refrigerator. He snatched up the remote from the thick cushions of
the bamboo-framed couch and turned on something banal yet entertaining.  
  
He glanced to the phone. He gulped heavily from the bottle. And sighed.  
  
Taking it up, he tapped the phone's screen until the message service was
activated. He closed his eyes as he listened to the one and only message.  
  
"Hi, Dad. Just wanted to say thanks for the card and iTunes gift card. I'm
gonna get every album by The Band Perry. Thanks a bunch!"  
  
Riaz smiled, more from hearing his daughter's voice than from the content of
her words.  
  
"Really wish you would have come by, though," she went on. Riaz could detect
the disappointment in her voice. "I know you're busy and all that, and I know
you don't wanna be here when Mom and Joe are here . . . it'd just be nice, you
know? I mean, I haven't seen you in, like, a month!"  
  
Riaz gritted his teeth, staring without comprehending whatever asinine fare
was being displayed on his TV screen. He took another few swigs from his beer,
nearly finishing it off.  
  
"Anyway," his daughter continued. "Graduation is on May 9th. I really want you
to be there. Please? Please? Okay, that's enough begging. Just let me know
you'll be there. I love you, Dad."  
  
Riaz held the phone to his ear until the automated voice barged in. He slapped
it down, then tossed it aside for the moment and pretended to care about the
program on the screen before him.  
  
* * * *  
  
The sight of the old Ford Taurus in the driveway made June smile as she pulled
her equally-aged convertible to a stop beside it. She turned off the car,
stepped out, then reached in to gather the bottle of wine and bouquet of
flowers lying on the car seat.  
  
The living room was conspicuously quiet as she stepped into the house. The
fragrant aroma of something fruity lingered int the air. June spied the spent
candle sitting upon the coffee table. She bent to sniff it, then noticed the
cracked door to the master bedroom off the short hall. She smiled.  
  
Slipping off her jacket and leaving it upon the couch, June shook the bag from
the bottle of wine, letting it fall to the floor. At the opening of the
bedroom door, she stepped out of her shoes, then entered softly.  
  
A heart-stopping sight greeted her. Sophie lay on her stomach upon the bed,
facing away from her. All she wore was a shimmering, peach-colored silk slip
that exposed her firm, round buttocks and the smooth-shaved treasure beneath
and between them. Her auburn hair was slightly damp; the aroma of floral
shower gel drifted into the room from the master bath.  
  
June let out a swooning breath, nearly dropping the wine and flowers. She
leaned against the door jamb.  
  
Slowly, her lover looked over her shoulder, displaying a catty grin. She
shifted on the bed, moving her lean thighs a little further apart. "How was
your day, sexy?" she asked innocently.  
  
June swallowed thickly, feeling the heat building in her lower abdomen. "Uh .
. . fine," she said at last.  
  
Sophie chuckled. "Are you okay?"  
  
June managed to compose herself, and stepped around the bed. Sophie's
brilliant, jade-hued eyes followed her. Her fresh-scrubbed face, free of
blemishes, colored at the sight of the bouquet and bottle. She pouted sexily,
setting her iPad aside. "Aw . . . are those for me?"  
  
June knelt down by the edge of the bed, her eyes alive with a mixture of love,
lust, and graciousness. "No matter what happens during the day, no matter what
I see . . . coming home to you just makes it all go away."  
  
Sophie smiled blushingly, reaching for June's face. "I love you," she
whispered. She craned her neck, offering her lips. They kissed tenderly,
tongues searching and finding. June dropped the wine to the floor and set the
bouquet upon the bed, freeing her hands so she could caress her lover's neck
and shoulders.  
  
But Sophie broke the kiss, easing back. She licked moistened lips, eyes
smoldering. "Why don't you, uh, hop in the shower?" she suggested.  
  
June chuckled under her breath. She brushed her thumb across Sophie's soft
lips. "Thanks for being polite about it," she said.  
  
Her partner's brow furrowed. "I didn't mean it like that," she bemoaned.  
  
But June was already standing. "It's okay. I need it."  
  
Sophie bit her lip seductively. "Oh, we both _need_ it, alright," she said.  
  
With effort, June stepped toward the bathroom door. "Be right back," she said.  
  
* * * *  
  
Letting the towel drop to the floor as she stood before the mirror, June
looked herself over with a clinical eye. _How does she find me sexy?_ she
wondered.  
  
Beneath her critical eye, June thought she looked more like a skinny man than
a woman. Her breasts were almost non-existent; they were more like a pair of
thick, puffy pink aureoles upon the chest of a young Leonardo DiCaprio, with
nipples made erect only by the glittering steel bars pierced through them. Her
ribs showed when she breathed, her abdominal muscles stood out like a
washboard beneath a thin layer of pale skin.  
  
_I don't even have hips_, she lamented, turning this way and that. Her ass was
small and somewhat flat, again begging comparisons to a male physiognomy. And
between her legs . . . .  
  
June looked down, tugging on the flesh above her smooth-shaved pubic mound.
Despite being a technically natural blonde, her pubic hair was much darker, so
she had gotten into the habit of shaving it away. Doing so exposed her fleshy
vulva and dangling labia, and the very thick and noticeable protrusion of her
clitoris. In some ways, it was nearly like a small penis. When she was
aroused, it jutted out more than an inch and a half.  
  
_I'm a freak_, June thought dejectedly, but the thought was immediately
followed by another: _yet, out there, in the next room, is a woman who tells
me I'm everything she's ever wanted._  
  
_Don't question it,_ she told herself. _Just accept and enjoy it. Be grateful.
Sophie loves you, either despite or because of you._  
  
With a smile to herself in the mirror, June stepped to the door, flicking off
the bathroom light, and headed back into the bedroom.  
  
Once again, she felt her heart palpitate. The lights had all been doused while
she was in the shower. A pair of candles flickered on either nightstand,
casting ghostly shadows that moved erratically across the walls. The flowers
sat in a vase upon the dresser; the bottle of wine breathed beside a pair of
glasses upon the nightstand beside Sophie's side of the bed.  
  
And upon the bed sat Sophie, now deliciously nude, round breasts floating upon
her chest, legs splayed in a way that was both romantic and lewd. She smiled
upon June as the fingertips of her right hand fluttered through the orange-
hued pubic hair above her otherwise smooth-shaved sex.  
  
June breathed out, feeling the heat in her lower abdomen spike and spread out.
Her clitoris stiffened, emerging from its hood. She drank in the delicious
sight before her. "God, you're beautiful," she managed to say.  
  
Sophie nibbled her lip, smiling seductively. The tip of her middle finger
graced the pink, fleshy hood of her own clit. "I want you," she whispered.  
  
June made her way to the bed, feeling drawn in, as if her movements were not
her own. She settled onto her hands and knees, poised before Sophie's parted
thighs. "You got me," she said.  
  
Sophie slid down, spreading her legs even more. The fingers of her right hand
split the lips of her pussy. She cupped her left breast, pinching the nipple.
Her face was a mask of sexual desire. "Right now, I just want you to take me,"
she whispered huskily.  
  
June suddenly grinned, then aggressively dove in, covering Sophie's offered
sex with her mouth. She sucked deeply, pulling her lover's sleek pink folds
into her mouth, sliding her tongue past the entrance to Sophie's tunnel. June
moaned at the flavor that suddenly filled her senses, one that was matched
only by Sophie's guttural utterance of gratitude.  
  
"Oh, God, baby . . . don't stop . . . don't stop . . . ." Sophie writhed and
mewed and moaned, settling her hands to the back of June's head, as if afraid
her lover would retreat. But June did not. She voraciously licked, sucked and
lapped, consuming Sophie's flavor with all the gusto of a starving woman given
her first proper meal in weeks. She pushed the redhead's thighs apart, curling
them back, and licked repeatedly from anus to clit, letting her tongue delve
inside the snug entrance to Sophie's tunnel on each lapping stroke.  
  
It did not take long. Sophie's breathing became shallower as her need to
orgasm became more imminent. Dainty feet kicked in the air. An almost pained
expression decorated her pale, freckled face. She stared down at June,
clutching her lover's face against her exponentially sopping pussy. She loved
the sight of her lover's nose thrashing back and forth through her flame-
colored pubic hair.  
  
Sophie's orgasm was announced through a series of hoarse, panting cries. She
arched her back and pushed hard against June's mouth as she came. June moaned
in response, tasting the sudden burst of sweet nectar that flooded out from
Sophie's sex. She sucked deeply to get it all, pushing her tongue as far as it
could reach.  
  
Suddenly fueled, Sophie sat up and pushed June back, face blazing with lust.
She cupped her lover's face, kissed her deeply, tasting her own essence upon
June's lips and tongue. For several moments, they kissed and moaned in shared
rapture, before Sophie made her way down June's lanky body, snaking her tongue
across hardened nipples and taut, toned flesh.  
  
"Your turn," Sophie seethed, getting upon hand and knees on the bed. June
leaned back, barely able to support herself on her hands. She automatically
pushed her hips out; the engorged clitoris jutting from between hairless lips
looked almost like a small cock as Sophie's mouth reached it.  
  
June let out heated breaths, head falling back as she relished the sensations
of her lover's lips and tongue swirling around that most sensitive of organs.
Sophie suckled on June's clit as if performing fellatio, pulling it into her
mouth, then letting it slip almost all the way back out. Over and over she did
this, making June writhe in sublime pleasure.  
  
Then, suddenly, June found herself upon her back, head hanging over the edge
of the bed. Sophie climbed upon her, straddling her sex, her slippery, heated
lips sliding back and forth around June's stiffened clit. Hands planted firmly
upon June's chest, Sophie rocked back and forth. Their moans of passion filled
the air, even as the sweet fragrance of their lovemaking cascaded through
their senses.  
  
June clutched her lover's hips, guiding her along. She could think of nothing
else other than the incredible sensations wracking her body. Her clit rubbed
back and forth between Sophie's slick labia, slipping just inside her tunnel.
She jutted up, pushing with her hips, forcing the stiff protrusion as deep as
it could go.  
  
And then . . . .  
  
"Oh my fucking . . . _God_!"  
  
They erupted together, saturating one another, bucking and gasping and clawing
and panting. June lifted up suddenly and latched her mouth to one of Sophie's
breasts, sucking the nipple into her mouth. Her lover wrapped her arms around
her head, hugging her close. They trembled together, letting the sensations
fade naturally.  
  
Finally, June lifted her head, eyes heady and slack. She smiled up at her
lover's beaming face.  
  
"Wanna glass of wine?" she asked languidly.  
  
Sophie giggled, kissed her lover's sweaty face. "Sure."  
  
* * * *  
  
Dropping the sixth empty bottle into the trash bin, Riaz looked at the phone
he held in his hand. He swayed slightly; he was not much of a drinker, and
what he had consumed was having an affect. On impulse, not giving himself a
chance to back out of the commitment, he redialed his daughter's number.  
  
It rang three, four, five times, before automatically shifting to the
answering service. "Please leave a message after the tone, or hang up," the
automated voice directed.  
  
The tone sounded.  
  
For a moment, Riaz contemplated hanging up. But he fought against the urge.
"Hi, honey," he said. "Glad you liked the gift card. I wasn't sure what to get
you, but I know you like music. Maybe that makes me a good father? I mean,
I've always paid attention to what you like and don't like. I remember when
you were seven and you suddenly didn't like hot dogs . . . never gave you a
hot dog after that."  
  
He frowned, taking the phone away. _What am I trying to say?_  
  
"Anyway . . . I asked off for your graduation. I'm not gonna miss it. I hope
you know how important you are to me. I'll be there, Kitty-cat. I promise."  
  
He jabbed his thumb onto the screen, ending the call. He stared at the device
in his hand, almost hating the thoughts which traveled through his head. Then
he scrolled through his list of numbers and tapped one of them.  
  
It rang twice before it was picked up.  
  
"Riaz?"  
  
He smiled thinly at the sound of her voice. Even inebriated, he could tell she
had been sleeping. "Hi, Susan."  
  
"Um, what . . . I mean . . . what time is it?"  
  
"A little after eleven, I think," he said.  
  
". . . it's almost midnight. Are you okay? You sound funny."  
  
"I'm, uh . . . a little drunk."  
  
Soft laughter filtered through the phone. "You drink?" she asked, sounding
both amused and surprised.  
  
"Sometimes."  
  
There was a long pause, during which Riaz heard the faint rustle of fabric. He
imagined her sitting up naked in her cheap little black-painted bed. Susan
liked sleeping in the nude, he knew. "Um, you okay?" she asked at last. "I
mean, I haven't heard from you in, like, almost three months. Not since, you
know, your wife found out about us."  
  
He frowned. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. "I'm fine," he said curtly,
then sighed. "Sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have called."  
  
"But you did."  
  
Riaz stared at the floor of his apartment. "Maybe I just wanted to hear a
friendly voice. Been having a rough day."  
  
". . . okay."  
  
The reservation in her voice was obvious. Riaz cursed himself silently. "Look,
it's late. I shouldn't have called. I'm sure you have to work in the morning."  
  
"No, it's okay," she insisted. "I'm just . . . I mean, after everything that
happened, I just sort'a figured I'd never hear from you again . . ." She
sighed loudly. "This, uh . . . this isn't a booty call, is it?"  
  
Riaz's face contorted in a deep grimace. _Bingo!_ "No," he said, a little too
firmly. "I'm just . . . like I said, I'm a little drunk."  
  
"'Cause, you know, if it is . . . ."  
  
He listened for a long moment. "Yeah?"  
  
She sighed again. "You're right," she said at last. "It is late. I gotta be up
for work at seven-thirty."  
  
"That's okay. I was just thinking about you, that's all."  

"Well, uh, maybe, if you want, we could do something this weekend. Maybe."  
  
Riaz nodded. He knew what _'maybe'_ meant in that particular tone. "Sure."  
  
"Give me a call."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"'Night."  
  
"Good night."  
  
**End Part Three**




        TnT Ch. 04


_(Author's note: this story deals with some very gritty and harsh subject
matter. This is not for those looking for a straightforward sex story. There
are many themes that some people might find objectionable, but to reveal them
might give away parts of the story prematurely. If you continue reading,
please keep this warning in mind.)  
  
(This is the fourth of an eight-part series.)_  
  
**Part Four**  
  
Sunlight and coffee did wonders for eradicating personal embarrassments, Riaz
realized as he drove downtown late the following morning. Technically, his
shift did not begin until three in the afternoon, but the occupation of
homicide detective rarely followed the civilities of a technical schedule.  
  
The call had come just before ten that morning, and after contacting his
partner, he showered, shaved, then stopped at a drive-through for some much
needed caffeine-laced revival. By the time he parked the car in the rear of
the police headquarters building, he felt nearly fully awake.  
  
June was already in the forensics lab when he arrived, chatting with one of
the junior technicians there. The room was thick with the aroma of electrical
dust and the whirring of a dozen computer fans within their plastic tower
housings. Riaz's entrance caught the attention of both June and the young man,
whom Riaz had known for the previous few years.  
  
"Tell me what you got, Tim," he called by way of hello.  
  
"And there's the world's greatest detective," the slender man said with an
irreverent grin, pushing back from the computer before him and lacing his
fingers across his stomach.  
  
Riaz rubbed one of his eyes. "Spare me the accolades," he grumbled.  
  
Tim effected an exaggerated pout. "Wow. Someone's a grumpy gus today."  
  
June rolled her eyes, but there was a twinge of concern in her expression as
she regarded her partner. "He wakes up after noon," she quipped, then nudged
the young man. "Tell him what you told me."  
  
"Yes, please," prodded Riaz.  
  
Tim grinned smugly. "Okay," he said. "To answer your first unspoken question,
no, I could not clear up the security cam footage enough to get a clear shot
of the driver's face. Bad angle, and that mop on his head got in the way."  
  
Riaz sipped his coffee. "Some miracle worker you are."  
  
Tim snapped up a finger, his smile unfettered. "However, in answer to unspoken
question number two, I was able to enhance the image to get a license plate
number. Sort of."  
  
The detective arched an eyebrow. "'Sort of?'" he asked.  
  
Tim rolled his shoulders. "Hey, I'm working with ancient technology here. Who
the hell uses VHS anymore? You wouldn't believe how many times I washed this
thing."  
  
Riaz made an impatient gesture with his free hand. "I appreciate your
commitment. Get on with it."  
  
Tim sighed dramatically. "Oh, how they take us for granted," he lamented with
faked exasperation, then glanced up at June. "Promise me you won't be like
this when you're the senior dick."  
  
June placated him. "I'll treat you with the utmost respect you deserve," she
said, then lightly smacked him. "Now get on with it."  
  
Tim chuckled. "Okay, here's the deal. I couldn't get an exact read on the
plate. It's either CB5-SXK, or C8S-5XX, or C85-SKK, or--"  
  
Riaz winced. "Tim!"  
  
The forensics tech chuckled. "Good thing for you I'm such a diligent, if
under-appreciated, lab man. I worked out all the possible combinations, then
ran them through the DMV. And, guess what?"  
  
Riaz glowered. "If you didn't get a match, I'm going to shoot you right now."  
  
Tim's self-efficacious smile did not waver. "I got a match. A few of the
combos linked to an SUV, but only one was a black Toyota SUV, a Rav-4. License
plate number CB5-SXK. Registered to one Talon N. Tolomeo."  
  
Riaz stepped closer as Tim tapped on the keyboard before him. The screen saver
vanished, replaced with the image of a driver license picture of a slender-
looking, pale young man with short, thick black hair.  
  
"Is that him?" June asked.  
  
Riaz studied the picture a moment, then let his eyes wander across the screen,
noting the other information displayed. "Maybe," he said. "Talon N. Tolomeo .
. . that picture was taken seven years ago, when he was sixteen. Plenty of
time for his hair to grow out. He'd be twenty-three, now."  
  
"You thinking that's our guy?" June asked, eyes glowing.  
  
Riaz straightened, took another sip of his coffee. "Let's take a drive and
find out," he said.  
  
* * * *  
  
"Shouldn't we get a warrant?" June asked as Riaz drove the sedan through
downtown streets.  
  
He soured. "I can tell you now that we don't have enough to get one," he said.
"And if I tried to pull some strings and push for one, it would just come back
and bite us on the ass later."  
  
June frowned in confusion. "So . . . what are we gonna do when we get there?"  
  
Riaz smiled slyly. "Do what we do best. Bullshit."  
  
* * * *  
  
At one time, the Majestic Arms had just been several floors of office space
above a rather lackluster theater in the heart of downtown. In the 1990s,
however, when a substantial push had been made to beautify the heart of the
city, the Majestic had not only been restored to its bygone glory, but the
seven floors above had been converted into rather grand and opalescent living
space. Currently, the minimum rent for the smallest one bedroom was just under
a thousand dollars a month. The door to the apartment Riaz and June stood
before was not one of the smaller ones.  
  
"Pretty nice digs," June commented, looking back along the hallway they had
come. Stuccoed walls and artful sconces holding soft light lamps gave an
almost authentic 1930s feel. The red carpet was an especially auspicious
touch. "Our boy's got some money."  
  
Riaz gave a short nod. "Looks that way," he said. Quickly, he slipped the
small but powerful automatic pistol from its holster at the small of his back
and checked it. He racked the slide to chamber a round, then replaced the
weapon while giving June a meaningful look.  
  
Feeling a sudden twinge of nervousness, June mimicked her partner's action
with her more slender firearm.  
  
Satisfied that his partner was ready, Riaz depressed the small doorbell
encased in fake gold plating beside the door. A muted melody sounded from the
other side of the door.  
  
Several heartbeats later, the sound of lock tumblers being disengaged sounded
through the door before it opened. The door stopped after a few inches; the
chain lock remained, taut beneath the cautious eyes of a young, pale-skinned
man with thick black hair on the other side. His eyes centered on Riaz for a
moment, before darting to June and back.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Riaz forced an amiable smile to his lips. "Mr. Tolomeo?"  
  
". . . yeah."  
  
The detective lifted his badge. "I'm Detective Riaz Parande," he said as
introduction. "This is June Barret, my partner. I'd like to ask you some
questions."  
  
The young man was silent a moment, eyes flickering back and forth. "About
what?"  
  
Riaz was smug. "About where your black Toyota Rav-4 was on Monday night."  
  
The young man stared back for a moment, face blank. Abruptly, he pushed the
door until it was almost closed, slid the chain off, and opened it fully. He
stepped back, turning his back on the detectives. "Tal," he called, walking
into the apartment. "Couple'a cops here."  
  
A voice eerily similar to that of the first young man sounded from deeper
within the spacious apartment. "Cops? Why?"  
  
"Hell if I know. You get a parking ticket you didn't pay off?"  
  
Another man emerged at the end of the short hallway, joining the first. Riaz's
brow furrowed at the sight of them together. The fact that they were identical
twins was both extremely obvious while simultaneously problematic. They even
had matching tattoos on their arms.  
  
_This just got more complicated, _Riaz thought. He addressed the second
brother who, he noticed, was just a touch shorter than his sibling and
slightly less muscular. "Talon Tolomeo?" he asked.  
  
Talon smiled, much more amiably than his brother, who turned into the kitchen.
"Yes, sir," Talon said as he approached the detectives. He gave them a casual
once-over. "Obviously, you're not patrol cops. Detectives?"  
  
"Yes," Riaz said, then quickly re-introduced himself and June.  
  
"Okay," Talon said. "So, what can I do for you? Must be something serious."  
  
Riaz took a moment to compose his thoughts. While the first of the twins may
have acted like he had something to hide, this one did not. Even his body
language suggested ready receptiveness. Talon Tolomeo, he decided, was either
clueless as to the reasons why Riaz and June were there, or a very convincing
and casual actor.  
  
"You rented a room Monday night at the Rambler Motel on Presa," Riaz said at
last.  
  
Talon smiled crookedly, the way someone would who did not understand what the
detective's statement meant. "Uh . . . yeah," he said, prompting.  
  
Riaz cocked his head. "You picked up a girl."  
  
Talon's smile remained, but he blushed somewhat and nodded. "Yeah . . . I, uh,
met a girl," he confirmed cagily. He glanced into the kitchen, where his
brother was busy in the refrigerator. He turned back and lowered his voice.
"It's been a while for Thorne. I didn't want to bring her back here. That'd be
kind'a like rubbing it in his face, you know?"  
  
Riaz nudged his chin. "Where did you meet this girl?"  
  
Talon looked embarrassed, flickering his eyes back and forth between Riaz's
stony countenance and June's questioning face. "I, uh . . . she was just, um .
. . standing on the corner . . . ."  
  
"You mean, she was a hooker," June said bluntly.  
  
Talon sighed, lowering his head. "Look," he said, looking back to them after a
moment. "From what I understand, unless you actually catch me picking up a
hooker, you can't really arrest me for it. So what's really going on?"  
  
Riaz avoided the young man's question. "What did you do with her?" he asked.  
  
Talon rolled his eyes. "If I went into a grocery store and bought a steak,
would you ask me what I did with it?"  
  
The detective rolled his shoulders. "Okay, so after you had your fun, then
what?"  
  
Talon looked perturbed. "I left. I gave her the key to the room and took off.
You gonna tell me what this is about? Did something happen to her?"  
  
"Yeah, something happened to her," June interjected with a bitter tone. "She's
dead."  
  
Talon stared at the woman, mouth slightly slack. He appeared genuinely
surprised. "What?"  
  
"Mr. Tolomeo," Riaz said, after shooting a quick glare to his partner. "Why
did you leave the key with her?"  
  
Talon blinked a few times, eyes downcast. "Um . . . sorry, just give me a
sec," he said, and turned away. He paced for a few moments before coming back
to the detectives. "How did she die?"  
  
"Right now, that's not important," Riaz said. "Just please answer my question.
Why did you give her the key to the room?"  
  
"Because . . . she said she needed a place to stay," Talon responded, looking
distraught. "I didn't really get to know her that well. Most of what we talked
about was, well, you know, what I wanted. After we were done, I asked her if I
could drop her off somewhere, and she asked if she could keep the room. She
promised she'd clean up."  
  
Still being clinical, Riaz asked, "What time did you leave the room?"  
  
Talon shrugged. "I don't know. Eleven-thirty? Midnight? Something like that."  
  
Riaz considered all he had heard. Finally, he seemed to come to a conclusion.
"Thanks for your time, Mr. Tolomeo."  
  
Talon frowned. "Uh, sure," he said, frowning. "Can you at least tell me what
happened to her?"  
  
"All I can say at this point is that she's dead," Riaz said. "Sorry, Mr.
Tolomeo."  
  
Talon took in a breath and let it out slowly. "Okay. I guess I can, uh,
respect that. Look, if there's anything I can do to help, just let me know."  
  
"Actually, there's something else I'd like to ask you about."  
  
Talon arched a single brow. "Oh?"  
  
"Where were you last Friday night?"  
  
Talon frowned, looking confused. "Friday? I thought we were talking about last
night."  
  
"We were. Now we're talking about Friday. Where did you go?"  
  
Talon laughed softly through his nose. "Nowhere, actually." He indicated his
brother. "We watched a couple'a movies on Showtime. Stayed in."  
  
Riaz nodded stiffly, then reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a
business card, offering it to the young man. "If you think of anything else,"
he said.  
  
Talon took the card with a reserved smile. "I will," he said, then offered his
hand. "Thanks, detective."  
  
Hesitantly, Riaz shook the young man's hand. "No problem."  
  
* * * *  
  
Arms folded upon their chests, the twins stared at the door after the
detectives had left.  
  
"What do you think they know?" Thorne asked.  
  
"Not much," Talon responded. "If they had anything on us, we'd be in a squad
car right now."  
  
"They knew we were at that cheap-ass motel," Thorne said, sounding worried.  
  
"Must have had security cameras or something," Talon said. "Enough to see the
truck there, but maybe not us. We're gonna have to be careful next time."  
  
Thorne perked up with a wry smile. "'Next time?'" he asked.  
  
Talon turned a sly look to his brother. "Next time," he confirmed.  
  
* * * *  
  
June was quietly fuming as she stepped up to the passenger side of the car.
She jerked open the car door, then suddenly slammed it closed. She glared at
her partner across the roof of the car. "We could have taken him in," she
said.  
  
Riaz nodded as he stood on the other side. "Yes, we could have."  
  
"Put him under the lights, give him the third degree --"  
  
"And what?" Riaz asked forcefully. "Make him confess to a crime he may not
have committed?"  
  
"Oh, come on--"  
  
"No," Riaz snapped, jabbing a finger. "_You _'come on.' There's no such thing
as an open and shut case. Regardless of any gut feelings we may have, we have
to entertain any and every alternative possibility. Do I think Talon Tolomeo
killed Sylvia Gonzales? Yeah, I do. And probably Kaylee Mills, too. But just
because I think it doesn't mean it's true. Detective work is like looking for
Schrodinger's cat. You're only going to get the truth if you have the
evidence. And it might just turn out that the evidence doesn't match what you
think. So we do what we're supposed to do and look at every option.
Understand?"  
  
June huffed in exasperation. "I just hate that there's a guy up there who's
probably killed two women--"  
  
"Probably," Riaz interrupted. "But not definitely. We need evidence."  
  
"So we get a blood sample, match it to the spunk the ME got from the second
victim."  
  
"And how are we going to do that?" Riaz challenged. "Bet your ass he'd lawyer
up if we suggested that."  
  
June scoffed. "So the kid gets some whack lawyer. Bet we could still scare him
into giving it up."  
  
Riaz cocked his head. "You haven't been paying attention," he said bitingly.
He glanced to the ornate building above them. "What did you see in that
apartment?"  
  
Bristling, but willing to enforce a sense of humility, June answered as calmly
as she could. "I saw a bunch of stolen menus tacked on the walls. Surprised
they didn't have concert T-shirts hanging up like in some college dorm room."  
  
"I saw furniture," Riaz countered.  
  
She frowned. "Okay. So?"  
  
He chuckled ruefully. "The sofa in that apartment probably costs as much as
everything I own," he said. "You happen to notice the stainless steel
appliances in the kitchen? I'll bet your next paycheck they didn't come with
the place."  
  
June narrowed her eyes. "Okay, what's your point?"  
  
"My point," Riaz said with more than a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Is
that, if that kid called for a lawyer, he wouldn't get Joe Shyster. He'd get a
_name_. He'd get someone good, with resources. And all of a sudden, we'd have
a hundred doors slammed in our faces and a nervous captain telling us we have
to take off our shoes before we walk across a field of glass."  
  
June started to retort, then stopped herself as she began to filter what her
older and more experienced partner was telling her.  
  
"Are you getting it now?" Riaz asked.  
  
Slowly, she nodded, her ire and righteousness fading away. "Okay, I get it,"
she said. "So what do we do now?"  
  
Riaz pulled open the driver-side door. "Now we become biographers," he said.  
  
* * * *  
  
Late afternoon was threatening to turn to early evening when Riaz and June
returned to their car after hours of data searches and phone calls. By then,
the tension between them had eased, their relationship once again returning to
the casual banter between a patient master and eager student.  
  
"Hey, babe, it's me," June said into her phone as Riaz drove. "Gonna be late
tonight again. I promise I'll make it up to you." She tapped the phone to end
the message, then slipped the device into her pocket.  
  
"Is she going to be mad at you?" Riaz asked.  
  
June chuckled wonderingly. "Probably not," she said, then sighed wistfully.
"God, I can't believe how patient she is. She's been putting up with so much
since I made detective."  
  
Riaz smiled despite his own cynicism. "So when's the wedding?"  
  
June laughed, but her smile was genuine. "We're thinking about the end of
summer, but . . . I mean, obviously, we're not gonna do it in this state, and
I'm on a waiting list for asking for time off. Low chick on the totem pole and
all that."  
  
Riaz pursed his lips, thinking. "So, just for the fun of it," he said. "Let's
say you and Sophie had an unlimited budget. Where would you go for your
honeymoon?"  
  
"Holy crap," June commented, rolling her eyes. "Uh . . . like, seriously
unlimited?"  
  
Riaz made a face. "Keep it to this planet."  
  
She chuckled. "Okay. If we had an unlimited budget . . . I know Sophie would
want a cruise. Like, a Mediterranean cruise, with stops at those nude beaches
in Greece. Holy hell, does she have a killer body. So, maybe one of those big,
month-long cruises all around the Mediterranean, then back across the Atlantic
where we won't have anything to do but fuck all day."  
  
Riaz chuckled. "Sounds like paradise," he admitted.  
  
"So what did you and your wife do on your honeymoon?"  
  
He snorted almost painfully. "We didn't have honeymoons in the 20th century,"
he said sarcastically.  
  
"Seriously," June said. "Didn't you guys do anything?"  
  
Riaz worked his jaw, keeping his eyes on the road. "We wanted to," he said
after a pregnant silence. "We got married in the summer before our senior year
in college. By the time we graduated, Anna was already pregnant. I scrambled
to get a job, teaching high school sociology, while Anna had the baby. Then
she got a job in her field – communications – and I applied to the police
academy. We barely had any 'us' time until Kitna was four. By then . . . well,
the idea of a honeymoon was kind of a moot point."  
  
June's levity faded from her face as her partner spoke. She regarded her hands
absently. "Not easy being a cop," she said. "I never really had a relationship
with anyone until I met Sophie. Just a bunch of one-night stands and booty
calls from chicks I met in lesbian bars. I still don't know why Sophie sticks
around."  
  
"She loves you," Riaz remarked, but his tone was dark.  
  
June smiled. "Yeah. God bless her, but she does."  
  
* * * *  
  
The GPS navigation device took them along several rural roads which would have
matched the worst over-driven downtown streets in terms of potholes and uneven
surface. The sedan rocked back and forth, suspension creaking, even though
Riaz tried his best to navigate the roads as if driving a slalom. Eventually,
a hundred yards past the point along a country road at which the GPS announced
they had arrived at their destination, Riaz turned the car into a driveway
beneath a weathered cast iron arch decorated with a classic cross.  
  
"Richards Farm," June said as she read a small wooden sign hammered into the
ground. "Guess this is it."  
  
Riaz gave a noncommittal grunt as he drove along the gravel driveway. Lush
green grass flanked either side to a distance of a few hundred feet. There
were some shade trees here and there, a small pond with a gazebo nearby, and
about five hundred yards in, a large, sprawling, single-story house that
appeared to have begun life as a single-wide trailer. A pair of aging trucks
were parked at angles out front, as well as a late-model sports car.  

"Wow. Hickville, USA," June remarked. "Not where I would think our boy came
from."  
  
"People can surprise you," Riaz said as he parked near one of the trucks. He
cut the engine, propped open the door, and stepped out. June did the same.  
  
The front door of the house opened, revealing a slender woman in late middle
age. She gave a somber look to the two detectives as they approached.  
  
"Yer the cops, right?" she called, her country accent adding a lilt to
everything she said.  
  
Riaz nodded, setting foot on the short set of wooden steps leading up to the
door. "Thank you for seeing us."  
  
The woman looked back, blank-faced. "Got some fresh-brewed iced tea and finger
sandwiches," she said. "Come on in."  
  
Riaz gave an acquiescing smile. "I appreciate the gesture, Mrs. Richards, but
that probably won't be necessary."  
  
She stared hard, aged grey eyes stabbing into him. "This ain't gonna be no
short conversation," she said ominously. "Not if yer here 'bout Talon and
Thorne. Least I can do is offer some simple comforts."  
  
Riaz nodded, smiling courteously as he stepped up before the woman. "Well,
again, thank you for seeing us."  
  
She shot him a dark look. "Don't you go thanking me yet."  
  
* * * *  
  
At some point in the distant past, the original single-wide trailer had been
expanded to become the foundation for what proved to be an impressive, if
simply built, house. The living room was larger than Riaz's own apartment,
with a stone hearth fireplace occupying one wall and broad floor-to-ceiling
windows along another. Every bit of remaining wall space was positively
covered with various framed photographs, revealing men, women and children at
various stages in life.  
  
Riaz and June sat upon an aging brown leather couch, facing Mrs. Richards
across a glass-topped coffee table upon which had been laden a pitcher of iced
tea and several glasses, as well as a tray of various sandwiches composed of
thinly-sliced bread. The ghostly, gospel sounds of Johnny Cash filtered from a
nearly antique stereo system.  
  
"So, you came asking 'bout the boys," the woman prompted.  
  
Riaz nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Richards. Anything you could--"  
  
She stopped him with a raised hand. "Now, hold on there," she said with a
tired smile. "I done brought you in my house, offered you homemade iced tea
and food. Least you can do is call me Patty."  
  
The detective smiled in admonishment. "Of course. Thank you, Patty, for your
hospitality."  
  
She beamed. "Now that's proper," she said. "Go on. What they done?"  
  
Riaz cocked his head. "You don't seem to be surprised that we're here."  
  
"That's 'cause I ain't," Patty said simply. "I always knew them boys would do
something ungracious someday."  
  
"Well, I suppose you knew them best."  
  
Patty scoffed. "Only one who knows those boys is the Devil himself. Me, I just
kept 'em out of trouble long as I could."  
  
"They could use that now," June muttered.  
  
Patty shook her head. "Soon as them boys was old enough, they left me behind.
Truth be told, I was glad to be rid of 'em. It was like the light shining on
the cross again."  
  
"What was Talon like, growing up?" Riaz asked.  
  
"Now, get one thing straight," Patty said with all the stern authority of a
schoolmarm. "You can't talk about one without including the other. Them boys
never did anything on their own. They's one spirit in two bodies, and it ain't
no proper spirit. I swear, if I ever laid a bible on them boys' hearts, it'd
probably burst into flame."  
  
Riaz studied the woman's face, reading faint memories of pain and fear and
disappointment. "Were they ever violent at home?"  
  
Patty inhaled, looking across the picture-covered walls. "Not . . . directly.
Not in this house, anyways."  
  
"But there were incidents," Riaz deduced.  
  
Patty nodded, sadness crossing her face. "Mainly fights with other kids," she
said. "They was real Hell raisers. Don't think they ever had no real friends;
mainly others they bullied into hanging around with them. But it came to me
right quick that they didn't ever want no friends. They couldn't do it."  
  
"What do you mean, they couldn't do it?" June asked.  
  
Patty worried her hands. "They just couldn't be friendly. I mean, they'd go
through the motions when it was necessary, putting on airs and such when out
and about. But it was always an act. Even when they was older and started
talking to girls, they never looked at them romantically. They always looked
at them like . . . well, like they did their dog."  
  
Riaz's brow furrowed at the tangent, waiting.  
  
"See, after the boys came here, Frank and I got them a dog. This was when they
was four. Oddest little animal you ever seen. Part basset, part dachshund.
Looked like a big 'ole head with legs. That's what they called him: Big Head.
That damn dog followed them everywhere. Grew up with them. Eight years they
had that dog. Then one day, they go out playing with Big Head and they come
back without him."  
  
Riaz and June exchanged a look, with an obvious sense of dread on June's face.  
  
Patty continued: "We asked them, 'where's Big Head?' But they didn't want to
say. Frank got all uppity with them, demanding to know where the dog was. But
the boys just clammed up, staring back at Frank like they was daring him to
get the strap. So Frank sends the boys to their room and goes out looking for
the dog. Spent all night looking, and when he finally comes back, he's got . .
. _a plastic bag._  
  
"I never seen Frank look so ashen in my life. I didn't want to look, but I
did. Could hardly tell it had once been a dog. Seems the boys had taken a
hammer and hatchet to it. Turned my stomach."  
  
"Jesus," whispered June under her breath. She reached for the glass of tea
before her.  
  
"Did they say why they did it?" Riaz asked.  
  
Patty's face was dark. "They claimed the dog done went rabid. They was just
defending themselves, they said. Bullshit. There wasn't a damn thing wrong
with that dog, 'cept for maybe being stupid. After that, we didn't get them
another one. I just knew . . . I had a feeling if we did, the same thing would
happen."  
  
Riaz shifted on the couch, feeling uncomfortable. The thought of two twelve-
year-old boys being so savage, especially with a pet they had known for most
of their lives . . . the term _inhuman _came to mind.  
  
"We just sort of let it go," Patty went on. "Weren't nothing we could do to
the boys to punish them. They was getting bigger, and Frank was getting older.
I don't think it'd be unfair to say we lived in fear of those boys, just a
little. We couldn't wait for the next six years to pass, so they could get
their money and scoot out. And they wasn't too keen on waiting, either."  
  
Riaz cocked his head in interest. "What do you mean, 'their money?'"  
  
Patty reached for one of the sandwiches. "From the settlement, of course."  
  
Riaz and June looked questioningly at one another. "I think we've missed
something," June said.  
  
Patty let her hand fall to her lap. She looked both annoyed and surprised.
"Don't you know what happened with their momma?"  
  
  
"To be honest, we didn't find much, other than her name on the adoption
papers. Christine Tolomeo."  
  
Patty chuckled ominously. "Well, then, let me tell y'all a little story." She
took a bite from the sandwich, a sip of tea, then straightened. "Christie was
my cousin, my Aunt Clara's only daughter. Pretty little thing, but none too
sure of herself. She was always looking for someone to tell her how pretty she
was. She was mighty popular in school, if you know what I mean.  
  
"She shacked up with some boy after high school graduation. They both went to
work with his dad at the flea market. Her living in sin with a boy didn't sit
well with her folks, but there wasn't much they could do. Anyway . . . .  
  
"One day, we get a call from her folks asking if we knew where Christie was.
Seems she'd gone missing somewhere between her apartment and the flea market.
Well, we hadn't seen her, of course. Turns out she was kidnapped. Taken right
off the road."  
  
Patty took another bite, another sip. "Police couldn't find her. They even
called in the FBI. Nothing. Three months goes by." She fixed Riaz a look.
"This was about twenty-four years ago. You look like yer old enough to maybe
remember what happened around here back then."  
  
Realization slowly dawned upon the detective. He breathed in deeply and let it
out with a confirming nod. "I had just started on the force," he said. "It was
all over the news."  
  
"What was?" June asked, prodding her partner. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"The Rattlesnake Man," Riaz said, looking to Patty as he said the name. The
old woman nodded.  
  
June was still confused. "Who's the Rattlesnake Man?"  
  
"A real-life boogeyman," Patty said. "I think the official total was nine
women?"  
  
Riaz nodded again. "Think so. So Christie Tolomeo was the one. How the hell
did I not see that?"  
  
Patty addressed a still-bewildered June. "See, about thirty-five years ago, a
girl goes missing. She's gone for about a month before her body turns up. Then
it happens again, and again, and again. This goes on for five years. Girl goes
missing, nobody has a clue, then suddenly, her body shows up on the side of
the road somewhere. And every time, there's a dead rattlesnake wrapped around
her neck. So they started calling him the Rattlesnake Man."  
  
"When I started at the academy, we had one of the lead FBI agents on the
Rattlesnake Man case give a lecture," Riaz added, addressing his partner.
"They had literally invested millions of dollars looking for this guy. Then,
suddenly, the kidnappings stopped. Everything went cold. Until six years
later."  
  
"Yep," confirmed Patty. "But this time, the girl – my cousin Christie – got
free. They found her walking on the side of the highway, naked as a jailbird,
about sixty miles away. Couldn't talk for days."  
  
"If I remember correctly," Riaz interjected. "She didn't cooperate with the
FBI."  
  
"No, she surely didn't. Didn't want to tell him where the Rattlesnake Man was.
But they found him anyway."  
  
Riaz ran his hand over his face. "The agent in the lecture told us he and his
team had made a classic mistake, and were looking too closely in this area.
They never considered the abducted women would be taken so far away. Once they
started looking where the last victim – Christie Tolomeo – was found, it
didn't take long to find out where she had been kept."  
  
"So, they caught the guy?" June asked.  
  
"Not exactly," Riaz said. "They found him, cornered him, but he jumped into a
pit of rattlesnakes he had on his property."  
  
"I guess maybe he thought he was being poetic, dying that way," Patty said
disdainfully.  
  
"So who was he?" June queried.  
  
Riaz shook his head. "I can't remember the name, now."  
  
"Mundy," Patty informed. "Peter _Noah _Mundy. I stress the middle name 'cause
it's the same both his sons have."  
  
Riaz and June both stared, understanding instantly. "Talon and Thorne are the
sons of the Rattlesnake Man?" Riaz asked.  
  
"They surely are," the older woman said. "Christie didn't want to tell nobody.
She stayed hidden in her folks' house 'til she delivered. Pretty much kept
them hidden from the world for four years, too. Then one day she takes a
kitchen knife into the bath and cuts her wrists. The boys found her. Guess
maybe that's why me and Frank took pity on them."  
  
"So you adopted Talon and Thorne," Riaz said. "Why didn't Christie's family
take care of them?"  
  
"'Cause they was scared of them boys. The sons of the Devil living in their
home? Maybe Frank and I should've listened when they said to put the boys into
foster care. But we're good Christians. We take care of our blood, even if
it's mixed with the oils of evil."  
  
Riaz sat back, absorbing everything he had learned.  
  
"Anyway, before she killed herself, Christie's folks sued the government. Got
a pretty hefty settlement, too. Christie didn't want none of it. She locked it
away in an account for the boys. They got it all when they turned eighteen.
Best day of my life, really. They took off and didn't look back, and,
honestly, I didn't want them to.  
  
"So," Patty said after another bite of her sandwich. "Now you know why I ain't
exactly surprised that them boys have done something bad."  
  
* * * *  
  
They faced each other across the coffee table, bottles of beer before them.
The apartment was quiet, the lights dimmed. The only sound came muted through
the windows, the sounds of the city outside.  
  
"So, how are we gonna do this one?" Thorne asked.  
  
"Well, we'll need to be in serious paranoia mode," Talon suggested.  
  
"Right. Act like the cops are watching us wherever we go."  
  
"Which they might be."  
  
"Rental car?"  
  
Talon shook his head. "We'd have to use a credit card. They can track that."  
  
"Right. Steal something, then."  
  
"That could work." He took a sip of beer. "We'll have to wear gloves."  
  
"And long-sleeved shirts."  
  
"Do something about our hair."  
  
"Yeah. Wear it back, or--"  
  
"Hats."  
  
"Bingo." Thorne eased back with his beer in hand. "Should probably wait a day
or two, I'm thinking."  
  
Talon nodded in agreement. "Definitely. I was thinking we should change it up,
too. The first two were chicks. Maybe we should do a guy."  
  
Thorne grinned. "Oh, that would really screw up the cops. Yeah, break the
pattern. Different way to do it, too. Maybe use a knife this time."  
  
Talon's eyes flashed with inspiration. "Nah. More brutal than that. Something
to really shock people when they hear about it in the news."  
  
Thorne studied his twin's face, then slowly smiled in understanding. "I know
what you're getting at."  
  
"Of course you do."  
  
* * * *  
  
The precinct house was quiet when Riaz headed up to his desk in the
Robbery/Homicide division. After stopping for a late dinner at a drive-thru –
not that either he or June had much of an appetite after Patty Richards'
revelations – he dropped his partner off at home. The thought of yet another
lonely night at his spartan apartment was not appealing, so he looked for
something to occupy him.  
  
Thankfully, a file awaited him upon his cluttered desk. The criminal records
department had apparently been confused about his request concerning Talon N.
Tolomeo, and had sent up what they had on both of the brothers. In light of
what he had learned from Mrs. Richards, he was glad for the mix-up.  
  
"Son of a bitch," he breathed as he flipped through the files. "Might as well
be looking at one rap sheet."  
  
"Talking to yourself, Riaz, or you got a new invisible friend I don't know
about?"  
  
The detective half-turned toward the voice behind him. "You ever sleep,
Captain?"  
  
The older man chuckled, shuffling closer on tired feet. "How's that Bon Jovi
song go? I'll sleep when I'm dead?"  
  
Riaz grimaced. "Except, he was talking about sex, not being a cop."  
  
The Captain indicated the files Riaz held with a nudge of his chin. "How's the
case going?"  
  
Riaz sighed. "Complicated," he said. "I'm thinking I've got two perps on my
hands. Twin brothers."  
  
"Dropping the serial killer angle, then?"  
  
"Actually, no," Riaz said, making his captain react with arched brows. "Well,
not exactly. I don't think these two are serial. I think they're sociopathic.
They're doing this for kicks."  
  
"That's a hell of a kick," the Captain mused. "Why do you think it's both of
them?"  
  
"You remember that little thing we used to rely on, back before computers did
all our work for us?"  
  
"Ah. You mean a _hunch_. Didn't think they made those anymore."  
  
"Well, mine's a bit rusty, but the gears still work."  
  
"Gonna need hard evidence," the Captain warned.  
  
Riaz nodded. "I know. That's why I haven't had anyone in the interrogation box
today. I'm not putting any cards on the table until I know I've got an ace."  
  
The Captain smiled. "I'm guessing those are the rap sheets?"  
  
"More like rap _sheet_," Riaz corrected. "Whatever one got collared for, the
other did, too. Most of it's petty stuff, like misdemeanor theft, assault,
public disorderly. Seems one of them punched a cop at a rodeo once, but their
lawyer talked it down to misdemeanor resisting. These guys are your original
bad boys, and they never, _ever_, do anything alone."  
  
The Captain stepped closer, hands in the pockets of his deteriorating slacks.
"You know, the DA's getting antsy with this one. Don't know if you've seen any
of the press conferences, but this could turn into a big deal. It's an
election year, you know."  
  
Riaz soured. "And you know I don't give shit one about that," he growled.  
  
The Captain nodded. "I know. Just . . . make sure you cross your Ts and dot
your Is."  
  
"I always do."  
  
The Captain turned. "Yeah, I know," he said as he shuffled away.  
  
* * * *  
  
The air in the bathroom was fragrant with vanilla and currant. The only light
was cast from a pair of large flickering candles set upon the porcelain edges
of the twin sinks. Frothy bubbles streaking along toned flesh, Talon and
Thorne alternately grappled and caressed one another in the soapy bath.  
  
They kissed heatedly, passionately, Talon cupping his brother's damp face and
staring into eyes that may very well have been his own. Their skin, normally
so cold and pale, was heated by the bath and their own arousal.  
  
"No matter what, we'll always be together," Talon whispered, his lips mere
inches from his brother's.  
  
"No matter what?" Thorne asked, showing that rarest of his sides,
vulnerability.  
  
Talon nodded. "We've never let anyone take us apart," he said, smoothing back
Thorne's wet hair. "And we're not about to start."  
  
"I love you," Thorne said suddenly, his grip tightening upon his twin's ass
beneath the water. He stared into his brother's eyes.  
  
Talon was touched. He caressed Thorne's face. "I love you, too, brother," he
said, then kissed him fervently, moaning into his twin's mouth. Breaking the
kiss, he eased back, rocking slightly in the tub as their swelling genitals
rubbed together. "I'll never let them take you from me."  
  
"And I'll never let them take you from me, either," Thorne vowed.  
  
Talon suddenly grinned. "Fuck me?" he queried hoarsely.  
  
His brother grinned. "Do you have to ask?"  
  
Talon stood from the tub, then lifted one foot onto the porcelain edge. He
lifted the other, elevating himself to a squat above his brother. His engorged
cock, dripping with foam, thrust out toward Thorne.  
  
Thorne hooked his heels onto the far end of the tub and lifted himself up,
slipping a hand down to lift and hold steady his own stiffened penis. It
prodded against Talon's puckered pink anus.  
  
Talon relished the contact, feeling the nerves come alive around his
sphincter. He concentrated to make the muscles relax, and slowly pushed down
against the firm yet spongy head of his brother's cock. The oily water helped
immensely, and he groaned as he felt the aperture of his anus open and spread
around his brother's penis. Thorne suddenly pushed up, trying to shove himself
inside.  
  
"Slow," Talon said, gazing with a mixture of lust and love upon his brother.
"Let me do it."  
  
Thorne's aggressive need was evident upon his face, but with his brother, he
was willing to temper it. He kept his hips elevated above the waterline of the
tub, his cock jutting straight up with his fingers about the base. He loved
the sight of his brother's smooth, hairless testicles dangling beneath the
shaft of his erection.  
  
Bracing his hands upon the edges of the tub, Talon pushed down slowly, rocking
his hips a bit as the head Thorne's dick began to penetrate him. He gasped
when he felt the head pop past the ring of muscle, then groaned loudly as he
pushed against the invasive shaft. A mixture of pleasure and pain rippled
across his features as he steadily filled his bowels with his brother's cock.  
  
"Fuck," growled Thorne, punching up just a little, driving home that last
inch.  
  
Talon trembled, flexing his anal muscles. He loved the way his brother felt
inside him. For several moments, he relished the sensation of being so
completely filled, before slowly moving up and down.  

"Yeah, you like that," commented Thorne gutturally.  
  
"I fucking love it," Talon seethed, gradually increasing the pace. He relished
every inch of Thorne's cock as it penetrated again and again into his bowels.
The water in the tub sloshed and splashed, little waves cascading over the
edges to the tiled floor below.  
  
Thorne closed his eyes, grunting and groaning, firm hands guiding Talon up and
down. He loved it every time his brother smacked firm buttocks against his
loins, which increased as the moments wore on.  
  
For his part, Talon luxuriated in the way his brother's cock filled him again
and again, rubbing against his prostate. His own cock twitched repeatedly,
especially once he took a hand away from the tub railing and stroked his
shaft.  
  
"I'm gonna come, Talon," Throne growled, pushing up harder, deeper. The water
in the tub splashed higher, flying over the edges.  
  
"Do it!" Talon grunted, bearing down, even as he stroked harder and faster.
His hand was a blur upon his cock. "Come in me!"  
  
  
With a feral moan, Thorne thrust upward as far as he could, arching his body
out of the water and nearly sending his twin toppling above him. Waves
splashed loudly to the floor beside the tub.  
  
His brother convulsing beneath him in orgasm, Talon felt the rush of liquid
heat within his bowels. The knowledge that his brother was coming inside him
triggered his own orgasm. Jerking forward, Thorne's semen-slickened cock
popping free from his ass, Talon plunged into Thorne's mouth and shuddered
with his own climax. Salvo after salvo of heated fluid was spent between his
brother's sucking lips.  
  
For an erotically blissful eternity, Talon cradled his brother's head against
his groin, savoring the suckling, swallowing, massaging efforts of Thorne's
mouth. Only when he began to soften did he ease back, carefully sitting upon
the edge of the tub.  
  
Brother looked upon brother as they recovered, panting. Talon licked his lips
and smiled. Thorne wiped his face with a grin.  
  
"Bed time," was all Talon could say.  
  
End Part Four




        TnT Ch. 05


_(Author's note: this story deals with some very gritty and harsh subject
matter. This is not for those looking for a straightforward sex story. There
are many themes that some people might find objectionable, but to reveal them
might give away parts of the story prematurely. If you continue reading,
please keep this warning in mind.)  
  
(This is the fifth of an eight-part series.)_  
  
**Part Five**  
  
"Holly, honey, you look damn good, girl."  
  
She stepped back from the mirror, holding the mascara brush in one hand,
admiring her work. Her face had that perfect, even ebony tone she was always
striving for. Her lips were the ultimate shade of dusky red. Her hair was
silky and shimmering, a glossy shade of jet with well-placed blonde
highlights.  
  
Holly grinned at herself. "Ain't no boy in the world wouldn't wanna fuck you,
girl," she told herself. She set down the mascara brush, adjusted her breasts
within the snug-fitting Victoria's Secret bra. Not that she truly needed them,
as her breasts were the result of implants rather than genetics. Fine-boned
hands slid down dark and toned skin toward a crotch covered with silky red
panties. She pressed a couple of fingers against her groin, then shifted. And
shifted again. She grimaced.  
  
"Damn it," Holly grumbled, pulling the panties aside. A flaccid penis and
smooth, hairless balls dangled down a moment before she tucked them back
under. After rearranging her panties, she smiled once more upon her
reflection. "That's better."  
  
The smart phone on the edge of the vanity trilled and glowed. She touched it
with the pad of a long-nailed finger, and smiled at what she read in the text
message.  
  
"Calm down, boy, you're gonna get me soon enough," Holly commented. She licked
her lips. "For two hundred dollars, you're gonna get everything you want." She
laughed suddenly. "Two hundred dollah, I make ya hollah!"  
  
* * * *  
  
Holly waited several seconds after knocking on the hotel room door. She
smoothed her hands down along the mini-dress, working out whatever wrinkles
may have accrued simply from walking. Then the door opened. She smiled
professionally.  
  
"Hi, honey."  
  
Talon let his eyes wander over the figure before him. He had to admit, "she"
was certainly passable. Had he passed Holly on the street, he would have
thought her a woman born.  
  
He licked his lips. "Damn," he breathed. "You look better than your pics on
Craigslist." He pushed open the door and stepped aside.  
  
"Why thank you, honey," Holly responded as she sashayed past the young man and
into the room. She went as far as the end of the queen-sized bed, looking
about as she always did for signs of the vice squad. She turned back, giving
Talon a direct look. "You said you're just in town on business?"  
  
Talon closed the door and locked it. He gave a nod as he turned to the dark-
skinned transsexual. "Couple times a month, my company sends me here. I'm a
tech rep."  
  
Holly cocked her head. "And you like T-girls," she said with a coquettish
smile.  
  
Talon made himself blush and scratched the back of his head. "People I work
with, they're pretty tame. Conservative, I mean. Their idea of 'freaky' is
road head."  
  
Holly licked her lips. "Mmm. I love giving road head," she declared. "But
then, I love sucking cock no matter where I am. I did it once in a movie
theater, and probably a dozen other people saw me doing it. Really turned me
on."  
  
Talon grinned. "I bet," he said. "Wow. In a theater. That's pretty hot."  
  
Holly chuckled, sitting upon the edge of the bed. She effected a haughty look,
like that of a sexual master before a naive young student. "Anything,
everything, anywhere," she said. She pursed her lips, letting her gaze travel
up and down Talon's lean frame. "You're goddamn sexy."  
  
Talon blushed again. "I don't hear that much," he said sheepishly, approaching
the way a gazelle might approach a tigress. "Wow. You're really hot."  
  
Holly shifted into business mode. "Well, first things first, honey," she said.
"We agreed on a certain something."  
  
Talon nodded. "Right," he said, digging into his pocket. He came up with a
neatly-folded stack of twenty-dollar bills, which he held out for her. She
took them with a sly smile, counted, then tucked the wad of cash into her
handbag which she then set on the floor.  
  
"So, Bobby," she said, using the name she had been given during their previous
emails. "What you wanna do with me?"  
  
Talon smiled slowly, a sudden darkness crossing his face. His eyes flickered
past the black transsexual, as Thorne appeared from behind the hotel room's
drapes along the far wall, a cloth in hand as he approached the "woman"
stealthily.  
  
"Nothing you're going to enjoy," he intoned, just as Thorne pounced, wrapping
a strong left arm about Holly's shoulders and smothering the cloth around her
mouth and nose.  
  
* * * *  
  
June sat up in bed, staring at the banal infomercial on the TV. The faint
fragrance of sex lingered in the air, but it had been hours since she and
Sophie had made love. On any other occasion, relaxed sleep followed any bout
of lovemaking between them, and June would not awaken until the alarm on her
phone went off at half past six in the morning. But on this night, she was
troubled by dark thoughts and images.  
  
The stirring of her partner did not register as June numbly switched the
channels, looking for something – _anything _– to occupy her mind. But even
with hundreds of options, nothing could banish the twisted images that plagued
her mind.  
  
"June?"  
  
The sound of her love's voice garnered her instant attention. She glanced to
the sublime redhead beside her as the woman reached out, still half asleep, to
caress June's nude body. She caught Sophie's hand and clutched it tightly.  
  
"Sorry, babe. I didn't want to wake you."  
  
Sophie made the effort to sit up. Her auburn hair was a tangled mess about her
face, but she still looked uncompromisingly gorgeous. "No, it's okay," she
murmured, leaning against June's bony shoulder. "What'cha watching?"  
  
"Nothing," June replied, flicking to another channel. The images of kittens
playing filled the screen, accompanied by a voice-over of a man describing
their actions in anthropomorphic terms.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
June ground her teeth. She let the hand holding the remote fall to her lap.
"Just having trouble relaxing, that's all," she said, then raised her other
hand to pet Sophie's soft hair. "Go back to sleep."  
  
But the redhead shifted, sitting up more fully, her eyes becoming more lucid.
She looked upon her lover with concern. "Something's really bothering you,"
she observed. "You've never had insomnia before."  
  
June grimaced. "It's nothing."  
  
"No, it's not," Sophie insisted.  
  
"Look, you don't wanna hear about it," June said, then expelled a short, harsh
laugh under her breath. "I don't even wanna hear about it."  
  
Sophie ran her hands across June's body, casually brushing fingers across
small breasts. She kissed June's shoulder, then her neck, then the lobe of her
ear. "You can always talk to me about anything," she whispered. "Even if you
think it might scare me. Believe it or not, I'm tougher than you think."  
  
June managed a smile. She tilted her head to give a quick kiss, but then
returned to flipping through the channels. But she wasn't looking at anything.
Nothing registered.  
  
"When I was six," June suddenly began. "I had three best friends. Purple Bear,
Green Monkey, and Puppy."  
  
Sophie smiled with affection. "Stuffed animals, right?"  
  
June nodded. "I was an only kid," she said. "Anyway, I remember one day when I
couldn't find Puppy. I looked all over, but couldn't find him. Went crying to
my mom. I was convinced that some monster had taken Puppy. No matter what she
said, I just _knew _that a monster had taken Puppy and I'd never see him
again."  
  
Sophie laughed softly, letting out a soft sigh as she hugged her lover. "But
you did, right? Found him in the back of your closet or something?"  
  
June sighed through her nostrils. "No. See, I had been sick for a couple days.
Threw up all over my blankets. Turns out that my dad, in his infinite
alcoholic wisdom, yanked off all my sheets, with Puppy inside them, and threw
the whole mess in the trash. But my mom didn't tell me that; I found out about
it later. Instead, she told me that I just lost Puppy, that a monster couldn't
have taken him, because there was no such thing as real monsters."  
  
Sophie remained quiet, petting June's back.  
  
June stared, face drawn, at the television, registering nothing upon the
screen. "But she was wrong. There are real monsters in the world. Maybe they
didn't take my Puppy, but they're real. Holy fuck are they real."  
  
Sophie looked upon her lover's face with worry. "This is about that case
you're working on, isn't it?" she asked softly.  
  
June let out a quivering breath. She looked down at her hands as she rubbed
them together. "I've heard people talk about good and evil, but always figured
they were just using those terms to define something they couldn't understand.
I mean, a guy kills his wife because she's fucking someone else. I can
understand that. Some crack whore lets herself get kicked out of her apartment
because she spends all her money getting her fix. I can understand that. It's
sick, and disgusting, and makes me feel bad for being the same kind of basic
human being they are, but I can understand it. It's explainable to me."  
  
She fumed a moment, glaring at the images on the screen across from the bed.
"But I found out today that I can't understand everything," she said in a
hoarse, shuddering voice.  
  
Sophie made a _tsk _sound and touched June's chin. "Baby, sweetie--"  
  
But June flinched and bucked away. "You don't understand," she said bitingly.
"And I really hope you never do. These . . . guys, these men we're after . . .
they took a dog they'd had as a pet for years. Years! And they just . . .
chopped him up. It makes me sick to think about it. Like, 'here, boy! Come on,
let's play!' _Thwack_!"  
  
June squeezed her eyes shut, fighting down the sudden rush of bile in the back
of her throat.  
  
Sophie did not know what to say. She could only hug her lover and try to give
her comfort.  
  
"People talk about what's good and what's evil," June intoned darkly. "But
they really don't know. And I really wish I didn't know it now. These guys
aren't drug addicts, or passion killers, or sick-ass serial killers with a
fucking chemical imbalance, or anything else I could explain away. They're . .
. evil. Inhuman. And I don't know what to do to stop them."  
  
Sophie shifted around until she faced June. Her bright green eyes bore into
her lover's. "Well, if you're going to believe in evil, then you have to
believe in good, too," she said. "And trust me, of everyone I've ever met in
my life, you're definitely the most _good _person I've ever known."  
  
June smiled slowly, feeling the weight of tears in her eyes. She looked upon
Sophie with love, affection, and graciousness. "That means so much more to me
than you could ever know," she whispered in a ragged voice. "I just wish I
knew what to do."  
  
Sophie cupped her lover's face and stared into her eyes. "You'll figure it
out," she insisted. "I know you will. Because I wouldn't have fallen so
totally in love with someone who didn't have the strength to stand up to
anything this world could throw at her."  
  
June took Sophie's hand and squeezed, then kissed it. Her face was streaked
with emotion. "Hold me?"  
  
Sophie smiled. "Always."  
  
* * * *  
  
Holly stirred from her chemical-borne slumber, groggy in her recollection and
assessment of what was happening around her. She was aware that she lay face-
up upon a bed, staring at the pock-marked ceiling of a rather ordinary hotel
room, and that she could move neither her arms nor legs beyond basic jerking
motions. And, lastly, that something covered her mouth.  
  
"Hmmm! Hmmm!"  
  
"Oh, look. She's awake."  
  
"You mean, 'he.' Fucking tranny."  
  
"Be nice, Thorne."  
  
Holly's nostrils flared as she breathed in and out rapidly through her nose.
Abject fear gripped and constricted her body. She pulled at the restraints,
but found them much too strong. The fact that she was completely helpless
dawned upon her with all the weight of every bad decision she had ever made in
her life compiled into a single, cohesive mass.  
  
A slender, but muscular man, pale of skin and with a full head of thick,
luxurious black hair, leaned into her field of view. She recognized him as the
man who had opened the door. But now, he wore what looked like a full-sleeved
wetsuit, and black gloves. Holly's eyes searched his, questing for some trace
of compassion or humanity.  
  
"Hi," he said with a disarmingly comforting smile. He settled a hand to
Holly's greasy head, smoothing back her hair.  
  
"Hm," she responded through her gag.  
  
Talon assessed the transsexual's face, reading fear, anxiety, and confusion.
"I bet you're wondering what's going on," he said in a voice that was
frighteningly casual.  
  
"Mm-hm," Holly responded with a vehement nod.  
  
A slow dark smile spread across Talon's face. "Well," he said, tracing a
random pattern down Holly's naked body. The tip of his finger stopped at the
base of the T-girl's flaccid penis. "We thought about fucking you. We really
did."  
  
Thorne scoffed as he stood at the far end of the bed. "Be like fucking a
toothpick," he commented rudely.  
  
Talon frowned briefly at his brother, then returned his attention to Holly.
"He's a bit rude, but he's basically right," he said. Suddenly, he grabbed
Holly's cock, squeezing it painfully. "Seriously, what did you hope to offer
with something so pathetic? I've seen bigger dicks on Yorkshire Terriers."  
  
Holly squirmed and protested impotently.  
  
Talon let go and sat back with a dramatic sigh. "But, that's right; _you _want
to get fucked. But it's not like you have an actual pussy, which gets wet when
you're turned on. No, you have an asshole, that needs to be lubed first."  
  
He suddenly surged over Holly's face, staring down with contempt. "So, let's
get this straight: you have a pathetic dick, no pussy, fake tits, you smell
like a guy who hasn't showered in three days but you cover it with cheap-ass
perfume . . . and you _fucking dare to charge for the privilege to fuck you?"_  
  
Holly squeezed her eyes shut. Tears leaked from her eyes. Her body shuddered.  
  
Talon rolled his eyes, then looked to his brother. "Is there anything more
pathetic?" he asked, throwing up his hands. "Seriously."  
  
Thorne sucked a tooth as he smacked the head of a hammer into his gloved palm.
He was dressed identically to his twin. "Not to me."  
  
Talon looked back at the constrained transsexual, while taking up a short-
hafted hatchet from the floor beside the bed. He waited until Holly's eyes
opened, then made sure their victim got a good look at the weapon.  
  
"Now," Talon said. "My brother and I are going to kill you. It's not going to
be pretty. In fact, it's safe to say that your funeral will definitely not be
an open casket."  
  
Holly's eyes bulged in a desperate, voiceless plea. The stark terror within
them was obvious. "Hmm! Hmm! Hmm!"  
  
Talon shook his head as if denying a petulant child's request for candy.
"Sorry. We can't exactly stop now," he said, raising the hatchet. "Even if we
wanted to."  
  
"Which we don't," sneered Thorne, lifting his own weapon.  
  
Holly gave one last, desperate, muffled scream, watching the weapons fall.  
  
_Hack!  
  
Thump!  
  
Chop!  
  
Crush!_  
  
The transsexual convulsed with each deadly blow, blood spewing in all
directions. The first flashes of pain shot through Holly's brain before her
senses were overloaded . . . only dimly, just before surrendering to her own
mortality, did she register the crude blunt face of the hammer before it
smashed into her skull . . . .  
  
* * * *  
  
The morning hubbub in the Robbery/Homicide division was typical for a Friday.
Half the detectives were looking forward to the weekend, while the others knew
Saturday and Sunday would be just like any other working day. Riaz and June
fell into the latter category. It had been five days since they had picked up
the case for Kaylee Mills, four days since Sylvia Gonzales' body had been
found. And, despite having two suspects, they had precious little evidence to
present to the district attorney.  
  
"Listen up!" called the Captain as he emerged from his office. His harsh voice
killed nearly all conversation in the room. "Got a new DB. Parande and Barret,
you're out on this one. You got enough going on. Everyone else, I need
volunteers or I'm gonna draw from a hat."  
  
A slender black detective raised his hand, eliciting a cranky look from his
aging partner. "We'll take it."  
  
Riaz and June stared at each other across their desks. "It's just never going
to end, is it?" June asked.  
  
"Just be glad it wasn't for us," Riaz said meaningfully.  
  
June flipped through the information before her. They had spent days gathering
everything they could find regarding Talon and Thorne Tolomeo that did not
require a court order. They had gone back to re-interview Leticia Covens, but
she couldn't positively say the picture of Talon was the man who had picked up
Kaylee. With that, and the fact that the security video from the Rambler Motel
was deemed too unreliable for court, they had hit a wall in their
investigation.  
  
"Why don't we just pick them up?" she suggested yet again.  
  
Riaz sighed. "To be honest, I'm leaning that way. But if we can't get anything
from them, we'll be worse off than we are now."  
  
June seethed quietly. She was beginning to question her desire to be a
detective.  
  
Riaz noticed the two detectives – McCaffrey and Lutz – who had taken the new
case. They were looking at an open file McCaffrey held and wincing. _Crime
scene photos, _Riaz deduced. _Must be pretty graphic._  
  
"What'd you guys get?" he called.  
  
McCaffrey glanced up. "About a hundred and fifty pounds of hamburger," he said
distastefully. "At least, according to these prelims. CSI is on the scene. Not
pretty, but the weapons were left at the scene. At least we'll have something
to go on."  
  
"Fucking sick bastards," Lutz commented as he and McCaffrey meandered past.
"Taking a hammer and a hatchet to someone like that . . . ."  
  
Riaz caught the words instantly, and jumped up. "Did you say, 'hammer and
hatchet?'" he asked.  
  
The two other detectives stopped and glanced back. The older man, Lutz,
frowned. "Yeah. Why, you wanna see it?"  
  
"Actually, I do," Riaz replied, taking two steps and snatching the file from
McCaffrey's hands. He began flipping through the photos as June came up beside
him.  
  
"Holy shit, that's disgusting," June commented, covering her mouth and
glancing away.  
  
But Riaz's face was concrete. Finally, he lifted a single picture, that of a
blood-smeared hammer crossed over an equally gory hatchet. His heart pounded.
He could hear Patty Richards' voice echoing in his head: "_Could hardly tell
it had once been a dog. Seems the boys had taken a hammer and hatchet to it."_  
  
"If you're done," prompted Lutz impatiently, holding out his hand.  
  
"I'm not," Riaz snapped, flipping the folder closed. "We're taking this one."  
  
"What the fuck? Hey, Parande!"  
  
But Riaz was already storming toward the Captain's office, June jogging
behind. He barged open the door, startling the older.  
  
"Try knocking," growled the Captain.  
  
Riaz held up the file. "This is ours," he announced. "Our boys did this."  
  
The Captain frowned. "It's a totally different MO," he argued. "This was a
guy. Crossdresser or something, but a guy. And he wasn't strangled--"  
  
Riaz leaned forward on the desk. "It was our boys," he insisted. He took out
his phone. "If you let me make one phone call, I can prove it."  
  
Sour-faced, the Captain nevertheless nodded. "Go ahead."  
  
Riaz handed the file to June, then looked through his phone for Patty
Richards' number.  

* * * *  
  
June knew she did not want to see the mess that awaited them in the hotel
room. But she told herself that this was her job, and she had better get used
to it. Eventually, she figured, she would grow the cast-iron stomach Riaz
seemed to possess.  
  
Riaz ignored the bystanders and reporters as he led his partner to the hotel
entrance. The lobby was abuzz with a dozen conversations, and more reporters
were within, attempting to get information from the police or hotel staff. A
couple of them all but pounced upon seeing Riaz, but he brushed past without a
word.  
  
Two uniformed police officers stood guard outside the hotel room on the second
floor. They gave quick nods as Riaz and June revealed their badges. For a
moment, Riaz paused, giving June and look.  
  
"You can stay out in the hall if you want to."  
  
She shook her head. "Want to, but not going to," she affirmed. "You're not
gonna be around to hold my hand forever."  
  
Her comment actually made him smile. "Okay, let's go."  
  
He entered the room carefully, instantly noting the large black body bag upon
a folding metal gurney beside the bed. Blood was everywhere, soaked into the
sheets and pillows, splattered across the walls and floor. That so much blood
could have come from a single human body was astounding.  
  
Crime scene photographers were still busy taking pictures. Another man clad in
the unit's blue jumpsuit stood to one side, jotting on a tablet with a stylus.
"Manny," Riaz called, gaining his attention.  
  
"Detective Parande," Manny responded with a wry smile. "Haven't seen you in a
while. 'Course, I was on vacation in the Bahamas. Sure wasn't easy coming back
to something like this."  
  
"I know not of this 'vacation' of which you speak," Riaz remarked dryly. "That
is a foreign word to me."  
  
Manny chuckled and looked past the seasoned investigator. "Hiya, Barret," he
said, noting the younger woman's pale face as she looked about the scene. "If
you're gonna throw up, I've got an evidence bag you can use."  
  
She shook her head. "I'm fine," she said in a strained voice.  
  
"Tell me something I want to hear," Riaz prompted the man.  
  
The crime scene investigator took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Think I'm
fresh out of that," he said. "But I can tell you what happened."  
  
"I'm all ears."  
  
Manny gestured to the bed. "Two perps," he said. "They left plenty of
footprints around the bed and going in and out of the bathroom."  
  
He moved to the ichor-soaked bed and took a plastic bag from one of the tubs
that had been placed nearby. He handed the bag to Riaz; within was a driver's
license.  
  
"The victim is a black male, presumably Hollister Quincy James, 26. Judging by
the presence of – I think, anyway – what appear to be breast implants, I'd say
the vic was a pre-op transsexual."  
  
"You 'think?'" June asked.  
  
Many leveled his eyes on her. "I've seen car crash victims who hit a truck
going seventy that were more recognizable as human beings than this mess."  
  
June winced. "Okay. Go on."  
  
Manny indicated another plastic tub, holding two bags containing the weapons.
"Your weapons. Garden-variety claw-backed hammer and a standard woodsman's
hatchet. You can buy those at any Home Depot. I'm not even going to guess how
often the vic was struck, but the damage was massive. Exposed bones,
penetrated internal organs, one hand was severed, the corpse was almost
beheaded . . . you get the picture."  
  
Riaz stepped carefully around the bed, squatting down to inspect numerous
smeared footprints left in blood on the carpet. "You sure there were two
attackers?"  
  
"I can even tell you what size shoes they wore," he said.  
  
Riaz narrowed his eyes dubiously as he stood. "Already? Just from these
footprints?"  
  
"Nope," Manny said, then indicated the open bathroom door. "Take a look
inside."  
  
June jumped to it, stepping through the doorway. More evidence bags, larger
ones, lay stacked inside a plastic tub. She picked one of them up and returned
to the main room. "Adidas," she said. "Look brand new, too."  
  
Manny nodded. "That's what I figured," he agreed. "Two sets of shoes, mens'
size ten. Also, two full-body diving suits, two pairs of black socks and two
pairs of gloves. All nicely soaked in bleach."  
  
Riaz breathed out. "Son of a bitch."  
  
Manny nodded again. "These guys knew how to clean up."  
  
"Prints?" Riaz asked.  
  
"Loads," Manny responded. "But this is a hotel room. There are prints all over
the place, from the vic, the staff, former tenants--"  
  
"I want every one of them checked and double-checked."  
  
"We'll be thorough, Riaz. I promise."  
  
Riaz took a breath and let it out. "These guys aren't going to kill again," he
vowed.  
  
* * * *  
  
Interviews with the staff yielded practically nothing. The room had been
booked over the phone by a man and paid for in advance using a Visa card. The
clerk on duty at the front desk said the pass card to the room had been picked
up by a man in a long black coat, wearing glasses and a baseball hat. He'd had
a mustache and seemed a little hefty, the clerk remembered, but that was all
the detail she could recall. The ledger had been signed "Will Smith."  
  
_Cute_, Riaz thought darkly.  
  
The hotel had pitiable security cameras. They only watched the lobby and back
loading dock. Riaz watched the footage of a man in a black trenchcoat as he
approached the desk. It could easily have been one of the twins, he knew,
padding his shoulders beneath the coat to appear more bulky. Likewise, hair
could have been tucked up inside the baseball cap, and the mustache could have
been fake.  
  
But none of that mattered. Trials weren't won by 'could haves.'  
  
Tracking the Visa revealed it was a pre-paid card purchased at a convenience
store down the street at eight o'clock the previous night. That store's
security footage showed the same obscured man in a black trenchcoat and
baseball cap. He had purchased the card with cash.  
  
Lead after lead was dashed. The Tolomeo twins had been meticulous.  
  
"How old are these damn kids?" June asked in exasperation as they once again
sat at their desks. "Twenty-three? And they've just committed the perfect
murder. Three of them, in fact."  
  
"Nothing's perfect," Riaz said, stifling a yawn. He glanced to the old digital
clock on his desk; the red numbers glowed 6:13. For most people in the same
time zone, it was dinner time, yet he was still working. "These kids are
amateurs; they slipped up somewhere. We just have to find out where."  
  
His hip vibrated briefly, making him frown. He retrieved his phone, seeing
that he had a new text message. He took a quick glance, surprised at what he
saw.  
  
"Hot date with the wife?" June asked, reading his expression.  
  
Riaz snorted, but his lack of a direct answer made June wonder. Instead, he
said, "You know, it's been a long day. We really can't do anything but wait to
hear back from forensics, so . . . why don't you head home? Take Sophie out
for drinks or something."  
  
June shot up from her desk. "Don't have to tell me twice," she declared,
heading for the stairs.  
  
"Keep your phone on!" Riaz called after his partner. Then he looked back to
his own phone and the new message.  
  
It had been sent by Susan.  
  
_"Was thinking about your call the other night. I'm free tonight if you want
to get together. Just like old times."_  
  
Riaz tried not to be helpful. "Old times" could have just been an innocuous
turn of phrase, or it could mean . . . _now who's sending who a booty call?_  
  
Riaz hesitated only a moment. It was strange to be recalcitrant about meeting
up with his former lover now, since the divorce was practically final. He
supposed it was the lingering sense of awkwardness; it was Susan he had been
with when the private investigator hired by his wife took the incriminating
photos.  
  
But that had been months ago. The embarrassment was gone, or should be. She
was just a lovely young woman, and he was just a lonely older man.  
  
He dialed.  
  
* * * *  
  
Riaz had been a little surprised at the genuinely excited tone in Susan's
voice when he had called. She sounded as if she actually wanted to meet him,
as opposed to giving him a gentle but unmistakable brush-off. After a quick
conversation, they agreed that he would pick her up at her apartment and they
would go for dinner.  
  
His natural cynicism made Riaz wonder if his former lover's readiness to see
him was due to a dry spell in her own sex life. Susan had once told him that
she started going stir crazy if she went a week without real sex, and "real"
for her meant a living, functional penis. She was an attractive woman, and
very outgoing; if she wanted to get laid, she would. So why, after their last
conversation, did she suddenly seem so enthusiastic?  
  
_Don't question it, Riaz, _he told himself. _Just enjoy the fact that a woman
nearly half your age is willing to spend time with you. Again._  
  
He had thought briefly about picking up some roses on the way, or a simple
bouquet so as not to appear presumptuous. But he was too pragmatic for that.
Susan had already voiced her interest; he had no reason – yet – to woo her. At
the least, he had gone to his apartment for a quick shower and change of
clothes.  
  
She appeared in the doorway of her apartment clad in the tightest of low-rider
jeans and a long-sleeved half top that revealed her lean, athletic torso. Long
brunette hair cascaded down her back, a few teasing tendrils dangling over her
oval face. The sultry smile she wore was one he had not seen in quite a while.  
  
The effect of her appearance made him blink. "Uh, am I at the right address?"  
  
Susan rolled her eyes playfully. "Been a while since you've seen me like this,
huh?" she asked. "Not since our first date, really."  
  
Riaz nodded, reminding himself to look at the stars later that night and count
the lucky ones. "It has been a while."  
  
She stepped close, as if the intimacy between them had never been broken. He
noticed her eye shadow was the same color as her jeans. "Been a while for a
lot of things," she said suggestively.  
  
He swallowed. "I was thinking Italian for dinner," he said quickly.  
  
She smiled cattily, settling her hand to his chest as she breezed past. "And
I'm thinking Indian for desert," she answered, before bouncing past.  
  
_How many times do I have to remind her that I'm Pakistani, _he thought. He
watched after her a moment as she headed down to his car, before realizing he
should be following. _Right. As if that really mattered . . . ._  
  
* * * *  
  
Their conversation was surprisingly easy and light. Neither of them made
mention of the divorce, Riaz's family, or anything else that might have been
even remotely painful. Instead, they spoke in general terms about what they
had been doing the past few months; work, school, friends, events.  
  
They shared seafood alfredo and baked orange roughy at a locally-lauded
restaurant, followed up by a slice of turtle cheesecake and accompanied by a
few cocktails each. As their forks dueled over the last few bites of dessert,
the alcohol they had imbibed finally got the better of them. While neither was
drunk, they ceased to be careful with their words.  
  
"This is just like our first date," Susan said, her soft face colored slightly
from the banana daiquiris she had imbibed. Her green-brown eyes flashed
decadently. "You remember that?"  
  
Riaz chuckled. "You say that like you think I've suddenly gained twenty
years," he said, scooping a bite of cheesecake away from Susan's fork. "Do I
really look that old?"  
  
She frowned and pouted. "No, I didn't mean it like that," she said. "You don't
look old. You _never _look old. Shit, half the guys my age aren't anywhere
near as built as you."  
  
He studied her pretty face. "You're looking pretty good yourself," he said.  
  
She sucked off a bite of cheesecake from her fork in a very suggestive way.
"You remember what we did that first time?"  
  
Riaz stared at her, his natural cynicism making him wonder why she would bring
it up, if she wasn't prepared to repeat the experience. "Well, let's see. We
had dinner, went looking for a bar that, according to my GPS, was right in the
middle of the highway, then, um, parked somewhere for a while, then I took you
home."  
  
She stared at him, eyes glittering mischievously. "I was thinking of the
'parked somewhere for a while' part," she said.  
  
Riaz breathed in, feeling a stirring in his groin which was almost like and
alien sensation. His gaze dipped and he put down his fork. "I hope you're not
just teasing me, Susan," he said.  
  
She sat back, leaving her fork on the table. "Have I ever teased you without
following through?"  
  
He laughed softly in self-admonishment. "No, actually, you've always been . .
. refreshingly direct. It's just that, after I called you the other day . . .
."  
  
Susan rolled her eyes. "I was tired," she explained dismissively. "Grad
school's a bitch. And it was the first I'd heard from you in, what, three
months? What was I supposed to think?"  
  
He nodded. "You're right. It was out of the blue. Sorry. I'd had a hard day,
and I wanted to talk to someone, and I'd been thinking about you . . ." he
exhaled heavily. "God, have I been thinking about you."  
  
A slow smile spread across her face; the sultriness returned. She leaned
forward across the table and scooped up a piece of creamy cheesecake with the
tip of a finger. He watched as she sucked it into her mouth, then licked her
lips in a seductively protracted way.  
  
"I've been thinking about you, too," she said huskily.  
  
Their eyes met. Dinner was over. Susan's eyes blazed. "Take me somewhere and
fuck me," she whispered. "Just like the first time."  
  
Riaz cleared his throat and sat back, making a fierce effort to appear
collected. He searched for their waiter and caught the young man's attention.
"Check, please."  
  
* * * *  
  
With his knowledge of the city, it constituted little effort for Riaz to find
a suitable spot for their imminent coupling. He drove up the highway to where
a new business complex was being built. The parking lot was spacious, yet
deserted, with towering lamp posts that cast harsh light across the fresh
asphalt below. Knowing that Susan was something of an exhibitionist, and
wanting the light to better see everything in detail, Riaz parked at the base
of one such post.  
  
They practically grappled, sharing heated kisses, nipping at one another, as
they struggled to remove clothing. Riaz's shirt ripped open, exposing his
muscular chest, while Susan jerked off her top to allow milky breasts to
bounce free. Riaz groped them before pulling the young woman against him,
latching his mouth to a stiff pink nipple. She hissed with passion and
clutched his head against her chest.  
  
He suddenly pushed her back while reaching down to lower his seat. "Get those
jeans off," he growled.  
  
Susan grinned, also reclining her seat. With the euphoric look of expectation
on her face, she unsnapped her jeans and curled her legs back to her chest.
The garment slipped off in short order, along with her black pumps. Everything
fell to the floor. Proud of her nudity, Susan stretched out, casually parting
her legs to reveal her smooth-shaved sex.  
  
"What do you want, baby?" she cooed.  
  
Riaz patted the console between the seats. "I want your ass up here," he
dictated.  
  
The woman did not hesitate to pivot in her seat and lift her bare behind onto
the console. Naturally, she parted her legs widely, settling on dainty foot to
the dash, the other to the back of Riaz's seat. In the stark light of the lamp
overhead, her pussy was fully and unabashedly revealed. Pale skin contrasted
with brilliant pink inner flesh as Riaz parted her lips.  
  
Despite his almost palpable desperation, Riaz took his time. Susan was a very
attractive young woman, brazen, sexual, and uncommonly honest. Her directness
was what first attracted him more than a year before. In over twenty years of
marriage, Susan had been the only woman enticing enough to give him the excuse
to stray.  
  
"You gonna lick my kitty?" she asked playfully, then effected a purring sound.  
  
Riaz paused amid a chuckle, although he did not remove his fingertips from her
slick labia. That was another thing he had found endearing about Susan: her
playfulness. It had been such an erotic contrast to the soberness of his wife.  
  
He locked eyes with his lover as brought his mouth to her sex. "Yes, I'm going
to eat your pussy," he said, then slipped out his tongue.  
  
Susan sighed in passion, groping her breasts, pinching the nipples until they
stood out, thick, swollen, and red. She pushed her smooth mound against Riaz's
mouth, savoring the feel of his questing tongue as it lapped between her
increasingly slippery folds.  
  
He pushed her legs up, becoming more aggressive by the moment. Susan yielded
as she always did, and pressed her feet to the ceiling of the car's cabin.
This not only opened her pussy fully, but exposed her dark, puckered anus. She
gasped, then cooed with a giggle as Riaz rimmed her, swirling the firm tip of
his tongue around in small circles against her sphincter.  
  
"Never did that before," she whispered heatedly.  
  
He smiled from between her thighs. "Guess I'm feeling a little dirty tonight."  
  
"I think I like this kind of dirty," she breathed, pressing a hand to the back
of his head. Another hot breath escaped her lips as he resumed licking her
anus. She tensed briefly, then growled in pleasure when his tongue pushed just
inside her ass.  
  
Holding the young woman's firm cheeks apart, Riaz licked from her anus to her
clit in long, swiping motions of his tongue. Over and over he did this, as
Susan's panting steamed the windows and her thighs tensed with the impending
rush of orgasm. He swirled the tip of a finger in the fluid gathered at the
entrance to her tunnel and then, while covering her clit with his mouth and
sucking hard, suddenly shoved that finger into her ass.  
  
Susan's eyes flashed open, and she gasped loudly at the intrusion. One of her
hands slapped to the dashboard, causing the glove compartment to tumble open.
The other gripped the back of her own seat. She stared down between her legs.
The pistoning of her lover's finger in her rectum, combined with the avid
suckling of her clitoris magnified the already mounting rush of orgasm,
bringing it on within the space of a mere few moments.  
  
Shouting unintelligible babble that included vague references to dead holy
men, Susan bucked against Riaz's mouth. Her feet kicked the ceiling, her hand
clawed the fabric of the seat, her nails left scratches across the plastic
dash cover. She thrashed back and forth, announcing her orgasm with a
banshee's wail.  
  
Riaz sucked her tender, saturated flesh for a few moments as Susan pantingly
recovered. He eased his finger from her ass, then sat back to remove his
slacks. His cock was at half mast already and thickened with anticipation as
he positioned himself upon his knees. He looked down at the contrast between
his dark, hooded penis and Susan's pale skin. It had always turned him on.  
  
A few strokes of his hand, coupled with the slick heat of Susan's cunt against
the head, and his cock was hard and ready. He pushed into her gently, feeling
the snug warm tunnel expand around his girth. He adored the sight of her lips
caressing his shaft, like slippery little hands pulling him in.  
  
But after only a few strokes within her, Susan stopped him, a hand pressed
against his muscular abdomen. "Wait," she said, giving a sheepish smile. "I'm
a little uncomfortable. All the blood's rushing to my head."  
  
He chuckled again and withdrew, then reached down to help Susan into a sitting
position. "You want to go to my place?"  
  
She sucked her bottom lip, eyes roaming over his features. In that moment,
with disheveled hair hanging about her glowing face, she was the epitome of
sexiness for Riaz. "Later," she said lustily. "We're not done here yet."  
  

He kissed her tenderly. "How do you want me?"  
  
She smiled like a tigress. "Push your seat all the way back," she directed. "I
wanna be on top."  
  
Riaz complied with a smile, remembering that Susan had always loved mounting
him. So he did as she requested, shoving the driver's seat as far back as it
could go while Susan adjusted herself. She reached for his cock when he lay
back in the seat, and lowered her head. A guttural growl issued from her
throat before she sucked his cock into her mouth, squeezing and stroking the
shaft with her hand.  
  
Now it was Riaz's time to surrender to pleasure. The abundant light allowed
him an excellent view of Susan's rouge-colored lips gliding up and down his
shaft. Her eyes were closed in concentration, cheeks colored with arousal. At
one point during their relationship, she had explained how much his cock –
dark, thick, and uncircumcised – turned her on.  
  
But her aggressive oral worship only lasted long enough to satisfy her desire
to taste him. With a naughty look decorating her face, Susan braced her hands
upon his chiseled chest and swung her right leg over. Finding a place for her
foot between the seat and the door, she settled the other foot on the edge of
the passenger seat. Gripping Riaz's cock by the base, she held it up and
slowly, lusciously, impaled herself.  
  
"Oh, God," she moaned as she was steadily filled. "Fuck, I missed your cock."  
  
Riaz responded with a primal groan, reaching up to clutch handfuls of Susan's
breasts. She hissed when he pinched her nipples, then whimpered when he lifted
up and sucked one of them into his mouth. But she pushed him back and glared
upon him with an erotic smile.  
  
"Let me fuck you," she whispered.  
  
He said nothing in reply, but his compliance was obvious. Though he continued
to massage her breasts, he let Susan control the moment.  
  
She eased all the way down until his entire length was buried within her, then
shifted to get comfortable. Eyes closed, mouth slack, Susan relished the
sensation of Riaz's throbbing penis inside her body. After several long,
blissful seconds, she lifted up with the slow restraint of a saint, dragging
her wet tunnel along the length of him, before gliding back down at the same
pace.  
  
Each time she pulled up, she pushed back down a little faster, a little
harder. Each time she was filled, she let out a puff of air and her face would
contort slightly. Riaz could feel nearly every rippling, sucking motion her
pussy gave his cock. He pushed back on every one of his lover's downstrokes.  
  
It wasn't long at all before Susan was loudly smacking her cheeks against
Riaz's pelvis, making them both tremble and the car rock. She clawed her
fingers upon his chest and burrowed her gaze into Riaz's face. "Don't . . .
come . . . yet," she grunted, then twisted her face in orgasm a handful of
heartbeats later.  
  
In the throes of bliss, She barely seemed to acknowledge Riaz's actions when
he lifted up and turned her over, placing her back upon the passenger seat. He
scrambled to get back between her legs and shove his prick back within her.
Now, he was in control. His every movement was geared toward his own
satisfaction. Susan had enjoyed her reward; now he wanted his.  
  
She moaned and mewed beneath him, brunette hair dragged across her face as she
thrashed back and forth. Again and again, his cock sunk into her body, firmly,
wetly. He held her legs wide apart all the while, nipping at her ankles,
planting a sucking kiss along a well-muscled calf.  
  
Finally, the rush roared through his body, and Riaz pulled out, his cock slick
and dripping from Susan's flooded cunt. Jutting out over her body, he stroked
his tensed cock to eruption, gasping in pleasure as thick strands of milky
fluid lanced from the tip of his penis to splash upon Susan's breasts and
abdomen.  
  
He finally exhaled in relief, bracing himself against the passenger door.
Susan giggled softly, reaching for his slowly-softening cock. She squeezed out
a few last dribbles, then rolled forward and swirled her tongue about the dark
pink head, getting a taste of his semen. She murmured approvingly, then sucked
the head between her lips for a moment before easing back.  
  
"God damn, baby, I think that was our best fuck," she breathed.  
  
He smiled upon her, drawing away strands of sweat-slicked hair from her post-
orgasmic face. "You're amazing."  
  
She smiled up at him. "_We're _amazing," she corrected, giving him a
meaningful look. "Wanna take me home?"  
  
He chuckled, for a moment playing coy. "Well . . . ."  
  
She punched his chest playfully. "Take me home," she demanded.  
  
**End Part Five**




        TnT Ch. 06


_(Author's note: this story deals with some very gritty and harsh subject
matter. This is not for those looking for a straightforward sex story. There
are many themes that some people might find objectionable, but to reveal them
might give away parts of the story prematurely. If you continue reading,
please keep this warning in mind.)  
  
(This is the sixth of an eight-part series.)_  
  
**Part Six**  
  
"Talon!" Thorne called from the living room. "You gotta see this!"  
  
The amused urgency in his brother's voice urged Talon to bolt from the
bedroom. Over his twin's head, he saw the images displayed on the large
flatscreen. A middle-aged man clad in a suit, standing before the impressive
edifice of the downtown courthouse, was speaking behind a podium that sprouted
microphones like porcupine quills. He looked very dour and businesslike. The
legend upon the screen beneath his face read "District Attorney Tom Lyttle."  
  
"I rewinded it for you," Thorne said, aiming the remote at the screen. "This
is awesome."  
  
The screen came alive, with the district attorney looking professionally
annoyed. A woman's voice sounded from the background: "Why haven't any arrests
been made in these murders?"  
  
He answered quickly. "The police and DA's office are working together to
insure that the perpetrators of these crimes be brought to justice. We
anticipate an arrest within twenty-four hours."  
  
"'An' arrest?" A man's voice asked. "Are the three murders related?"  
  
Lyttle grimaced. "We're not at liberty to discuss the details of any ongoing
investigations. Too much has been leaked already. But, evidence is being
gathered and evaluated, and witnesses are being interviewed. I simply wanted
to assure both the public and the families of the victims that those
responsible for these murders are being watched very carefully. As I said, we
anticipate an arrest – or arrests – within the next twenty-four hours."  
  
Thorne grinned up at his brother. "They still don't have shit," he cackled.
"Damn, we're good."  
  
"Don't get cocky," Talon warned. "You heard what he said; we're being
watched."  
  
Thorne scoffed. "So fucking what? We covered our tracks. They can't do shit to
us."  
  
But Talon could not share his brother's arrogant confidance. He stared at the
screen as the district attorney fielded more questions, thinking that there
was some kind of hidden message there. It was as if the press conference had
been staged for reasons other than to placate the public.  
  
And that made him worry.  
  
* * * *  
  
The sly smile decorating her partner's face brought one of her own to June's
lips. As Riaz approached her while she stood outside the Captain's office, she
gave him a knowing look.  
  
"You got some," she commented.  
  
Riaz frowned upon her. "It's been known to happen."  
  
"Hey, nice to know you old married peeps can still roll the sack," she said.  
  
He sighed. _Why don't I just tell her about the divorce? _he wondered, then
answered his own question: _because she looks up to you, and if you're
anything but the solid, stable married professional detective, she won't take
you seriously anymore._  
  
"Parande! Barret!" shouted the Captain, saving Riaz from the topic at hand.
Following his partner, he stepped into the office.  
  
"It's your lucky day," the older man rumbled. "East side cops found a car this
morning. It'd been torched, but not completely. They found a black trenchcoat
and a fake mustache inside. And they got prints."  
  
Riaz grinned. "Tell me they were good ones."  
  
"They were good ones. Go pick up your boys. Grab the warrant on the way; I've
already called it in."  
  
"About God damn time," Riaz said, then nodded to his partner. "Call CSI and
have them meet us there. I want to process everything right the first time. No
loopholes on this one."  
  
June nodded firmly. "On it."  
  
* * * *  
  
Talon felt his heart thump in his chest at the sound of the doorbell. He
stepped from the living room to the hall, staring at the front door. Behind
him, Thorne was blissfully occupied with Gears of War.  
  
"They're here."  
  
"Who's here?"  
  
"The cops," Talon replied in annoyance. "Turn the game off." Ginger steps
carried him to the door. Just before opening it, he looked over his
appearance. He wore broken-in jeans and a simple white T-shirt, like his
brother. At least they would be comfortable for however long they would be in
jail.  
  
Taking a breath, he faked a casually innocent look and opened the door.  
  
"Talon Tolomeo," the detective on the other side said, smug look decorating
his face. Behind him stood his dyke partner and four uniformed officers.  
  
"Hello again, detective," Talon said. "What's--"  
  
"You're under arrest," Riaz interrupted, revealing a pair of handcuffs. "You
and your brother both."  
  
"For what?" called Thorne as he stomped from the living room, face indignant.
"Hey! Get your hands off my brother!"  
  
But as the more aggressive twin started forward, June stepped up, pistol held
in her hands and aimed at Thorne's chest. Thorne stopped in his tracks,
glaring.  
  
"On the floor, face down!" June barked. "Do it!"  
  
"It's okay," Talon told his twin as he was being handcuffed. "We'll call the
lawyer."  
  
"I'm sure you will," Riaz drawled as the uniformed officers took Talon away.
He approached Thorne as the younger man assumed the position on the floor.
"But for now, you two are going to be having lunch on us."  
  
The remaining pair of officers handcuffed and pulled Thorne to his feet. The
defiant young man sneered at June before he was taken away. The look he gave
her was unmistakably predatory. She stared back, refusing to back down from
his gaze, even as she felt a chill course through her. She hoped her reaction
to it did not show.  
  
"Part one done," Riaz remarked as the twins were carted away. "Now we get to
go through their stuff."  
  
June shuddered. "Did you see the way he looked at me?" she asked. "Like I was
hanging from a hook and he was about place an order for a side of detective."  
  
"Don't let him bother you," Riaz affirmed. "He's a piranha in a pool who just
hasn't seen the shark yet. You see the tattoos?"  
  
"Yeah. Rattlesnakes."  
  
"I find that a little interesting, don't you?"  
  
"Kind of a stretch to think they just happen to have them, like it's
coincidence or something."  
  
"I'm willing to bet it isn't. Now, be diligent. Clinical. Look for anything we
can use against them."  
  
"Right. Okay. Focus on the present, right?" June looked around, assessing
everything in the twins' home as the two of them entered the living room.
"Damn. You were right; these kids have money. Look at this stuff! That TV's as
big as my bed! Bose surround sound system . . . holy hell . . . ."  
  
"Money only goes so far," Riaz cautioned, casting his gaze around. "You take
the bedrooms; I'll start out here. Don't forget gloves. CSI should be here
shortly, so don't move anything out of place. Just look."  
  
"Don't worry about me; I'm walking on eggshells," June replied, heading down
the hall from the living room. It ended in three doors. One was open,
revealing a standard bathroom. She opened one of the doors past it, finding a
king-sized, four-poster bed within an impressive master suite. Then she
backtracked, opened the other door. She frowned.  
  
"Uh . . . Riaz?"  
  
". . . yeah!"  
  
"Come take a look at this," she said.  
  
A moment later, Riaz came down the hallway. "What's wrong?"  
  
June had an unsettling expression on her face. She gestured to the bedroom on
the left. "What do you see?"  
  
Riaz peered in. There was a weight bench, a rack with cast iron free weights
going as high as thirty pounds, a treadmill, and an exercise mat. "Looks like
a workout room."  
  
"And, over here," June directed, indicating the master suite.  
  
Riaz stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of the large bed, oversized
dresser, two nightstands, the flatscreen atop a small media center. His eyes
lingered on the single bed, the only one in the entire apartment. He grimaced
at the implication.  
  
"A two bedroom apartment – " he began.  
  
"With only one bed," finished June. "There's more to these two than we
thought."  
  
"That's an understatement," Riaz said. He approached the bed, which lay
unmade. That two bodies slept upon the mattress regularly was obvious. "They
aren't just brothers. They're lovers."  
  
June gritted her teeth. "That's beyond sick."  
  
"Push it away," Riaz told her. "Stick to evidence gathering."  
  
She nodded after an involuntary shudder. "No problem . . . ."  
  
* * * *  
  
Once the CSI team arrived, digging through the apartment became both easier
and quicker. They had to be careful to look for things that would tie the
twins to the murders, which limited them greatly.  
  
"Not a fucking thing from any of the victims," June lamented as she and Riaz
stood in the apartment's living room. "They aren't keeping trophies."  
  
Riaz agreed with a somber nod. "No, they aren't. So, junior detective, why are
they killing people?"  
  
June thought a moment, aware she was being put on the spot. "The kill isn't a
means to an end," she said carefully. "It's its own end. They do it for the
rush."  
  
"Why?" prodded Riaz.  
  
She huffed. "'Cause they get off on it?"  
  
Riaz shrugged his shoulders, watching the men and women in their blue
coveralls as they carefully detailed every section of the twins' abode. "Could
be. But I think it's deeper than that," he said.  
  
"Detective Parande?"  
  
Riaz glanced toward the hall leading to the master suite as Manny emerged.
"What you got?"  
  
"Think it's better if I showed you."  
  
Riaz and June followed after the man as he returned to the master bedroom. A
small wooden chest lay on the floor, having been pulled out from beneath the
foot of the bed. It lay open, revealing the coiled form of a taxidermed
rattlesnake laying between two books. One was obviously a Christian Bible; the
other was a simple, leather-bound journal.  
  
Riaz crouched by the chest, looking the contents over before touching them. He
took up first the Bible, and flipped through it. Several of the pages had
hand-written notes in the margins. A woman's handwriting, he assessed.  
  
The journal really captured him after reading only the first page. As with the
notes in the Bible's margins, the journal was written in a distinctive female
flair. Each entry was prefaced by a date. The first harkened back nearly
twenty-four years.  
  
_"It makes me sick that I miss him. I don't love Noah. I can't love Noah, not
after everything he did to me. So why do I miss him? Because he told me I was
beautiful? Because he wanted me so much he had to take me away from my life
and put me in a dungeon? Is that supposed to mean he loved me? I wasn't
fucking Rapunzel, locked away in a tower waiting for Prince Charming to show
up.  
  
"But still. He never raped me. I can't call it that. Not even that first time,
when I was so fucking terrified of making him mad that I gave in and didn't
even get off. And he knew I didn't get off, and I guess that's why he stopped.
But then he came back later, and again, and again. And I started getting off.  
  
"Maybe if he wasn't dead I wouldn't feel like this. Maybe if a bunch of
fucking cops were around me telling me what a bastard he was I wouldn't miss
him. Maybe, if they convinced me I was just a victim, that I never got into it
when he wanted me, I'd just let it go. Maybe.  
  
"But then I'd still be carrying his child."_  
  
Riaz stopped reading, brow furrowed in thought.  
  
"What is it?" June asked.  
  
Riaz closed the journal, his mind whirling with thoughts. "It's Christie
Tolomeo's diary," he said. He met June's gaze. "They know who their father
was."  
  
* * * *  
  
Pulling the car into a spot in the parking lot beside the precinct building,
Riaz cursed at the vulture-like gathering of reporters outside the stately
building.  
  
"Hooray for the sound-byte brigade," June commented sourly.  
  
"Comes with the territory," Riaz remarked, jerking the key from the ignition.
He gave her a hard look. "Don't say anything to them, no matter what. Okay?
_No matter what."_  
  
She nodded back. "Not a word."  
  
Satisfied with his partner's compliance, Riaz pushed open the door and stepped
from the sedan. June did the same, steeling herself as she gazed upon the
flock of reporters. They had not noticed them yet. She fell in behind Riaz as
he walked purposefully toward the white-walled structure, content to let him
lead the way.  
  
As they approached, a few of the reporters noticed, and within seconds, they
were descending like mosquitoes. They charged like a clumsy battalion, each
trying to reach the detectives before the others. Even with his dark mood,
Riaz found the scene humorous.  
  
"Detective! What do you have to say about the arrest of the Tolomeo brothers?"  
  
"Is there a connection between Kaylee Mills, Sylvia Gonzales, and Hollister
James?"  
  
"Are there political motives behind the murders?"  
  
"Is it true the Tolomeo brothers are lovers?"  
  
Riaz said nothing to the barrage of questions, not even bothering to look at
any of the reporters or the cameras. Thankfully, June did the same. Once
beyond the front doors of the precinct, and away from the mob, Riaz turned to
his partner.  
  
"You hear that one reporter?" he asked, glaring toward the closed doors.  
  
June snorted derisively. "Which one?"  
  
"The one that asked about the brothers being lovers," he clarified. His eyes
were hard. "Something we just now found out."  
  
June thought, then narrowed her eyes. "Someone's talking to them already."  
  
Riaz nodded. "I'm guessing one of the CSIs." He sighed through his nose.
"Don't share info with anyone, got it?"  
  
"I got it."  
  
"Good." He headed toward the stairs. "Which one do you want?"  
  
"I think I'll take Thorne," June said. "I got a feeling he doesn't like me."  
  
Riaz glanced back over his shoulder with a wry smile. "Use the diary," he
suggested.  
  
* * * *  
  
Talon looked around the small room. The obligatory picture window mirror along
the far wall was conspicuous. Beyond, he was sure, stood a room full of cops
and a video camera, watching his every move. He made sure to appear as
composed and relaxed as possible. The chair upon which he sat, however, was
hard. He had to shift a few times to stop feeling like his pelvis was being
bruised. There were no decorations in the room; the walls were colored a
sickly hue of grey-green. The fluorescent lighting was harsh. The air was
chilly, a few degrees below what he would consider comfortable.  
  
He had been brought a bottle of water and something that resembled a ham and
cheese sandwich, but that was it. He pushed the sandwich aside but had been
nursing the water for over two hours. Nervousness began to enter his mind as
he thought about all the things the detectives would find in the apartment.
They had not kept anything from their victims, and there would be no clues to
be found amongst their clothing. But, at the least, they would note the
presence of only one bed in the apartment and make the logical deduction
concerning his relationship with his brother. They could use that against him.  
  
_I can handle that, _he told himself. _But Thorne . . . he's so volatile. He
could blow up if they . . . ._  
  
The door creaked open, interrupting his thoughts, drawing his attention. The
big, muscled, Persian-looking guy entered, carrying a manilla folder. He made
sure the door was closed behind him, then drew out the chair across from Talon
and sat down. His dark face was impassive, stoic, as he wordlessly studied
Talon's face.  
  
"About six years ago," Riaz said at last. "I arrested this kid. He'd killed
his girlfriend because she fucked some other guy. He figured he'd covered his
tracks pretty well, and when I came in here, into this very same room, he had
a look kind of like yours on his face."  
  
"What kind of look is that?" Talon asked casually.  
  
"Like you think you're going to get away with it," Riaz answered. "But see,
here's the thing: you make it into this room, and it's all over. See, this is
that defining moment in your career as a half-assed criminal. It's just a
matter of time before you're sharing a cell with some big, greasy lifer who
won't be as gentle on your ass as your brother."  
  
Talon gritted his teeth, fighting down the urge to snap back. "I don't think
my relationship with my brother has anything to do with anything," he said
calmly. "And as for why I'm here, I know it's just a matter of time before our
lawyer gets us out. And that'll be because we haven't done anything wrong."  
  
Riaz chuckled, giving Talon a condescending look. "Yeah, you're the smart one,
all right. Can't say the same for your dim-witted brother, though. I figure
he'll last five minutes, tops, before he blows up on my partner."  
  
Talon stared into Riaz's face. "In that case, I feel sorry for your partner."  
  
Riaz shrugged his shoulders. "I don't. She's had more combat training than
anyone I know. He goes off on her, he's going to be getting pretty damn
intimate with her boots." He laughed for effect. "At any rate, back to your
'we haven't done anything wrong' claim. See, you have. Everyone here knows it.
You and your brother have killed three people. You tried to throw us off with
the last one, but you didn't."  
  
Talon made the dramatic gesture of rolling his eyes. "I really don't know what
you're talking about."  
  
The dark smile did not leave Riaz's face. "See, the first two were strangled,
using the same basic weapon: a pillowcase rolled up and wrapped around the
neck. But the third . . . well, to look at the photos, I would have to say
that murder was committed by someone else. The body was hacked to pieces.
Hell, the lower jaw was just about completely severed and one of the hands was
chopped off. Pretty damn brutal, don't you think?"  
  
Talon stared back. "Terrible," he replied flatly.  
  
Riaz winked and snapped his fingers. "Proud of that one, aren't you?" he asked
rhetorically. "But you made a serious mistake."  
  
Talon sighed as if bored. "And what was that?"  
  
"In a word, or two, actually . . . _Big Head_," Riaz responded, enunciating
carefully, watching the young man's reaction. He was not disappointed.  
  
Talon visibly tensed, then frowned, then forced out a short laugh. "Uh, what
does that mean?"  
  
"It means your dog," Riaz said. "You know, that faithful basset/dachshund mix
you and Thorne grew up with? That same dog you took out into the woods near
your house and hacked to bits? That one. Man, I can only imagine what was
going through the dog's head, after being your constant companion for eight
full years, as you chopped and hacked it to a bloody fucking mess."  
  
Talon's eyes were hard. "The dog was sick," he claimed. "What the hell does
that have to do with anything?"  
  
"Because you killed Holly James the same way," Riaz said. He chuckled. "You
know, we really have you over a barrel, here. Got your fingerprints on a
stolen car, we know you were in that hotel, we've got witness testimony, and
above all that, we have reliable character references that attest to the
general state of mind of you and your brother."  
  
"So why the fuck are you talking to me?" Talon barked. "You say you've got all
this shit on us, but here we are, sitting in a God damn interrogation room
instead of being arraigned before a judge. I'll tell you why: you don't have
shit on me and Thorne, that's why."  
  
Riaz sighed. "You watch a lot of prime time TV, don't you?" he quipped. "See,
the whole point of this is to make my job easier. You confirm what I already
know, you get a lighter sentence. You make me work harder, you get the needle.
Simple as that."  
  
Talon folded his arms defiantly and looked away. "I don't have anything to
say, because Thorne and I didn't do anything wrong."  
  
Riaz leaned back. "Guess we're going for the needle, then."  
  
* * * *  
  
Thorne stared at the diary upon the table before him after the dyke detective
had set it down. He had become restless beneath the harsh light of the
interrogation room, staring at his own angry countenance in the large mirror
on the far wall for more than two hours. He had forced down the sandwich and
bottled water he had been given; the empty plate and bottle sat to the side of
the table.  

"Some interesting reading," June said, pulling out the chair on her side of
the simple metal table and sitting down. "I haven't gotten to the end yet, but
it's a pretty interesting story so far."  
  
Thorne glared beneath the thick dark bangs of his hair. "That's private," he
growled. "That belongs to me and my brother."  
  
"And it used to belong to your mother," June said. "After she was raped by the
Rattlesnake Man. Interesting that you two both have rattlesnake tattoos on
your arms. I think psychologists call that projection of identity or something
like that. When we get the shrink on the stand, he'll describe it better."  
  
"So, what, you arrested us for being born?" he snapped.  
  
Her gaze was unwavering. "No, we arrested you because you and your brother
have murdered three people," she replied, her tone more than condescending.
"That's a very bad thing, Thorne, honey. There are laws against that."  
  
"Don't talk to me like I'm a fucking kid," he snarled.  
  
June shrugged. "Okay, sweetie," she quipped, pushing the diary aside. She
peripherally watched the way the young man bristled. "So let's talk about
where you were last night."  
  
"We were at home," Thorne said through gritted teeth. His eye bore into June
with malevolence.  
  
She nodded casually. "Sure, before you and Talon went out, stole a car . . ."
she trailed off for a moment, chuckling.  
  
"What the fuck is so funny?"  
  
She forced away the mirth. "Sorry. I was just imagining you wearing that big
fake mustache. Reminded me of the old Pink Panther movies."  
  
Thorne suddenly shot up. "Don't fucking laugh at me!" he roared.  
  
To her credit, June matched his ferocity, also jumping to her feet. "And you
watch your fucking language in my house!" she barked. "Now sit down! Sit!"  
  
Countenance twitching with rage, Thorne contemplated his options. His face was
mere inches from the dyke detective's. It would be so easy to grab her head
and twist it all the way around . . . he could just imagine the sound of
snapping vertebrae and tendons.  
  
But a glance to the large mirrored surface on the wall behind the detective
made him pause. He forced himself to put aside his anger, and returned his
evil gaze to June's face. "We'll save this for later, sweetie," he whispered,
then sat.  
  
June swallowed thickly, trying not to reveal her fear. She stepped back and
turned to the mirrored window, knowing the Captain was watching from the other
side. The fact that uniforms had not come running into the room was testament
to his faith in her, and she tried to show her gratitude with a smile.  
  
* * * *  
  
"What do you think, doc?" Riaz asked as he and the psychologist stood in the
booth on the other side of the one-way mirror.  
  
Dr. Scudder shook his head slowly as he watched Talon in the interrogation
room. "I'd have to do a full study to really provide an accurate diagnosis,
but--"  
  
"Doc. Please."  
  
Scudder cocked a brow as he looked to Riaz. "He's a sociopath, no doubt about
that. But his mannerisms and reactions aren't classic. I'd say his psychosis
goes deeper than simple sociopathy. He feels a deep connection with his
brother, and evidenced a little – not much, but a little – emotion when you
mentioned the dog. So he's not without the ability for emotional attachment.
But it appears to be strictly confined."  
  
"So, he loves his brother but couldn't give two cents for anyone else," Riaz
commented.  
  
"Good way to put it," the psychologist agreed. "You've got a tough nut in this
one, detective. He's smart and defiant. He's going to make you work."  
  
Riaz sighed. "Already has," he said tiredly. He drew a hand down his face.
"Let me ask you something."  
  
"Certainly."  
  
"What do you know about twins?"  
  
"You mean, about the supposed 'psychic bond' between them?"  
  
Riaz shrugged.  
  
"A lot of research has been done regarding twins. They are an excellent
resource for determining innate traits versus learned behaviors. There's a
classic example of two twins, separated at birth, both of whom married
redheaded women with the same first name, both bought the same car, work the
same job, even watch the same TV shows."  
  
"So, whatever one does, the other is likely to do, too?"  
  
"I wouldn't say that on the stand, but . . . there's some truth to that in the
research."  
  
"Similar thought patterns, at least," Riaz offered.  
  
Scudder nodded carefully. "Better to say . . . similar lines of reasoning."  
  
The door opened abruptly, revealing a very haggard-looking Captain with a pair
of well-dressed men in tow. "Get anything useful?" the Captain asked. His
expression was redolent with cynicism.  
  
Riaz recognized the first of the two men as Tom Lyttle, the district attorney.
"Not yet," he grumbled.  
  
Lyttle spoke up. "Well, I'm afraid your time's up," he said sharply. "At least
for now."  
  
The detective bristled. "I can book these kids on possession of stolen
property, vandalism, destruction of property--"  
  
"None of which means shit in a murder investigation," the DA interrupted. "I
wanted you to get me a couple of murderers, not joy-riders!"  
  
Riaz faced the shorter man, holding back his emotions as he glared. "We can
find the evidence, if you just let us--"  
  
"Or manufacture it?" piped up the other man with an annoyingly smug grin.  
  
Riaz glanced to the other man. He recognized the face from numerous late-night
commercials. "Mr. Bainwright," he said wryly. "Isn't there an ambulance you
should be running after?"  
  
The white-haired man stepped into the room, casting a look through the window.
"My legs won't let me do that anymore," he said, then gave an oily smile. "I
have assistants who do that for me now."  
  
"Of course you do."  
  
"Unless you can give me more than a set of fingerprints on a stolen car,"
Lyttle said, sounding haggard. "This interrogation is over."  
  
Riaz ground his teeth after a quick look to his captain, who merely nodded.
"Whatever you say."  
  
"Release my clients, please," Bainwright requested, holding up a folded
letter. "Oh, and, to be thorough, I've made sure to get the full names and
badge numbers of both you and your partner. My people will be checking your
reports."  
  
Riaz matched the mirthless smile. "I'll be sure to put in a special memo just
for you."  
  
"I'm sure I will enjoy what you have to say." He turned and started from the
room.  
  
"Counselor," Riaz called. "You might want to make sure these two don't know
where you live."  
  
Bainwright hesitated, but only for a moment before continuing out.  
  
Riaz soured. "Damn lawyers." He shot a look to the district attorney. "What
the hell is going on? You know as well as I do that we need any break we can
get in this case!"  
  
Lyttle glared back, unimpressed with Riaz's ferocity. "There are a lot of
people watching this case," he explained. "People who will be up for re-
election in November."  
  
Riaz rolled his eyes. "Give me a fucking break--"  
  
"Not only that," the DA continued. "But this case, if you haven't noticed, has
become front page news. I don't wanna give Bainwright and his multi-million-
dollar firm any back doors to barge through on appeal. So, unless you can
conclusively tie both of these fucking brats to at least one crime scene, I
don't wanna hear about it!"  
  
"And what if they kill again?" Riaz snapped back.  
  
Lyttle did not hesitate to respond. "Then you'll have another crime scene to
investigate, and maybe you'll get better evidence!"  
  
Riaz simmered as the district attorney stormed out. "Fucking lawyers," he
growled again.  
  
* * * *  
  
They watched from the third-floor window as Talon and Thorne, protected from
the mob of reporters by their lawyer and a bevy of bodyguards, made their way
to a waiting limousine parked at the curb. The boys kept their heads down and
looked indistinguishable from one another, until Thorne briefly lashed out at
one of the cameramen who got too close.  
  
"Another fifteen minutes, I swear," June breathed, then turned away from the
window in disgust. "Just fifteen more minutes, and I bet he would have slipped
up, told me something."  
  
"We'll get them," Riaz reassured her. Then he gave a warm smile. "Hey,
according to Lutz, you stood up to that little prick like a champ."  
  
She smiled sheepishly. "It wasn't easy. Talking to him was like talking to a
pit bull on a fraying leash. Just a matter of time before it snaps and he goes
for your throat."  
  
"Trust me, that'll work against them."  
  
"I just hope when that happens, I'm not right next to him," she mused, then
took in a deep breath. "So, what now?"  
  
"Now it's a waiting game. Forensics is going through everything they can,
including their financial records. At least, until their golden boy lawyer
stops the process. Maybe we can find out where they bought the hammer and
hatchet, or if they used a credit card at the bar where they picked up Kaylee
Mills. They can't have thought of everything. They're amateurs; they screwed
up somewhere, and we'll find out where."  
  
June's quivered a moment. "I hope we find it soon."  
  
* * * *  
  
Thorne stormed into the apartment, venting his anger on one of the stools at
the breakfast bar, sending it toppling across the laminated floor. "Fucking
cunt!" he roared.  
  
Talon stayed quiet, giving a cautionary look to their lawyer as the older man
frowned at Thorne's outburst. "Please, don't say anything to him," Talon urged
softly. "He'll calm down."  
  
Bainwright grimaced. "He better not act like this in court," he commented.  
  
Talon smiled. "He won't," he assured.  
  
"The way that _skinny fucking dyke cunt bitch _looked at me!" Thorne continued
as he stomped toward the exercise room. He slammed the door closed, making the
walls rattle. Within moments, the faint squeaks of oiled machinery could be
heard.  
  
Talon smiled sheepishly at their lawyer. "He'll be in there for a while," he
stated, and stepped into the kitchen. "Would you like a drink, Mr. Bainwright?
We've got beer, wine, a couple bottles of gin and vodka."  
  
The white-haired attorney returned the smile as he placed his hat on the end
of the breakfast counter. Facing the young man across the marble surface, he
asked, "What kind of beer?"  
  
"The kind with alcohol in it," Talon responded dryly, before opening the
refrigerator door and peering within. "Looks like your choices are Red Stripe,
Yuengling or Black Butte."  
  
Bainwright frowned. "No Bud?"  
  
Talon straightened, having taken up two bottles of Red Stripe. "No Bud," he
responded, twisting off the caps. He set one on the bar for the lawyer, then
took a sip from the other. "So, what's their case against us?"  
  
The attorney took up the beer, considered the label. "I've seen stronger
cases," he drawled. He sipped, contemplated the flavor, then shrugged and
drank more. "They don't even have enough circumstantial evidence to put you at
the scene of that he-she's murder. But unless they find more, I'm pretty sure
I can browbeat that down. You might have to plead to a lesser felony charge of
grand theft auto, however. But I can probably get you a suspended sentence on
that, even with your record."  
  
Talon studied the man's face. "What if they do find more evidence?" he asked.  
  
Bainwright stared back. "Could they?"  
  
Talon's eyes wavered. The attorney only chuckled.  
  
"Son, I've been defending people like you for thirty years. One thing I
learned pretty damn quick was to not ask if my client has committed a crime.
Because, if I think you have committed a crime, I am bound by law and honor to
report anything I know or suspect to the authorities."  
  
The sarcasm in the man's voice was clear to Talon, as was the message: _don't
tell me more than I should take to the jury._  
  
"Well," Talon said at last. "Not that my brother and I are guilty of anything
– "  
  
"Never crossed my mind for a moment."  
  
" – but, about a week ago, we picked up a girl in a club and took her back to
a hotel room. We all had some fun, it was completely consensual, but, well,
she was kind of a, uh, wild spirit. I think she might have been on drugs or
something. Anyway, we let her keep the room, and – "  
  
"What was her name?"  
  
Talon met the attorney's eyes. "Kaylee."  
  
The older man sipped his beer. "Ah. Kaylee Anne Mills. So, you and your
brother had consensual sex with her, but then you left, and she stayed behind,
is that it?"  
  
Talon nodded. "Right. That's exactly it."  
  
"So, she could have conceivably gone back out and picked up someone else
afterward," the attorney said with a theatrical note of speculation. "Who then
killed her."  
  
"Right. That must have been how it happened," Talon said. "But, see, I paid
for that room with my credit card, and, well, I guess the police can look that
up."  
  
Bainwright took another sip, swallowing slowly. His eyes danced with just a
touch of nervousness. "Well, yes, since I'm certain they've subpoenaed your
financial records by now."  
  
"It could look bad for us," Talon said meaningfully.  
  
Bainwright set his beer on the counter. "It could, Mr. Tolomeo," he agreed.
"But now that you've told me about this, I can be prepared for it. Obviously,
you and your brother are the victims of bad timing, and the police are taking
advantage of that."  
  
"Yes. Obviously."  
  
The attorney winked. "Well, try not to worry," he told Talon. "You have all
the resources of my firm at your disposal."  
  
Talon effected a smile that was as grateful as it was malevolent. "My brother
and I are glad to have called you."  
  
* * * *  
  
With a weary hand, June pushed open the door of the house. She had prepared an
apologetic speech on the drive home, ready to face Sophie's disappointed face
when she eventually entered the domicile they shared. But upon opening the
door, June saw her lover – her wife, if only in spirit – seated sublimely upon
a blanket on the floor of the living room, clad in sheer white lingerie. She
looked up from her laptop with a genuine smile decorating her perfect soft
lips.  
  
"Hey, baby," Sophie said cheerily.  
  
June's shoulders slumped. "Sophie, I'm sorry. I wanted to get home sooner, but
this case is – "  
  
Sophie interrupted her with a grin. "I saw you on TV," she said.  
  
June dropped her shoulder bag to the floor. "We were on TV?"  
  
"Yeah, I DVR'd it," Sopie responded, then patted the blanket. "Wanna see it?"  
  
June approached her, then stopped a few feet away, a look of wonder upon her
face. "You're something else."  
  
Sophie frowned. "What do you mean?"  
  
June laughed awkwardly. "I mean . . . I come home late, and you're just
smiling, like it's no big deal. Most wives would be pissed off."  
  
Sophie blinked and sat up, assessing her lover with wide, sweet eyes. "I'm not
pissed off," she said simply.  
  
June sank down before the woman she loved and reached for Sophie's hand. "And
that's why I think you're something else."  
  
Sophie smiled back. "Look, baby, I know your job isn't like the normal nine-
to-five. I _know _that, and what's more, I _accept _it. Believe me, if you
worked twelve hours a day at a restaurant, or Office Depot, or some other
place like that, then I might get a little miffed when you come home late. But
you have an important job. You're a _detective_, for Christ's sake. If I can't
give you some leeway for that, then what kind of wife would I be?"  
  
June pursed her lips, stemming back affectionate tears. She squeezed Sophie's
hand. "I just keep feeling like it's not fair," she said. "You spend so much
time waiting for me – "  
  
Sophie squeezed back. "Well, believe it or not, I manage to get a lot of work
done when you aren't here," she declared. "And when I'm done with all that, I
get the time to think about how I'm going to seduce you when you get home."  
  
June blushed, feeling admonished. "You don't have to do anything to seduce
me," she said. "I think about you all day."  
  
"Well, then," Sophie said with a devilish smile. "Now that you're home, why
don't you show me what you've been thinking about?"  
  
June caressed her lover's face, kissed her lovingly. "God, how I love you."  
  
Sophie whispered back, running her hands through June's short, soft hair. "I
love you too."  
  
The fingers of June's hand traveled along Sophie's arm to the shoulder, and
pulled the silky strap of the slip down. The fabric fell, but was caught on
one of the redhead's stiffened nipples. "I want to make love to you."  
  
Sophie pressed her lips to June's neck and sucked tenderly. "Then do it," she
whispered.  
  
* * * *  
  
The small room was rife with the aroma of sweat when Talon entered. The harsh
central light glowing from the ceiling outlined his twin's body as Thorne
performed butterfly presses. He had stripped to the waist, and his hairless
chest glistened with the efforts of his exertions. Thorne grimaced angrily
with each movement he made against the resistance of the machine, as if trying
to work out some inner demon.  
  
"The lawyer's gone," Talon stated simply.  
  
Thorne finished his rep, then let the weights clamor back noisily. "Is he
gonna get us out of this shit, or what?"  
  
"Probably," Talon said, licking his lips as he all but drooled over the sight
of his brother. Every muscle upon Thorne's torso and arms seemed to swell and
ripple. "Least for now."  
  
Thorne breathed out heavily. "So, we're cool?"  
  
Talon smiled slowly, stepping closer as libido took control of his mind. He
reached out and touched one of his brother's biceps. "Yeah. We're cool . . .
." He trailed off, his tone and expression belying obvious arousal.  
  
Thorne smiled suddenly and leaned back against the machine. He was already
hardening, his erection snaking beneath the fabric of the pants along his
thigh. "So, what're you thinking about now?"  
  
Talon responded readily. "How hot you would look sitting naked on that thing."  
  
With a grin, Thorne pushed himself from the machine, then casually shucked off
his pants, revealing his semi-erect phallus. He sat back down, letting his
lean legs splay apart. His cock engorged quickly as it lay upon the black
padded seat of the apparatus. "Like this?" he asked.  
  
Talon's eyes glazed. "Yeah," he breathed, descending to his knees. "Just like
that."  
  
Thorne watched through progressively hazy eyes as his twin reached for the
thick tube of flesh between his thighs, taking it in his hands and stroking
slowly. His lips parted as he breathed out, watching Talon's actions,
voicelessly bidding him to continue. He did not have to speak a word.  
  
Gripping the shaft of Thorne's penis with his hand, Talon leaned in and swiped
his tongue with slow, languid movements all around the glans, making his
brother twitch with pleasure. A clear droplet of fluid oozed from the pink
slit, and Talon licked it away, savoring the sweetness. Automatically, Thorne
shifted forward, until his heavy testicles dangled off the end of the narrow
padded seat.  
  
"I love your cock," Talon whispered heatedly, before submerging nearly the
entire length of Thorne's penis into his mouth and throat with a guttural
growl. He loved the musky scent, the flavor of the cock that filled his mouth,
and sucked eagerly to draw it all out. The head of Thorne's penis prodded into
his throat with ease, and Talon pushed down to take every last inch.  
  
"Oh, fuck," Thorne sighed, gripping the handles of the weight machine. He
could feel the way his brother's throat rippled and sucked and pulled. The
heat and pressure were maddening.  
  
Talon eased back slowly, sucking off his own saliva. Just when the crown of
Thorne's cock was about to leave his lips, he slid back down, again to the
root. Thorne squirmed and cringed with pleasure, jutting his hips out even
more. His brother braced his hands upon Thorne's thighs and rhythmically
plunged up and down, back and forth.  
  
"Keep going," Thorne hissed through his teeth, muscles tensing throughout his
body. "Keep going . . . ."  
  
But just as he felt the tell-tale twitches through his twin's shaft, Talon
suddenly eased off, slipping his mouth free. The cool air wafted over the
shimmering, slick cock for just a moment as Thorne protested with gasps and
groans. Talon wrapped his hands around the base, pressing in his thumbs to
stem the eruption of fluid. Yet still, a single thick bubble of milky essence
oozed to the tip, which Talon swiped away with his tongue.  

"Not just yet, brother," Talon said huskily, standing and stripping off his
own clothes.  
  
Thorne glowered at first, then grinned. "You fucking tease."  
  
Talon straddled his brother, his own erection conspicuous as it rubbed against
Thorne's chest. He reached between them and guided his brother's cock to the
smooth aperture of his anus. "Emphasis on 'fucking,'" he said, before pushing
down.  
  
* * * *  
  
Bathed in the light of half a dozen candles, which painted their bodies with a
soft glow akin to the setting sun, the lovers sat upright and entwined, all
clothing cast aside along with the worries and cares of the day. They kissed
fervently, as if afraid they may never have the chance to do so again, and
allowed their hands to roam where they would.  
  
Between them, the flesh-toned phallus of a strap-on rubbed against Sophie's
abdomen as the two women moved slowly together. The plastic shaft glistened
with lubricant and was nearly the same skin color as June's own flesh; they
had searched quite a few adult novelty shops to find just the right one.  
  
Sophie breathed hotly on her lover's face. "Do you wanna put it inside me?"
she whispered seductively.  
  
"I'll do anything you want, baby," June responded, nipping a kiss from
Sophie's lower lip.  
  
The redhead cupped June's face and lifted up. "I want you to fuck me. I want
you to make me scream when I come."  
  
Head spinning with sexual delirium, June was able to focus enough to grip the
base of the fake phallus and align it with her lover's slippery pink opening
as Sophie lifted her body. The redhead tensed as the firm rubber head rubbed
across her clitoris, then sighed as she felt it nudge against her opening. She
shifted back and forth, hands upon June's shoulders to steady herself, then
slowly eased down.  
  
June pushed back, maneuvering a little as well so that the base of the sex toy
pressed against her own needy clit. She gently eased upward, watching as the
thick plastic cock, complete with ribbed veins, was slowly sucked into
Sophie's tunnel.  
  
The redhead suddenly flinched and lifted back up a little. "Slow," she
cautioned, then smiled lovingly upon June, a hint of apology on her face.
"Cervix."  
  
June smiled, wrapping her arms around Sophie to bring her close. She kissed
her lover's neck, shoulders, arms. Lips trailed about wanderingly, finally
locating a stiff pink nipple and sucking it between them. Sophie moaned
softly, letting her head fall back. She began to ride up and down, clutching
the woman whom she considered her wife close.  
  
June's hands clutched Sophie's firm cheeks, the tips of one of her fingers
seeking out and tickling the redhead's anus. Sophie growled in response,
hugging June close as her movements up and down became more frantic. Her own
hands scratched across June's back, leaving thin red lines.  
  
"Oh, God, baby!" Sophie gasped at last, bucking hard and fast. "I'm gonna
come!"  
  
June responded only with harder, faster punches of her hips, simultaneously
inserting a finger past Sophie's sphincter. She felt it clench just as Sophie
convulsed, gasping, in orgasm. She followed soon behind.  
  
* * * *  
  
Talon panted as he came down from his orgasmic cloud. He held Thorne's head
against his chest as they both recovered. He felt the liquid heat around his
anus, and upon Thorne's abdomen where his own penis had spent its load. The
air was rife with the pungent aroma of semen and sweat.  
  
"We could never love anyone like we love each other," Talon mumbled, barely
able to speak coherently.  
  
Thorne responded only with mumbled sounds and sighs, caressing his brother's
back and ass. His cock, softening now, slipped free and slapped against his
inner thigh. Neither of the brothers cared for the dribbles of fluid that
dripped to the floor below.  
  
As breathing slowly returned to normal, the twins studied one another's faces,
reading deeply into the dark eyes that told so much without a single word.  
  
"They know about our mother," Thorne suddenly offered.  
  
Talon nodded. "And about Big Head. They talked to Patty."  
  
"Does that mean anything?" Thorne asked.  
  
"It could. The way we did that he-she was like how we killed that stupid dog.
And with our mother's diary--"  
  
"We have to get that back," Thorne insisted, the anger evident in his
features. "That's ours. It's _personal_."  
  
Talon caressed his brother's face soothingly. "We will," he told him. "But,
first things first."  
  
Thorne huffed, then nodded as he thought. "Patty?"  
  
Talon nodded as well, staring into his twin's eyes. "Patty."  
  
**End Part Six**




        TnT Ch. 07


_(Author's note: this story deals with some very gritty and harsh subject
matter. This is not for those looking for a straightforward sex story. There
are many themes that some people might find objectionable, but to reveal them
might give away parts of the story prematurely. If you continue reading,
please keep this warning in mind.)_  
  
_(This is the seventh of an eight-part series.)_  
  
**Part Seven**  
  
June was still smiling, lingering memories of the previous evening eliciting
all manner of libidinous thoughts, as she drove to the precinct house. She had
walked languidly to the car, in no particular rush to get the day started, but
as she braved the highways and streets of downtown, her mind became more
focused on the job at hand.  
  
She was surprised to find her partner and mentor smiling when she entered the
forensics lab, and figured, naturally, that his evening had in some general
way mirrored her own. But his words changed that assumption.  
  
"We've got them," he declared with a grin that was akin to the snarl of a
tiger gloating over a kill.  
  
"The twins?" she asked.  
  
Tim the forensics tech spoke up, smiling smugly as always, leaning back in his
chair with fingers laced behind his head. "Thanks to me," he announced.  
  
"Go on, tell her," Riaz prompted.  
  
Tim chuckled proudly. "Okay, so, we went over all the court-ordered documents
we got from your two boys, including their credit card receipts from the last
two weeks."  
  
June waited a moment, anxiously. "And?" she asked at last.  
  
"And . . ." Tim sat upright and rolled his chair forward, tapping on the
keyboard before him. The computer screen flashed and lit up. "Voila! The night
of Kaylee Mills' murder, they rented a room at a pretty posh hotel downtown."  
  
June's brow furrowed. "Okay . . . ."  
  
Riaz chuckled. "Short version," he said. "Tim decided to jump the gun and
request a crime scene warrant early this morning. CSI went over the room and
pulled some fibers from the carpet. See where this is going?"  
  
Realization dawned in June's mind. "Holy shit, you got a match," she said,
beaming.  
  
Tim nodded, still smug. "We got a match," he confirmed.  
  
Riaz straightened. "I've already called the Captain," he said. "We should be
getting a warrant any second now. The DA wants us to tie these two little
bastards to a crime scene? Now we can."  
  
"So what the hell are we waiting for?" June asked.  
  
* * * *  
  
He knocked three times and waited, then knocked again. Weapon drawn and senses
alert, Riaz listened at the door. He looked back to the armored uniforms
behind him. "Break it down," he ordered as he stepped aside.  
  
The two officers carrying the "big key" battering ram stepped forward and
swung the massive, barrel-shaped weight into the door. Wood splintered,
plaster exploded, and pieces of metal from the lock rang across the tiled
entryway. The door itself flew solidly into the hallway of the apartment,
landing flat upon the floor with a rush of air. As soon as the officers
retreated, Riaz and June entered quickly, weapons drawn and ready to fire if
necessary.  
  
But the apartment was still. Quiet.  
  
A couple of quick gestures, and Riaz sent the SWAT team members into the
apartment to check the rooms. One by one, the teams reported back.  
  
"Clear!"  
  
Riaz relaxed with a scowl and holstered his pistol. "Not good," he muttered.  
  
"Maybe they just went out for breakfast," June suggested, but her tone belied
the doubt in her own words.  
  
Riaz headed for the bedroom, noting the unmade bed, the open drawers. He
glanced to the bathroom and saw the misty film on the shower's glass walls.  
  
"They're gone," he said. "Apparently, they didn't have much faith in their
lawyer." He took up the phone from his pocket and stepped back toward the
living room.  
  
June's eyes wandered around the disheveled bedroom. The Tolomeo twins were not
much for tidiness, although she had seen worse. The presence of the single
large bed, with its sheets dragged down and the curls and curves in the sheets
from two different bodies made her queasy, however. She could not shake the
mental image of the twins entwined, naked, kissing, touching--  
  
"June."  
  
She caught her breath as she snapped back to reality, and looked to the
doorway where her partner waited.  
  
"We got an APB out on them," he said. His brow furrowed with concern. "You
okay?"  
  
She managed a sheepish smile. "Just . . . thinking," she said, gesturing
vaguely toward the bed. "These guys creep me out."  
  
For a brief moment, Riaz softened. "I know. Me, too."  
  
_Like I'm gonna believe that_, June thought. "So, what now?"  
  
"Now, we protect our witnesses," said Riaz. "I'll send a couple of units to
pick up Leticia Covens and the motel owner. They won't be happy, but I'm not
taking any chances with a couple of sociopathic twins on the loose."  
  
"What about Patty Richards?" June asked.  
  
Riaz frowned. "Good point. They know we've talked to her, and the DA could
really use her as a character witness. We'll need to contact the county
sheriff and have them send out a unit."  
  
"Or, I could go out there," June offered. "It'd be quicker."  
  
Riaz started to rebuke his partner, then hesitated, but just for a moment.
"Maybe I should go," he said finally.  
  
June fixed him a look. "Don't go getting macho on me," she said firmly.
"You're the lead on this. You need to be here in case the APB brings them in.
I'll go get Mrs. Richards."  
  
Riaz grimaced, but time was a factor he couldn't ignore. "All right," he
agreed at last. "But have dispatch get in touch with the sheriff up there
anyway. Just in case."  
  
June smirked. "Whatever you say, _Dad_," she snapped as she headed for the
door.  
  
* * * *  
  
She didn't know why the sudden feeling of dread drifted through her mind like
a ghost as she approached the Richards Farm gate. The appearance of the cross
against overcast, threatening skies was ominous, and for a moment, June's mind
played a trick on her perceptions, making her think the cross was upside-down.
But a blink of her eyes corrected the image, though it did nothing for the
dark pit that was forming in her stomach.  
  
She pulled the car through the gate and stopped, staring at the distant house.
In addition to the two trucks and the sports car, there was a fourth vehicle
parked before the sprawling, DIY-style mansion.  
  
A black Toyota Rav-4.  
  
June's heart palpitated. She clenched the steering wheel. _Son of a bitch._  
  
She grabbed her phone from the console between the seats, but there was no
reception. Tossing it aside, she took up the police band communicator.  
  
"Calling Morris County dispatch. Morris County dispatch, this is Detective
Barret."  
  
Static was the only response.  
  
_Fucking hick law enforcement_, she thought angrily. "Morris County, this is
Detective Barret. I'm at the Richards Farm. Suspects are on site. Repeat:
suspects are on site. Requesting immediate backup. Please respond."  
  
Again, there was no answer other than the crackle of static.  
  
"Fuck!" June sat back in a huff. She considered her options for a handful of
heartbeats before realizing she really had none. Shifting in the seat, she
slipped her pistol from its holster and racked the slide to chamber a round.
Placing the pistol on her lap, she rolled the car forward.  
  
With the windows down and radio off, all she heard was the crunch of gravel
beneath the sedan's tires and the thrumming of the engine. Her sense were on
high alert, hoping to catch some glimpse of movement, perhaps a flutter of a
drape in a window. But everything was still.  
  
Stopping the sedan about a dozen yards from the house, she switched off the
engine. On impulse, she took up her phone and called up the notepad
application.  
  
"TnT at Richards house," she typed quickly. "No Backup. Going in."  
  
She slipped the phone beneath the seat, then took up her weapon and pushed
open the door of the car.  
  
She could feel the change in air pressure as soon as she left the car. The
breeze was crisp and carried a hint of ozone, the signal of an imminent
shower. Distantly, birds chirped, but it seemed reserved.  
  
Careful steps carried June toward the two trucks parked side-by-side. Quick
glances through the windows revealed nothing. She went to the black Toyota
next, spying a crumpled bag from a fast-food restaurant in the back seat,
along with a pair of black leather suitcases and a few other bags. Bottles of
soda sat in the cup holders up front.  
  
She touched the hood. It was slightly warm.  
  
Making her way to the sportscar, she noticed the mechanics' drapes across the
front fenders, pinched by the closed hood. A large toolbox lay on the ground,
the lid open.  
  
Upon the gravel near the toolbox was a dark red stain. June stooped quickly
and touched it, then sniffed her fingers. Blood, slightly congealed; maybe an
hour old.  
  
_God damn it_, she cursed silently, then headed for the steps of the house.
The front door, she noticed, was not entirely closed.  
  
She ascended the steps gingerly, testing the wood before placing her weight
upon it so as not to make any noise. But the last step betrayed her, creaking
briefly. For a moment, she froze in place, straining to hear anything that
might alert her. But there was nothing.  
  
Her foot pushed open the door, which groaned loudly, making June grimace. She
ducked inside quickly, finding a corner into which she settled, eyes and
weapon focused out.  
  
"hrm . . . ."  
  
The moan was faint, but discernible. It came from the direction of the broad
living room, around the corner of the makeshift foyer. With careful,
deliberate steps, June made her way closer. Pistol leading the way, she leaned
against the dividing wall between the foyer and living room, and peered
around.  
  
A man's body, clad in dusty coveralls and a stained shirt, lay face-down on
the floor mere feet from where June stood. A dark red puddle had formed
beneath his head, soaking into the wood floor; nearby lay a bloodied tire
iron, with clumps of hair stuck to one end.  
  
Beyond that, in the midst of the sunken living room, just on the other side of
the same table upon which Patty Richards had once offered finger sandwiches
and homemade lemonade, was the sight that June dreaded the most.  
  
The grey-haired woman sat upon the chair, the lower half of her face bound
with duct tape. More of the silvery-grey material secured her wrists together
in her lap. And standing above and beside her was one of the slender, pale-
skinned, dark-haired men June sought. He held a sawed-off shotgun with the
barrel pressed against Patty Richard's temple. A smugly flamboyant smile
decorated his face.  
  
"Detective Barret. Imagine meeting you here."  
  
June snapped the pistol up, training it upon the young man -- _which one was
he?_ \-- even as she looked around with quick, darting movements of her eyes.
The living room was immense, with large furniture and several exits. The other
could be anywhere, she knew.  
  
"Where's your brother?" she demanded.  
  
"Oh . . . here's around here. Somewhere. I think maybe he went to get a
sandwich."  
  
The tenor of the young man's voice, his manner of speech . . . "You're not
gonna get away with this, Talon," she said, narrowing her eyes over the barrel
of her pistol. "You and your brother screwed this up. Should've listened to
your lawyer."  
  
Talon chuckled malevolently. "And taken a plea bargain," he said in a
patronizing tone. "Spend twenty years in prison, then get out and make a life
for ourselves as fry cooks at Burger King. No thanks, detective. We like our
life the way it is."  
  
She sneered. "You two don't have a life," she declared. "You're fucking
parasites, looking for the next body to suck blood from."  
  
Talon sputtered with laughter, but it vanished after a moment. "Oh, so now
we're vampires? Wow, I'm flattered. So, since Thorne and I are going all
_Twilight_ and shit, I guess that makes you the bad guy. Or girl. What,
exactly, do they call dyke lesbians like you?"  
  
June's eyes flickered to those of Patty Richards', reading the abject fear the
woman felt. "I don't care what you call me," June said. "And I don't give a
shit why you and your brother do what you do. But if you pull that trigger, I
_am_ going to kill you. It's as simple as that. You let her go now . . . and
maybe you won't be looking at a needle in your near future."  
  
Talon's dark eyes burned into June's. "Do you really think I believe that?" he
asked with a surprisingly calm voice. "Admit it: you and your partner want to
see me and my brother dead. That's what's going to make you feel like you've
done a good fucking job. Me and Thorne, in the ground, rotting away, while you
go about the rest of your lives, happy and laughing and dancing on our
graves."  
  
The young man's face darkened suddenly as he leaned over the woman before him,
keeping his infernal eyes locked on June. "Well, that's not going to happen,"
he growled.  
  
June caught both the sound and flash of movement just before Thorne leapt upon
her from just outside her field of vision. She cried out as she was tackled
and hurled to the floor, grunting beneath the weight of the beefier twin. Her
pistol skittered across the floor, vanishing beneath the couch.  
  
She reacted quickly, however, years of training coming in to play before she
could even think. She kicked, elbowed, then rolled away and came up in a
crouch, facing her attacker.  
  
Thorne sneered, wiping blood from his lip. He took a practiced stance, which
June recognized immediately. "Come on, you fucking cunt," he snarled.  
  
"Take her, Thorne," Talon encouraged. "And make it hurt."  
  
Thorne emitted a dark chuckle, his attention focused upon June. "Come on,
bitch," he cajoled. "Bring it."  
  
She glared at first, but then her lips curled in a mirthless smile. "You
first," she goaded him. "Or are you afraid to get your ass kicked by a girl?"  
  
As June had hoped, Thorne took the bait. "Like you could fucking do anything
to me," he growled, and lunged.  
  
He moved with practiced ease, revealing a knowledge of martial arts. But his
movements were overshadowed by arrogance and assumption, giving June an
opening. As he swung, she ducked and responded with a trio of hammering
strikes, the first two to Thorne's abdomen, the third across his jaw. The
young man staggered back, looking both angry and surprised, but not
particularly pained.  
  
"Whoa!" cried Talon with a lilt of laughter. "Round one to the dyke!"  
  
Thorne fumed, watching his opponent. He wiped blood from his jaw with the back
of his hand, assessing his next move. "Fuck that," he rumbled. "I'm just
getting started."  
  
June said nothing, waiting for Thorne's next move. She watched the way his
shoulders and hips moved, ignoring the expression on the young man's face and
his dark, evil eyes. When it came down to it, Thorne Tolomeo was just another
punk whose moves could be predicted.  
  
Except . . . .  
  
He lunged again, throwing his weight into a hook that could have dislocated
June's jaw. She saw it coming and brought up her left hand to deflect it, even
as she swung her right leg in a vicious kick intended to crack the man's ribs.  
  
But the punch had been a feint. He caught her leg, clasping it quickly and
tightly to his side, and pivoted, lifting June off the floor for a moment
before throwing her face-down to the floor. She barely managed to brace her
hands before her, keeping her face from becoming mashed into the floor. But
the respite was brief.  
  
Thorne pounced, straddling the detective's lower legs and hammering a pair of
blows into her kidneys. June bellowed in pain and tried to push back, but the
weight atop her, combined with the flood of agony through her lower back, kept
her pinned.  
  
Grabbing a fistful of short blonde hair, Thorne jerked the detective's head
back, making her cry out again. He lowered his face beside hers as June
futilely clawed the air.  
  
"You're gonna pay, you fucking cunt," he hissed in her ear. "And I'm gonna
laugh every fucking time you scream when I'm fucking you."  
  
"Thorne!"  
  
He looked up at his brother's call.  
  
"Make her look," Talon said, the fingers of his left hand smoothing away
strands of hair from Patty Richards' face. The woman whimpered fearfully, eyes
still wide and anxious.  
  
Thorne grinned and hauled June to a kneeling position, lacing an arm through
hers and holding them behind her back. "You gonna do it?" he asked his
brother.  
  
Talon responded with an evil smile, noting the way June watched him with an
expression that mixed both vicarious fear and rage. He settled his face beside
Patty's and whispered in her ear.  
  
"I wonder," he said in a voice as smooth as rattlesnake poison. "Did you ever
question why Thorne and I never called you 'mom?' Did you want us to? All
those years . . . every birthday, every Mother's Day, we never gave you
anything. But, I think, there was a part of you that wanted us to. Maybe, if
we saw you as our mother, we wouldn't scare you as much. Hmm?"  
  
Tears leaked from Patty's eyes, shimmering against the reflective grey tape
covering her mouth and jaw. She squeezed her eyes shut and whimpered.  
  
"But see, we always knew you weren't our mother," Talon continued. "Just like
that useless mass of flesh over there was never our father." He paused a
moment, glancing to the corpse of Patty's husband. "You know, I wish I knew
what was going through your head while you watched Thorne beat your husband to
death. How awful that must have been, watching him die that way. All those
years together, looking forward to a shared twilight of existence, free of all
the hardships of life . . . and then, _bam_! It's all gone."  
  
Patty flinched, shuddering.  
  
Talon laughed. He straightened suddenly and jerked Patty's head back. The
barrel of the shotgun ground against her temple. "Well, obviously, there'll be
no twilight years with hubby, now," he said casually. "And you're not gonna be
saved by this pathetic little lesbo detective, either. In fact, to tell you
the truth, you're about to die. And it's gonna be really . . . _fucking_ . . .
_messy_."  
  
Patty screamed against her gag, eyes penetrating into June's, desperately
begging for one last miracle to save her life.  
  
But all June could do was to stare back, helpless.  
  
_I'm sorry._  
  
"So long, Patty, and thanks for all the shit," Talon quipped, then pulled the
trigger.  
  
* * * *  
  
Riaz couldn't stop pacing. For over an hour the police dispatch had been
trying to reach the sheriff's office near Patty Richards' home. It was a small
office, Riaz knew, staffed by the self-same deputies who took turns patrolling
the lightly-inhabited county. Their take on law enforcement was a bit more
relaxed than that of a major US city, and that disparity was annoying. More
annoying, however, was the fact that there was no cellular tower close enough
to get a signal from June's phone.  
  
Finally, however, the call had come. Sheriff's deputies arrived at the
Richards home to a grisly scene: Patty and her husband dead, one shot at
point-blank range, the other beaten by a hammer. And to confound matters
further, Detective Barret' car was at the scene . . . but she was not. Neither
was there a black Toyota SUV at the home.  
  
_They took her,_ Riaz realized, grinding his teeth in barely-constrained
anger. _June showed up, and they took her. God knows what they're doing to her
now._  
  
"We've got APBs out for them," the Captain assured him. "All across the state,
and three states over. Hell, even if they try for Mexico, we're gonna catch
them."  
  
Riaz glared at the seasoned lawman. "I sure as hell hope so."  
  
* * * *  
  
By the time the noon hour had come and gone, Riaz' anxiety had nearly reached
the tipping point. He forced himself to display the usual stoicism he was
known for, but within, his soul was a torrential downpour of anger, fear, and
guilt. In an effort to distract himself, he poured through the information
gleaned from accessing the Tolomeo twins' accounts and the items taken from
their home.  

_Just so much bullshit_, Riaz thought at one point, after pouring through the
printed document Forensics had sent up concerning the brothers' bank accounts.
_What the hell am I going to learn about them from looking at a hundred-and-
thirty-dollar payout to a pet store? So they got Rufus some dog food and toys.
Big fucking deal._  
  
He sagged back in his chair, feeling the strain of it as his weight shifted.
He stared at the ceiling, listened without processing the chatter throughout
the large room. At the least, he was glad that no one else was stopping by his
desk to wish their condolences for his missing partner.  
  
Sitting back up, he forced his mind to focus on the present, on what he could
do. He looked to June's desk, so much more organized than his own. Half-buried
beneath several documents in her inbox was the edge of the leather-bound
journal taken from the twins' apartment. He cocked his head with a frown,
wondering how that had managed to remain even after the over-priced lawyer had
filed for a return of all property.  
  
Easing forward, he reached across the desk and slipped the journal from the
plastic basket. He snapped it open, casually and aimlessly flipping through
the pages. After more than two decades as a police officer and detective, it
no longer resulted in chills whenever he read the diary or letters or what
have you of a dead person. But as he leafed through it, he became slowly but
assuredly aware that there was something he was looking for.  
  
He was just not sure what it was.  
  
He skipped to the end and read backwards, chaotically skimming through random
lines in the handwritten text. Inexplicably, he focused on the first line of a
journal entry dated just a few weeks before the twins' mother committed
suicide.  
  
_"I took them there today. I didn't really want to, but something told me I
should. They're only four years old. They can't understand where they came
from. But I took them anyway. Funny; when they saw all the rocks and gravel
around the quarry buildings they thought it was playtime. I had to grab their
hands and drag them with me inside._  
  
_"The hardest part was going through the door and into the tunnels. I could
almost hear my own screams, and Noah's voice. 'Don't worry, little one, I'll
take care of you.' God, that made me cringe and smile at the same time. What
the fuck is wrong with me? The man kidnapped me, raped me, got me pregnant!
And I still smile when I think about him? About what he did to me?_  
  
_"I'm sick, I know I am. Maybe my parents were right. Maybe Noah really was
the Devil, or some other evil demon. But that would mean my darling little
boys are the sons of evil. I don't think I could live with myself if that was
true."_  
  
Riaz placed his thumb on the page and closed the book, thinking. _She took
them there,_ he thought. _She showed Talon and Thorne where their mother was
taken and ravished. Why?_  
  
He opened the journal once more and resumed reading.  
  
_"When we got to the room, I got a tight feeling in my stomach. It almost made
me double over. The table was still there, even the refrigerator, the little
stove, all the little odds and ends Noah had to make the place seem more
domestic than a hole in the ground should be. And then the pit._  
  
_"They ran to see what was in it. I couldn't stop them. They jerked their
hands from mine and ran over to the edge. Holy shit, I thought they were going
to jump right in, or fall in._  
  
_"And as soon as they got to the edge and looked down, I could hear it. The
shaking of the rattles. Oh, God, they were still there. Noah's snakes were
still there! Not many, just a few. I guess the strongest ones ate the others
to stay alive, or maybe there were just enough rodents in the tunnels to feed
the few that remained. I don't know. I don't care._  
  
_"'Can we take them home, mommy?' Talon asked me. 'I think they want to come
home with us.' Thorne didn't say anything, but the way he looked at me, I knew
he was thinking the same. God, it's like they have the same mind, the same
soul, just different bodies._  
  
_"'We can't take snakes home, honey,' I told Talon. 'There aren't enough mice
around the house or even in the fields to feed them.'_  
  
_"So, of course, with the logic of a four-year-old, he says, 'can't we get
some at a mouse store?'_  
  
_"I had enough. I just wanted to get home. I dragged them out, screaming and
kicking. They wanted to stay. Part of me wanted to leave them there. God, what
kind of mother am I to even think that? But I didn't. I took them home and I
threw them in their room and then I took a bath. And I started praying to God
to wipe my memory of all of this."_  
  
Riaz sighed through his nose and tossed the journal on his desk. He rubbed his
eyes, stretched his limbs, popped his back. He was no stranger at discomfort,
given his age, though he staved off a majority of the effects of aging through
exercise. But what he felt was not typical discomfort. It was something else.
His brain was mulling through a problem, and it was gathering resources from
the rest of his body to work out the answer.  
  
He leaned back, lacing fingers behind his neck, and cracked his head left and
right. The sound suddenly made him think of rattlesnakes.  
  
_Shk-hk-hk-hk-hk-hk-hk . . . ._  
  
_"Can't we get some at a mouse store?"_  
  
_One hundred and thirty dollars paid out to a pet store . . . ._  
  
He shot up in his chair, mind and senses suddenly and alarmingly alive. He
searched through the chaotic array of printed pages before him before finding
the record he was looking for. Thankfully, the financial document included a
billing address, and a phone number. He made a quick call, confirmed the
address, then bolted for the door.  
  
* * * *  
  
Pauly's Pet &amp; Feed was located on a side road just off the highway at the
edge of Morris County. There were only two other cars parked in the white
gravel lot before the country house-style building when Riaz pulled in.  
  
Marching inside, he found the checkout counter, surrounded by various kinds of
aquariums and terrariums, and approached with purpose. The young man clad in a
blue T-shirt looked up with wide eyes at the detective's approach.  
  
"Help you find something, man?"  
  
Riaz glowered and flashed his badge. "Your manager," he snapped.  
  
The young man paled. "Uh, sure . . . hold on a sec."  
  
The kid stepped quickly to the back and returned less than ten seconds later
with an older man in tow. The kid found something else to do as the older man
faced Riaz.  
  
"What can I do for you, officer?"  
  
Riaz did not bother to correct the man. "You keep all your transactions on
record?" he asked curtly.  
  
Intimidated, the man nodded. "Uh, sure. Everything's on file in our computer."  
  
"Talon Tolomeo," Riaz said. "Eleven days ago, he made a purchase in the amount
of around a hundred and thirty dollars. I want to know what he bought."  
  
The man thought a moment, brow furrowing. "Talon Tolomeo?" he asked.  
  
Riaz nodded.  
  
The man managed a small laugh. "Don't need a computer for that," he said.
"Kid's pretty distinctive. Comes in with his twin brother sometimes. They
ain't easy to miss."  
  
"What do they buy?"  
  
The man rolled his shoulders. "Mice," he said.  
  
"Mice."  
  
"Yep. Special kind. White field mice. Bred for high protein. Best thing for
snakes, you know."  
  
Riaz's eyes narrowed. "What kind of snakes?"  
  
Again, the man shrugged. "Really, any kind. Mr. Tolomeo said he has a snake
farm. About twenty snakes. Rattlers, I think. Yeah. Rattlers. Pretty sure."  
  
Riaz gritted his teeth. "He comes in often?"  
  
The man nodded. "About every other week. I give him a price cut 'cause he's a
regular. Forty white mice for one-twenty. Plus tax, of course. Normally, the
damn things are four bucks a head."  
  
Riaz gave a short, shallow nod as he stepped back. "Thanks for the
information," he said, then turned and left just as purposefully as he had
arrived.  
  
The sky was dark with the threat of a torrent as he tapped on his phone while
standing beside the sedan. "Captain," he said in a brusque tone. He spoke over
the man on the other end. "I know where the Tolomeo boys are. They're at the
old quarry on Solms Mill Road in Morris County, and they've got June. I'm on
my way. Get that fucking deadbeat sheriff to send every unit he's got. I'm not
gonna wait for them, so they better God damned hurry."  
  
He switched off the phone, dropped it into his pocket, and took out the pistol
from the holster just behind his right hip. Extracting the clip, Riaz counted
the rounds within, then shoved it back home and racked the slide, chambering
the first round.  
  
A quick glance at his watch gave him the time, mockingly reminding him it had
been nearly five hours since June had been taken from the Richards Family
farm.  
  
_You better not be dead_, he thought morbidly, then jerked open the door of
the sedan and slid inside.  
  
* * * *  
  
June squirmed against the bonds that held her. She lay face-down upon a soiled
old mattress that reeked of mildew and other unpleasant odors. Shackled by
handcuffs -- her own, ironically -- her ankles and wrists were even more
immobilized by the heavy, rusted old chains with their ends anchored into the
earthen floor. Even more unpleasantly, as if to hint at the worst of
indignities yet to come, a rolled-up towel had been positioned beneath her
pelvis, elevating it obscenely.  
  
The cold air elicited goosebumps from her naked flesh. Her clothes had been
stripped away and taken elsewhere before Thorne and Talon had secured her,
kicking and screaming, to her current confinements. Then they had left.  
  
She had looked about the room she was in. It was little more than a rough-hewn
cavern, with uneven walls, dirt floor, and a gathering of simple appliances at
one end. A small refrigerator, an aging stove that looked to belong in some
1970s sitcom, and a small square table with four metal-framed chairs about
that had seen better days.  
  
But all of that was circumspect compared to the brick-lined edge of the pit
some twenty feet away. She could not see what lay within, but she could hear
it.  
  
_Shk-hk-hk-hk-hk-hk-hk . . . ._  
  
It was the sort of sound a roomful of babies with their rattles would make, or
perhaps the sound of a drunken mariachi band without the guitars and trumpets.
It had taken June a while to realize the source of the sound, and once she had
done so, a new fear had blossomed in her heart.  
  
_Rattlesnakes._  
  
_Oh, God, they're going to feed me to a bunch of fucking rattlesnakes!_  
  
Footsteps sounded across the rough floor. Automatically, June clenched,
balling her fingers into fists, tightening her buttocks, trying to pull her
legs closer together. She gritted her teeth. But her efforts resulted in
nothing but dark, dry chuckles from the figure who stepped into her field of
vision. Unable to lift her head much, all she could see were sneaker-clad feet
beneath pale denim legs.  
  
"I gotta say, you're not much to look at," a calmly cruel voice said from
above. "Kind'a like a skinny boy . . . just without a dick. Guess God must'a
hated you big time. Made you an ugly woman."  
  
June said nothing. Her focus was on the shackles that bound her.  
  
The man squatted low, bringing his face into her view. His expression was one
of mocking contempt. "Comfy?" he asked.  
  
She glared up at him. "Fuck you," she growled.  
  
Talon chuckled, reaching out to tousle her short blonde hair. "Got the wrong
brother," he said. "See, I'm not much into domination and all that. But my
brother, here . . ." his gaze drifted over her head for a moment, accompanied
by a smile, before coming back. "Well, he just can't get it out of his head.
He wants to fuck you."  
  
June squirmed even more. "You'll have to kill me, first."  
  
Talon laughed, even as Thorne suddenly fell atop the slender-framed detective,
making her flinch and gasp. Talon could not help but notice the prominent
erection that jutted over the woman's small round buttocks. He grinned as his
brother dribbled ample amounts of lubricant from a vial between the
detective's cheeks.  
  
"I don't think so," Talon responded with a dark smile. He cupped June's chin,
making her look up at him. "He much prefers his pussy alive and well . . . at
least at first."  
  
June glowered for a moment, but then winced, gritted, and cried as she felt
Thorne's cock shoving into her body. She tried to push back, to expel him, but
it was to no avail. She felt every intrusive, violent, and unwanted invasion .
. . and there was nothing she could do about it but to endure the torture.  
  
* * * *  
  
There was a part of him that wanted to drive right into the heart of the
decrepit old quarry and announce his fierce presence to the world. He would
kick down doors, shoot anything that moved, and save the day. But such a
scenario would mean instant death for his partner, Riaz knew.  
  
So he parked the sedan just inside the curving main road into what had once
been a bustling compound processing limestone. It had been shut down since the
seventies, leaving the steel frames of its towering constructions to slowly
rust away beneath the sun. The attached buildings were of wood, warped by age
and weathering. Most of the signs, more than three decades old, had faded or
broken. The place was a secluded ghost town.  
  
_A perfect location,_ Riaz thought, _for someone like the Rattlesnake Man to
set up shop. Or, to be more recent, for his sons to do the same. A woman could
scream at the top of her lungs, and the sound would never reach beyond the
hundred-foot-high quarry walls._  
  
Approaching on foot, Riaz spied the black Toyota parked between two of the
wooden buildings. Unless someone ventured this far into the property, they
would never see the vehicle. The buildings looked to have at one time been the
headquarters for the now-defunct company that ran the quarry. In fact, one of
the doors still sported a sign which was barely discernible, reading,
"Office."  
  
Senses keen, Riaz approached the black vehicle, pistol held low and ready to
bear. He did not try the doors, lest the twins had the SUV alarmed; he
contented himself with peering through the rear window and the windshield,
which were not tinted. He touched the hood, finding it cool. The truck had not
been driven in hours.  
  
He fished out his phone, finding no reception. That did not surprise him. The
reality that he was alone until -- or even if -- the Morris county sheriff's
department arrived was like the weight of all the limestone ever taken from
the quarry upon his shoulders. He knew that the right thing to do -- the
political thing to do -- would be to wait for the cavalry.  
  
But every moment that passed was one in which his partner, his _friend_, was
left to the whims of a pair of murdering, sociopathic twins who had already
proven their brutality time and again.  
  
He could not wait. His conscience was stronger than any law or procedure.  
  
He approached the door to the dilapidated office. Dirt and dust were
everywhere, but leading up to, and around, the door, it had recently been
disturbed. Carefully, he tested the door, finding it unlocked. Knowing a thing
or two about warped doors and old hinges, Riaz quickly turned the knob and
shoved the door open, lifting up on the knob as he did so, and stepping
quickly within.  
  
The door barely made a sound.  
  
As he had expected, the room beyond was devoid of life. There were old desks
positioned about the long, narrow interior, most caked in dust. But a path
lead through them toward another doorway, which hung open. Stepping gingerly,
Riaz ventured forward, ready to react at the slightest sound.  
  
The doorway was dark, the room beyond even more so. But within the far wall,
about twenty feet away, was another open portal that glowed gently from amber
light somewhere further within. Leading with his pistol raised, Riaz quickly
realized that the opening in the far wall was made from earthen dirt and
stone, and the passage beyond sloped downward. A string of low-watt bulbs hung
from the ceiling, which was no more than six and a half feet high.  
  
As Riaz crept further, two things became obvious. One, the temperature dropped
the further he stepped, and two, someone was lightly sobbing somewhere ahead.  
  
_June?_ Riaz wondered, and for a moment, he wanted to charge forward to find
her. But her forced himself to stay calm. Sudden, rash movements would only
lead to disaster.  
  
Planting his feet carefully so as not to make a sound, he crept further along.
The tunnel turn first to the left, and then the right, before opening into a
T-section. To the right, a pair of openings faced each other about twenty feet
down, and to the left lay a large room. It was from the latter that the
sobbing drifted toward him.  
  
Following the sound, Riaz found himself in a large earthen chamber, musty and
foul, a stench of death floating through the air. To one side was a large pit,
ringed with brick, and to other . . . .  
  
_Oh, God._  
  
_June._  
  
She lay naked, face-down upon an old, soiled mattress. Her wrists and ankles
were cuffed, with heavy, aged loose chains also attached which lay across the
barren floor, their ends secured to thick rusted plates. She did not see him.
Her body shuddered as she wept quietly.  
  
_I don't know what they did to you,_ Riaz thought. _But I can guess._ His
features darkened; his heart hardened. A sudden irrevocable decision was made
within the core of his being that would not be denied.  
  
He stepped to the edge of the pit, grimacing as he looked within. More than a
dozen large rattlesnakes lay coiled within a pit about six or seven feet deep.
At his presence, a few of the rattles began shaking, casting their
unmistakable, unsettling sound into the air.  
  
Feeling a sudden urgency, Riaz darted to June's side. Upon sensing someone
close to her, she suddenly shrieked and pulled back, rolling onto her side.
Wide, fearful, pain-filled eyes stared up at him.  
  
"It's me," he said in a quick, hushed tone, digging for his handcuff keys.
"It's me, June."  
  
Her eyes quivered. "R-Riaz?"  
  
He nodded. "I'm getting you out of here."  
  
"Oh, Jesus!" she gasped with relief.  
  
He jerked keys from his pocket and quickly had the cuffs undone. But the heavy
rusted shackles were another matter. He cursed in frustration as he quickly
unbuttoned his shirt and jerked the tails from his slacks.  
  
With the slack of the chain, June was able to sit up. She crossed her arms
over her chest, crossed her legs before her. "H-he . . . he r-r-raped me," she
managed to say with quivering lips as Riaz draped her shoulders with his
shirt. Fresh tears began welling within her eyes.  
  
Her partner gritted his teeth, steeling back the rage that blossomed within
like a bonfire kindled by June's words. He knew he needed to be calm for her
now, to be the rock she had always relied upon. Gently, he smudged away the
tears trickling down June's cheeks. "It's not going to happen again," he
vowed. "You and I are going home, and those two bastards are going into the
ground. Got it?"  
  
June trembled, both mind and body chilled. She nodded numbly, clutching the
edges of the shirt closed.  
  
Riaz looked around. The cavern held nothing which he thought could be used to
pry the shackles from the ground. Even if he could, they were of thick iron
links, too heavy to expect June to bear even with his help. He needed the key.  
  
"I have to find them, and get the key," he told his partner.  
  
Her eyes flashed fearfully. "Don't leave me!" she hissed. She desperately
grabbed handfuls of Riaz's undershirt. "Get me the fuck out of here!"  
  
He clasped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I can't," he said firmly.
"Not until I can get these chains off you. Do you understand that?"  
  
June sputtered with fear. "Don't leave me," she repeated hoarsely. "D-don't
leave me . . . ."  

He ground his jaw so tightly he could feel the tension in his temples. Keeping
her attention, he spoke in his most commanding tone. "Listen to me," he said,
then slapped his hands to June's shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Listen!"  
  
She blinked and stared at his face, a fragment of clarity fomenting on her
features. "I have to find them, and deal with them," he stated. "But I'll come
back for you. I promise. You hear me? I _promise_."  
  
June seemed to muster herself, if only for the moment. "O-okay," she
responded. "But you better come back. I'll fucking kill you if you don't."  
  
Her comment made him smile, if only marginally. At least a piece of his feisty
partner had returned. "That's a deal, then," he said, then pushed himself to
his feet.  
  
* * * *  
  
Talon sat at the end of the bed, as naked as his brother, contemplating the
lines on the palms of his hands. Thorne was absorbed in one of his PSP games
and oblivious to the world.  
  
He looked about the nearly claustrophobic walls of what, Talon was certain,
was now their new home, if only for a while. The earthy aroma bothered him. It
was everywhere; that cloying smell of clay and rock and dust and dirt and . .
. something else. Something that had died long ago but never completely
finished rotting away. His sinuses were already bothering him.  
  
Aside from the set of stacked mattresses that formed the bed, the only other
furniture in the cave-like room consisted of an old metal chair, a small
table, and a large wooden chest. The duffels he and Thorne had brought with
them lay against the chest, the only obvious claim they had made in making
this chamber their own.  
  
"We're not gonna be able to stay here long," Talon said.  
  
"What?" Thorne asked rhetorically, absorbed in the punching of buttons upon
his device. "Why not?"  
  
Talon cast an annoyed look at his brother. "Could you stop playing that?"  
  
Thorne did not look up from the screen that partially illuminated his face.
"Just a sec," he answered.  
  
"Stop it!" yelled Talon, lurching across the bed to slap the game from
Thorne's hands. The black plastic device danced across the uneven floor.  
  
"What the fuck is your problem?" yelled Thorne, partially lifting up upon the
bed, glaring at his brother. "I was right at the fucking end of--"  
  
"My problem," interrupted Talon with a forceful tone. "Is that we fucking
kidnapped a God damned cop! And then you fucking raped her!"  
  
Thorne chuckled abruptly, easing back down onto the bed. "She was pretty
fucking tight, bro. You should give her a shot."  
  
Talon turned away with a disgusted sigh. "Sometimes I wonder how the hell we
ended up as twins," he muttered.  
  
"The hell does that mean?" Thorne barked. "Fucking dyke deserved it. You know
it, I know it."  
  
Talon turned back, eyes fierce and direct. "Right now, I don't care about
anything other than how the hell we're gonna get out of this shit. They're
gonna come looking for us, and sooner or later, they're gonna come here."  
  
Thorne sputtered dismissively. "Yeah, right. No one's gonna look for us here.
We can camp out until the fucking zombie apocalypse in this place."  
  
Talon shook his head. "Wrong," he said. "We kidnapped a God damned _cop_.
They're gonna look everywhere until they find her. Probably bring in the
fucking FBI, too."  
  
Thorne chuckled, sitting back, lacing his fingers together behind his head.
"Yeah, like they're gonna do a fat lot of good. They couldn't even find this
place way back when."  
  
"Yeah, but they know about it now," Talon pointed out.  
  
His twin shrugged. "So what? This place is old news. Besides, no one would
ever think we even know about this place. I mean, who'd think we'd come back
to where our mother was raped over and over?"  
  
Talon turned away, gaze falling to the floor as he wrung his hands. "You
really think it was just like that?"  
  
Thorne frowned in confusion, rolling up on the bed to come beside his brother.
"Like what?" he asked.  
  
"Rape," Talon said, not looking to his twin. "You really think our mother was
just raped? Didn't you read her diary?"  
  
Thorne swallowed thickly, lowering his feet to the floor so that they both sat
side-by-side on the edge of the venerable mattress. "Yeah, uh . . . I read
it."  
  
Talon chuckled darkly. "No you didn't," he said, then sighed. "You just sort
of skimmed through it, right? Looking for the juicy bits?"  
  
"Hey--"  
  
Talon turned his head, fixing his gaze upon his brother. "She fell in love
with him," he said with all the surety of a minister delivering a sermon. "It
wasn't rape. It was fate. He needed her, and she needed him. And when those
fucking cops came in here, to this same fucking place, and forced our father
to kill himself . . . they were trying to destroy us, even then. Even before
we were born." Talon sneered suddenly. "But we're gonna have the last laugh."  
  
Thorne nodded slowly, not fully understanding, but willing to go along with
anything his brother said. "Fuck yeah."  
  
"First things first," Talon said. "We need to get outta here, and we need to
unload that dyke detective."  
  
Thorne snorted with a short, harsh laugh. "Trade the bitch," he suggested.
"Five mil and a fucking jet plane."  
  
Talon pursed his lips with dark mirth, contemplating. "Maybe . . . ."  
  
"She's our ticket," Thorne insisted. "Long as we got her, they aren't gonna
try anything. Even if they could find us here."  
  
"Oh, they'll find us all right," his twin said. "It's just a matter of time."
He moved close and cupped Thorne's face. "We need to be one step ahead of
them. We need to be ready for anything."  
  
Thorne nodded, staring into his brother's eyes. "Long as we're together, we
can handle anything."  
  
A smile spread across Talon's face, warm, affectionate. He smoothed back
Thorne's thick, shaggy hair. "Together, forever," he whispered, brushing his
lips against those of his living reflection.  
  
They kissed tenderly, hands beginning to roam. Arousal grew swiftly between
them, unhampered by the absence of clothing. Simultaneously, Talon reached for
Thorne's stiffening cock while Thorne did the same, cradling his brother's
phallus in his hand.  
  
"I love you, brother," Talon whispered.  
  
Thorne smiled, even as his brow furrowed. Romantic declarations weren't
typical between them. Still, he responded in kind: "I love you, too." They
kissed, deeply, passionately, with Thorne falling back and bringing his
brother with him.  
  
"How nauseatingly sweet."  
  
The brothers lurched up upon the bed, looking to the doorway to behold
Detective Parande standing there with a pistol in an outstretched hand,
pointed in their direction. They glared upon the man.  
  
"Uh-oh, the long arm is here," quipped Thorne with a sarcastic snarl.  
  
Riaz glared back. "Don't think for a second I won't kill you both," he
growled. "In fact, that would make finding the key to June's chains easier.
But I'm willing to go by the book as long as you two play along. Get up. Stand
by the bed."  
  
With only a brief, voiceless exchange, the twins moved toward the end of the
bed. As he did so, Talon let his hand slip between the two mattresses, finding
the butt of the pistol they had taken from June.  
  
Riaz's eyes flickered, reading the movement. He panned his sidearm toward
Talon. "Don't try it—" he began.  
  
But as he spoke, Thorne was a blur of movement, leaping from the mattress and
ducking low. He planted one foot upon the earthen floor and kicked out with
the other, catching Riaz in the midriff even as the detective pulled the
trigger.  
  
The report filled the air, but the bullet found only clay and rock in the far
wall. Riaz stumbled back, falling against the wall of the tunnel beyond the
room's entrance. Thorne was a savage whirlwind before him, hammering a pair of
blows into first his solar plexus, then across his jaw. Riaz winced as the
back of his head smacked against the wall.  
  
"Go!" cried Talon, aiming his pistol at Riaz. "Kill that fucking dyke!"  
  
Without a word, Thorne sprinted down the hall, leaving Riaz to his brother's
lack of mercy. But Talon was no crack shot; as he fired, Riaz rolled out of
the way, avoiding the bullets which tore chunks from the wall above him. He
darted further down the corridor, away from the direction Thorne bolted . . .
and away from June.  
  
_Can't let him reach her,_ he thought desperately. He made a quick decision,
realizing only peripherally that following it could lead to his own demise.  
  
He charged after Thorne.  
  
A new series of reports shattered the air as Riaz ran past the doorway of the
Tolomeo brothers' bed chamber, but none of the bullets found their mark.
Encouraged, Riaz sprinted as fast as he could toward the fleeing Thorne,
hoping to catch up to him before he made it to the cavern where June was held.  
  
But Thorne was young and quick, making it to the cavern just seconds ahead of
the older man. He ducked to the right, out of sight.  
  
_I can still get him_, Riaz thought, pouring on as much speed as he could.  
  
But behind him, Talon stepped into the tunnel, leveling the pistol and
sighting. Both hands bracing the weapon, he fired a single shot.  
  
Riaz grunted as he felt the sting of the wound in his back. Heat flashed
through the the upper part of his back and left shoulder. Instantly, it
seemed, the majority of his strength vanished. He careened into the wall just
at the opening of the large cave with enough force to make him cry out and
drop his pistol. The weapon danced across the uneven ground before falling
into the rattlesnake pit.  
  
Hearing the cacophony behind him, Thorne stopped his mad charge when he was a
mere few feet from June. He turned back, looking upon Riaz with a triumphant
sneer. "Impotent old man," he snarled. He glanced to June, who sat up with a
fearful expression, clutching her partner's shirt close around her slender
frame, then back to Riaz.  
  
"Maybe I'll fuck her one more time, just to let you watch, before I kill her,"
Thorne spat, then approached June.  
  
Riaz started to speak, but pain flashed through his shoulder and back. The
bullet had cracked a few bones, he figured. Slapping a clawing hand to the
wall, he tried to pull himself up while watching the more brutish twin advance
upon his partner.  
  
"How about it, bitch?" Thorne sneered as he stepped toward the junior
detective. "Up for round two?"  
  
She glared back, a mixture of hate and lucidity controlling her now. "Fuck
you," she answered acidly.  
  
Thorne chuckled. "No, fuck _you_," he responded, leaning over and reaching in.  
  
Panting and grunting, Riaz tried to muster the strength he needed to save his
partner from the murderous man looming over her. But even as he managed to
gain his footing, Talon came up against him from behind, pressing the muzzle
of the pistol against his temple.  
  
"Don't eve try it, detective," the young man hissed in his ear. "I'll blow
your brains out in a second if you try anything. You wanna live, then you
better watch what my brother does to your dyke friend."  
  
Riaz seethed. "You'll kill me anyway."  
  
Talon laughed darkly. "Maybe. Who knows? Let's see if you can be a good boy."  
  
But as he spoke, and as Thorne reached for June, the woman erupted into a
sudden fit of violent activity. Clutching a handful of heavy, rusted chain,
she whipped it up toward her abuser, smacking Thorne across his shins. The
weight of the chain and the force behind it was enough to crack bone and make
him stumble. And June was quick enough, with her desperate rage, to take
advantage of the situation.  
  
"Thorne! Watch out!" cried his brother, but the warning came too late. As
Talon's brother fell toward her, June whirled the chain around his neck,
pulling the young man close. As Thorne floundered upon the mattress, June
scrambled atop him, screaming like a feral creature as she crossed the chains
behind the man's neck and pulled viciously.  
  
"Thought you were gonna fuck me again?" cried June as she viciously tightened
the grip of the chains. "Now I'm fucking you! _How's that feel, you fucking
shit? How's that fucking feel?_"  
  
"No!" screeched Talon, snapping the pistol away from Riaz's head and aiming
toward the woman. But as he did so, Riaz reacted quickly, lashing out to grasp
Talon's wrist and shove the pistol upward. A single shot exploded through the
air, impotently sending a bullet into the cavern's ceiling.  
  
Fueled by vestiges of strength he never knew he possessed, Riaz pivoted,
twisting Talon's arm. The pistol fell to the ground as Talon grunted with
pain. Pressing on, energized by hope, Riaz slammed his own weight against the
smaller, slimmer man, stunning Talon as he smashed against the earthen wall.
Taking advantage of the moment, he lifted Talon from the ground with a single
hand about the man's neck, carrying him to the edge of the snake pit. He
glanced toward June.  
  
But his young partner needed no help. Beneath her savage, naked form, Thorne
flailed impotently with his arms, trying to reach back. The chains about his
neck cut off the supply of air and blood, making his face redden and bulge.
Atop him, June pulled upon the chains amid animalistic shrieks, wanting
nothing less than the brutal death of the man who had defiled her. She
screeched and screamed like some vengeful banshee spirit, gaining strength
through sheer anger and pain.  
  
_Crack!_  
  
With a sudden snap of bone, and the immediate limping of limbs, Thorne Tolomeo
was instantly transformed from a living being to little more than a bag of
flesh.  
  
Upon realizing this, June suddenly let go of the chains and scrambled back,
emitting unintelligible howls of anger, sadness and pain. She kicked the
corpse away with her feet.  
  
"Th-Thorne," whispered Talon fearfully. He looked to Riaz's dark,
uncompromising eyes. "She killed him! You let her kill him! That's murder!"  
  
Riaz dangled Talon out over the snake pit. Below, dozens of anxious, hungry
serpents danced their rattles in anticipation of a kill.  
  
"It was justice," Riaz corrected.  
  
Talon clutched tightly to Riaz's forearm, looking down at what awaited him.
"So you're just gonna drop me in?" He asked fearfully. He looked back, eyes
blazing with inhuman madness. "What if they don't kill me? I raised them, you
know. Every fucking one of them. They won't kill me. They'll obey me. They'll
rise up and come after you and--"  
  
Abruptly, Riaz let go, more from a lack of strength in his arm than a desire
to end Talon's righteous speech. The pale-skinned young man cried out as he
fell, then grunted when he impacted the ground below.  
  
The snakes swarmed in quickly, slithering about Talon's body. He tried to
scamper back, but one of the serpents struck quickly, sinking fangs into one
of the young man's feet. Then another latched onto an arm, and another onto a
muscular thigh.  
  
Bite after bite made Talon wince. Venom flooded through his veins. He tried to
stand, tried to escape, but he could not even gain his footing before falling
back down into the nest of deadly serpents. His final act was to stare with
hatred and pain at the man who had delivered him into this pit of pain.  
  
Riaz staggered back, the effects of his wound taking their toll. His shirt,
soaked with blood, stuck to his skin. He managed to make his way toward June,
falling to his knees before her. He reached with his one good arm.  
  
"I . . . I killed him," she sputtered, face as contorted as her body as she
tried to cover herself. "I fucking killed him."  
  
She's in shock, Riaz realized. In more ways than one. "He deserved it," he
told her. "They both did. You know that."  
  
Eyes wide, wet, and shimmering with many levels of pain, June slowly took her
partner's hand. "I just wish I didn't have to do it," she whispered.  
  
He nodded numbly, fighting back the fatigue that threatened him. As June
curled up against him, hugging his arm like a frightened daughter, he managed,
with painful effort, to lift his left hand and settle it upon June's head.
"But you did," he said simply. "And it was right. No one will ever fault you
for that."  
  
Clutching desperately, June trembled as she wept, finally letting out all the
fear, anxiety, and pain she had endured.  
  
**End Part Seven**




        TnT Ch. 08


_(Author's note: this story deals with some very gritty and harsh subject
matter. This is not for those looking for a straightforward sex story. There
are many themes that some people might find objectionable, but to reveal them
might give away parts of the story prematurely. If you continue reading,
please keep this warning in mind.)  
  
(This is the last of an eight-part series.)_  
  
**Part Eight**  
  
June sat up in the hospital bed, looking at the various tubes plugged into her
arms. She hated hospitals. The last time she had been in one, she had been a
teenager in need of a cast for her arm after driving – drunk – into a parked
and thankfully uninhabited car. That had not been pleasant, yet the experience
paled in comparison to the invasive but necessary procedure of submitting to a
rape kit examination.  
  
_As if I needed someone else to confirm what happened to me._  
  
The flatscreen TV mounted on the wall was tuned in to a local news station.
There had been no end to the parade of "exclusive" stories regarding the
investigation and ultimate death of the Tolomeo twins. It turned her stomach
that some of the ignorant comments posted on the news show's Facebook page
were in support of the dead brothers, suggesting that they should have been
"properly" investigated and that "vigilante" police should not have been
allowed to go after them.  
  
_Put yourselves in my shoes, June thought derisively. Show me what a 'proper'
fucking investigation is._  
  
"Detective?"  
  
June didn't look to the young patrol officer as he pushed open the door to her
room and leaned in. "What."  
  
"Um . . . someone to see you. She's on your 'pass' list."  
  
June snapped her head up, eyes opening wide in hope. "Sophie?"  
  
The patrolman retreated, leaving the door open for the pretty redhead as she
entered the room. She held a bouquet of flowers.  
  
June blubbered instantly, smiling and crying at the same time. "Sophie," she
sputtered, holding her arms out. "Oh, God."  
  
Sophie smiled as well, looking past the blemishes on her lover's face, the
bruises and the wounds. She rushed to the bedside, dropping the flowers to the
floor before embracing the woman she loved.  
  
Both women trembled as they hugged, with June nearly convulsing in an
epileptic fit. Sophie had to push herself back.  
  
"Don't look at me," June declared, turning away.  
  
But Sophie caught her lover's chin in her hand. "But I want to."  
  
June winced. "No. Not yet."  
  
Sophie was insistent. "I don't care what happened to you. I love you. No
matter what."  
  
Tears dribbled down June's face. "Even after what they did to me?"  
  
"Yes. Even after that."  
  
Slowly, June turned pained eyes upon those of the woman she loved more than
herself. "I'm never gonna be the same," she said, her voice barely more than a
whisper.  
  
Yet, Sophie could only smile, looking past the bruises, past the pain. "Maybe
not. But you're always going to be my wife," she declared.  
  
* * * *  
  
"I strongly suggest you remain for at least another day," the doctor insisted
as Riaz dressed himself.  
  
The detective shook his head with a wry smile, hiding the pain that lanced
through his back and shoulder every time he moved his left arm. "Can't do
that," he said. "My daughter's graduating tonight. I'll be damned if I'm going
to miss it."  
  
The doctor sighed tiredly. "It's your call," he said. "Just remember, you have
a fractured scapula and two bruised ribs. No exertion for the next few weeks.
No smoking, no--"  
  
"I don't smoke."  
  
The physician held up his hands. "I'm just saying, take it easy. Sit down the
moment you feel any light-headedness. It's going to take a while to heal."  
  
Riaz nodded as he finished draping the jacket over his shoulders. He extended
his hand to the doctor. "Believe me when I say I understand," he said. "I may
be stubborn, but I'm not stupid. I'll take care of myself. I always have."  
  
The doctor managed the thinnest of smiles as he shook the detective's hand.
"Guess I just have to believe you on that."  
  
Riaz let the man go, then returned to the task of collecting his personal
things. He had hated every minute of the previous seventeen hours spent in a
hospital bed in a hospital gown, barely able to sleep. The haunting memories
of what had happened during that final confrontation with the Tolomeo twins
plagued his thoughts, but not as much as the prospect of being denied the
simple fatherly pleasure of watching his only daughter walk the stage at her
graduation. In twenty-two years, he had never missed a single highlight of
Kitna's life. He was not about to break that streak now.  
  
"Riaz?"  
  
He started, then tilted his head to glance back toward the owner of the voice.
She stood behind him, several feet away, keeping her distance. He almost
smiled at her presence, but her expression kept him emotionally guarded.  
  
"I, uh . . . was gonna come see you sooner," Susan said awkwardly, brushing
back a lock of dark hair. Her eyes were furtive, dancing all around as they
avoided meeting Riaz's gaze. "I just, um . . . couldn't get off from work,
and--"  
  
He cut her off with a placating smile and gesture. "It's okay," he said,
turning fully to face her.  
  
The young brunette shifted on her feet. She smiled sheepishly. "It's not the
same, now," she said.  
  
Riaz nodded. "No, it's not."  
  
"I mean," she continued. "It didn't really matter what you did. Before, I
mean, when we were just fooling around."  
  
_You mean, when you were the other woman, _Riaz thought bitterly. "But now it
does?"  
  
Susan grimaced, looking uncomfortable. "We had some fun," she said. "I mean,
you were really hot, and I got off on you being a cop and all that, but . . .
I can't be a cop's girlfriend. I can't handle this kind of shit. It's too . .
. too real, you know?"  
  
"It's life," he responded gravely. "Sometimes it gets a little . . .
_'real.'_"  
  
"I-I know," she said, then huffed in frustration, unable to articulate what
she wanted to say.  
  
Riaz looked away tiredly. "Go home, Susan," he told her. "Just . . . go home,
okay?"  
  
She started to speak, but said nothing. Feeling embarrassed and out of place,
the young woman turned and made her way across the rain-spattered grass. Riaz
did not watch her go. He already knew he would have nothing more to do with
the comely young brunette, with whom he had thrown away his fidelity, his
life, his supposedly uncompromisable fatherhood. He was left alone, but that
did not bring depression into his heart. There was a strange sort of somber
gladness, now. He felt nothing but calm acceptance.  
  
* * * *  
  
The doughty, wide-faced woman stared at the pair of figures beneath sterile
white sheets in the laboratory. Harsh lights from the ceiling reflected off
her glasses as she assessed her options.  
  
"Eenie, meanie, minie, moe . . . ."  
  
After so scientifically making her decision, she pulled back the sheet
covering one of the bodies. The naked figure beneath her was in gloriously
wonderful shape, aside from the fact that his head was canted at an odd angle
and post-mortem bruising had made the corpse's entire neck dark and swollen.  
  
She smirked, looking the body over. "Bet you got your share off attention when
you were alive, Mr. . . ." she glanced to the report on her rolling cart. ". .
. Thorne N. Tolomeo. But I'm sure you never figured you would be getting this
kind of attention so soon."  
  
With a cackle under her breath, the medical examiner reached for one of her
tools, a hand-held, battery-powered circular saw. She depressed the trigger a
few times, filling the air with loud, grating, mechanical screaming that made
her smile.  
  
She looked down upon Thorne Tolomeo's face. "Now, let's see how many slugs and
snails and puppy dog tails we can find inside you . . . ."  
  
As the tool screeched again, it's whine changing in pitch as it began to bite
through flesh and bone, the frumpy woman did not hear the sudden gasp that
came from the still-covered body behind her. And as she was so ardently
focused upon the task of carving through the body before her, she could not
have seen the stirring of the white sheet as breath escaped a pair of
supposedly dead lips.  
  
With a sudden flurry, Talon Tolomeo suddenly sat up, eyes wide and filled with
wonder and confusion. He swayed a bit upon the metal table, slapping his hands
to either side to keep from toppling to one side or the other. The sheet that
had covered him danced languidly in the chilly air before settling upon his
upper thighs.  
  
_Where . . . what . . . ._  
  
The cacophony of noise from the loudly-chattering saw suddenly reached his
ears as his senses became abruptly and painfully re-awakened. He winced and
clutched his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. Breath heaved in and out through
his lungs as he coped with the sudden onslaught.  
  
Then finally, inextricably, the world became balanced around him. He could
feel his limbs, his fingers, smell through his nostrils, hear through his
ears, see through his eyes. All that lingered was a dry, metallic flavor in
the back of his mouth.  
  
His gaze drifted across his body. Numerous puncture marks adorned his flesh,
from his left foot to his right shoulder. More than a half a dozen in number.
Each set of dark holes in his skin was surrounded by dark, hardening flesh.
Looking upon them made Talon smile in wonder.  
  
_They didn't kill me. I'm immune to their venom._  
  
Eyes and attention now focused with predatory efficiency, Talon looked to his
left, to the back of the thick-bodied woman in a white lab coat as she sliced
her way into his brother's body. His eyes narrowed with controlled anger.  
  
Casting off the sheet so that it floated into the air, he slid his feet to the
floor.  
  
The screaming saw suddenly cut out. Talon froze, standing mere paces behind
the woman.  
  
"Damn it," hissed the medical examiner, jerking the gore-covered tool from the
sternum of the body before her. "I'm just gonna have to go back to plug-ins .
. . ." She pulled the trigger again, making the saw blade spin, which cast
thick dark ichor across the lab. She let out a short laugh as she released the
trigger. "Okay, maybe not--"  
  
The sound of thick polyester fabric falling to the floor behind her made the
woman freeze in place. Her brow furrowed. Slowly, she turned to look.  
  
The woman's eyes flew open wide at the sight of the man standing behind her.
She dropped the battery-operated saw and stumbled back, colliding with the
table upon which Thorne's body rest.  
  
"Holy fuck!"  
  
Talon sneered darkly, squatting quickly to scoop up the tool from the floor.
He advanced upon the woman, shooting out a hand to grasp the woman's neck. He
squeezed the trigger of the small but deadly circular saw, making it spin and
scream loudly above her face.  
  
"Oh my God!" she screeched, staring in abject horror at the whirling blade.  
  
"You can't have my brother!" cried Talon, though his words were drowned out by
not only the spitting screech of the saw, but also by the mortal screams of
the medical examiner as the spinning blade sliced through flesh and bone.  
  
He let the woman's body, convulsing in the throes of death, drop to the floor,
and cast aside the saw. For several moments, as the medical examiner
desperately clung to her fleeting life, Talon stared down upon the body of his
brother. His features twisted silently. He stroked Thorne's thick black hair.  
  
"I'll make them pay for this," Talon whispered, scooping his arms beneath the
corpse of his brother. Leaving the medical examiner to die, Talon lifted his
brother's body from the table and carried him toward the door.  
  
* * * *  
  
Even in such a large, packed arena which at the moment housed more than ten
thousand excited parents and other relatives, Riaz was able to find his way.
The ceremony had begun nearly an hour before, and panic had begun to set in as
Riaz considered he might be too late to see his daughter. But a kindly aged
woman at the entrance to the arena had informed him that the graduation had
been delayed by technical problems with the sound system.  
  
"They're not even on 'F,' yet," she had informed.  
  
Encouraged, Riaz found the entrance to the part of the arena where his
assigned seat lay. He shouldered past a few lingerers, then emerged into the
cavern where, a couple of hundred feet below, a small wooden stage had been
erected. Above it hung a banner: "Class of 2013."  
  
An usher was at hand to point Riaz in the right direction, but as soon as he
looked up toward the rows of narrowly-fitted blue plastic seats, he had seen
her face and knew exactly where he should go. A momentary smile graced his
face as he looked upon her.  
  
_Still beautiful, _he thought, then corrected himself. _No . . . always
beautiful._  
  
He started up the narrow steps, and as he approached, the attention of the
woman he watched shifted from the stage to him. A sort of sad yet happy smile
came to her. She patted the empty seat on her left side.  
  
"Glad I'm not late," Riaz commented as he sat down.  
  
Her smile became more genuine with each moment. "You never were," she said.
Her dark brown eyes drifted over him. "Are you okay? I heard the news reports,
and--"  
  
"I'm okay," he responded quickly, meeting her gaze. "Thanks for not telling
her."  
  
His former wife breathed out heavily. "You know, you're a stubborn son of a
bitch."  
  
He chuckled. "I won't argue that."  
  
"If I'd told her, she'd have been in that hospital in a heartbeat. Jesus
Christ. Twenty-two years old and still a daddy's girl."  
  
"And she would have missed her own graduation," Riaz pointed out. "No chance
in Hell was I going to let that happen, Melissa."  
  
They sat in uncomfortable silence, listening as the names of the graduates
were called, watching as the blue-robed young men and women crossed the stage
to take their diplomas.  
  
"I, uh, guess Joe couldn't make it," Riaz said probingly.  
  
She sighed with a rueful smile. "Despite what you might think, Joe is . . .
_was _. . . just a friend. Maybe he wanted more than that, but I didn't."  
  
Riaz held back a smile at his ex-wife's words. The firmness of her tone was
telling.  
  
"I heard you caught those twins who were killing people," Melissa commented.
"It's been all over the news."  
  
Riaz nodded. "Well, that's what I do."  
  
She rubbed her hands together, a nervous tick she'd always possessed. "The
news said they . . . hurt your partner, too. What was her name?"  
  
Riaz gritted teeth for a moment. "June," he said. "June Barret."  
  
"She gonna be okay?"  
  
He looked to her. "Maybe. Hopefully. She's a strong woman."  
  
Their gaze held for a long moment, stirring feelings which had never died out.
But there was also the pain in his ex-wife's eyes, pain he had caused, for
which Riaz could never forgive himself.  
  
As if reading his mind, Melissa glanced away, asking, "Are you still seeing
her?"  
  
He sighed softly through hos nose. "No."  
  
She gave only a vague nod.  
  
The names of the graduates drifted to them from the speakers mounted around
and above the stage, followed by various amounts of applause. _"Gilbert
Ontiveros."_  
  
"She's going to be called soon," Riaz said, finally smiling. His eyes searched
the sea of navy blue gowns before the stage, focusing on the line of figures
to one side.  
  
"Do you see her?"  
  
He chuckled. "They all look alike in their gowns and caps."  
  
_"Michael Olsson."_  
  
As the young man called stepped up to the stage, Riaz trained his vision on
the young woman behind him. At such distance, he could not be sure, but . . .
"That's her," he said. "She's next."  
  
_"Kitna Parande."_  
  
Riaz was already jumping to his feet, bringing his hands together in applause.
Even though pain flooded him with every clap, he ignored it. "That's my baby
girl!" he cried, making those around him chuckle and grin. A few glared in
annoyance; he ignored them.  
  
He sat back down, watching his daughter stroll across the stage, diploma in
hand. Tears welled in his eyes, both from pride and pain. The pride was
stronger.  
  
"Here."  
  
He looked to see his former wife offering a few pieces of tissue. He took them
with a wry grin. _She still knows me._  
  
In his pocket, he felt the insistent buzzing of his phone. The compulsion to
take it up was automatic, but he stopped himself just as his fingertips
touched the device. _Whatever it is, it can wait, _he told himself. _I'm off
duty._  
  
* * * *  
  
Threading through the milling pool of students outside, Riaz looked all around
for his daughter. He found her chatting with friends, all of whom were
grinning with the accomplishment of graduation.  
  
". . . no more reports, no more theses, no more class--"  
  
"No more of Dr. Jackauer's bad breath!"  
  
"But, hey, we get to start paying off our student loans in six months. What
joy!"  
  
"Hey, none of that!" snapped Kitna, giving one of her friends a playful glare.
"We just graduated. Time to celebrate!"  
  
"Couldn't have said it better," Riaz said, interrupting them as they began to
whoop and holler.  
  
Kitna snapped her head toward him, her already abundant grin becoming
enormous. "Daddy!" she shrieked, taking three steps and jumping.  
  
He winced as he caught his daughter, holding her close. Despite the pain that
flashed through his shoulder and arm, he would not let go of his little girl.  
  
She pulled back after her smothering hug an a kiss to her father's cheek. Riaz
thankfully lowered her to the ground, doing his best to hide his discomfort.  
  
"Mom!" Kitna exclaimed, giving the woman similar hugs and kisses. She stepped
back, flickering eyes taking in her mother and father together. "Now, this is
what it's supposed to be like."  
  
Riaz gave both his daughter and ex-wife awkward looks. "I'm just glad I was
able to be here," he said, grimacing as he felt the vibration of his phone
once more. In annoyance, he slipped it from his pocket. "Just give me a
second," he said and stepped away.  
  
"Yes, Captain?"  
  
The tired voice on the other end sounded decades older than the man himself.
"You're not going to believe this, Parande . . . ."  
  
* * * *  
  
"My Jesus, by the sorrows Thou didst suffer in Thine agony in the Garden, in
Thy scourging and crowning with thorns, in the way to Calvary, in Thy
crucifixion and death, have mercy on the souls in purgatory, and especially on
those that are most forsaken; do Thou deliver them from the dire torments they
endure; call them and admit them to Thy most sweet embrace in paradise."  
  
A light rain fell upon the cemetery as the priest read the prayer from the
Bible. Solemnly, he clasped the leather-bound book closed as mounds of earth
were shoveled atop the grave. Relatives of the medical examiner stood in line
to pay their respects. Many paces back, Riaz stood beneath the shelter of a
broad-limbed oak, its leaves providing some shelter from the sun above. He
gazed with dark eyes upon the scene before him.  
  
_How the hell did son of a bitch survive those snake bites? I've never heard
of anyone being immune to rattlesnake venom, but I suppose it's possible . . .
._  
  
He peripherally noticed the approach of the figure beside him. He instantly
knew without looking who it was. "How you doing?" he asked.  
  
June shrugged. "Still recovering," she answered. "You?"  
  
Absently, Riaz touched his shoulder. "Same."  
  
The detectives stood in silence for several moments, watching the sad and
crying faces of the medical examiner's family and friends. The darkest face of
them all was the woman's husband. Riaz had not even known she was married.  
  
"Still no word about Talon Tolomeo?" June asked.  
  
Riaz shook his head somberly. "Not that I'm on the case, but, no. No word."  
  
"You think he'll come after us?"  
  
"Anything's possible. He was the smart one; that makes him more dangerous than
his brother."  
  
June sighed in frustration. "Well, can you do something about the protective
surveillance on my house? Our neighbors all hate us now because there's always
a cop parked at the end of the street."  

He gave a wry smile. "I guess I can ask the Captain if he can assign unmarked
cars for it."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"Saw your resignation on the Captain's desk this morning," Riaz commented.  
  
June nodded, looking down at the ground like a child who had shamed herself in
the eyes of her father. "I thought about telling you, first," she said in a
cracking voice. "But you probably would've talked me out of it."  
  
He ground his teeth. "Maybe. Maybe not."  
  
June shook her head, wiping a few stray droplets that had landed upon her
face. "I thought I could, but . . . I can't do it. I never want to go through
anything like that again. I can't do that to Sophie. God knows why she's just
willing to accept the fact that I was . . . that what happened to me--"  
  
"Raped," Riaz said curtly, cutting her off. He turned his tired gaze upon his
partner. "You were raped. If you can't say the word, you'll never be able to
get over it. I can't for a second imagine what it's like to be in that
situation, but I do know that if you can't accept the reality, you'll never
heal."  
  
June nodded slowly, forcing back tears of pain and anger. "It's gonna take
some time," she whispered in a choked voice.  
  
He reached out and pulled her to him. She yielded instantly, whimpering softly
against Riaz's chest. "I know it will," he told her. "And I'll always be here
for you. All you ever have to do is call, or come by."  
  
June sniffled and pushed back. She laughed suddenly, a harsh, mirthless sound.
"You mean, come by your apartment?"  
  
He managed a crooked smile. "Yeah. About that--"  
  
"I'm not an idiot, you know," she said, wiping her eyes. She seemed more than
glad to change the subject. "Why didn't you tell me you got a divorce?"  
  
Riaz breathed in and out deeply. "It happened about the same time they paired
us up. You were so gung-ho about working with me, telling me all these things
you'd heard about me . . . I didn't want to let you down."  
  
She frowned quizzically. "You thought, if you told me you were getting a
divorce, that I'd think less of you?"  
  
He met her gaze. "No," he said. "But I thought, if you found out why, _then
_you would think less of me. And I didn't want any of my personal bullshit to
come between us."  
  
She expelled a laugh, shaking her head ruefully. "Jesus, Riaz, you're the best
damn cop I've ever known. Hell, that _anyone's _ever known! But I never
thought you weren't human."  
  
His lips curled with self-admonishment. "I should have told you," he said.  
  
She gently elbowed him. "Yeah, you should've." She stepped before Riaz,
turning to face him and grabbing the lapels of his coat. "I hated my father,"
she said suddenly. "When I was sixteen, I told him I was a lesbian and he
threw me out of the house. Just about every man I've ever met treated me like
shit because I'm a dyke.  
  
"But you--" she poked Riaz's chest. "--you never, _ever_, talked down to me,
or made a cheap shot about my life with Sophie . . . hell, you treated me like
I was just another cop. And that's all I ever wanted."  
  
His eyes darted around her face. "I only ever saw you as a detective," he said
simply. "You could have been a six-armed martian that pisses out the top of
your head, and all I would see is a partner who's got my back. That's all _I
_ever wanted."  
  
A true smile finally blossomed on June's face, the first in days. "We were a
good team," she said, then lifted up to place a soft kiss on Riaz's cheek.  
  
He smiled back. "Yes, we were. We got the bad guys, after all, right?"  
  
She nodded with a firm, final tone, stepping back. "Right."  
  
Riaz Parande watched his partner as she made her way back across the vibrant
green lawn of the cemetery. She approached a car beside which the pretty
redhead stood, smiling and patient. He wished he had someone who would wait
for him like that.  
  
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out to see he had a new message.
From his ex-wife.  
  
It simply read, _"Dinner at the house tonight?"_  
  
He managed a smile.  
  
_Maybe I do have someone to wait for me after all . . . ._  
  
* * * *  
  
_Epilogue  
  
Two Months Later . . . .  
  
Another God damned hospital visit, _June thought sourly as she sat in the
pristine white bed, framed by sterile walls. _I hate the way these places
smell. Like someone just threw up, and then they moped the floor with
strawberry-scented toothpaste and bleach._  
  
"Hey," Sophie said, providing reassurance as she squeezed June's hand. "Hey,
it's almost over."  
  
June nodded with heavy eyes. It had been over seven hours since she had been
admitted to the ER for severe heartburn. She assumed she was the victim of an
ulcer that had formed beneath the stress of the previous couple of months.
Leaving the police force had not been a simple matter of walking away, and the
high-profile aspects of the case involving the Tolomeo twins meant she had
been hounded daily by reporters, Internal Affairs, and even literary agents
trying to entice her into an exclusive book deal. Add to that the fact that
Talon had never been found, and it had gotten so bad that she and Sophie had
moved to a townhouse apartment on the other side of town.  
  
"He better come back with a magic pill to make this shit go away," June
growled. "We haven't had sex in a week."  
  
Sophie chuckled, ruffling June's mopish blonde hair. It had grown out quite a
bit in the previous weeks. "Feeling needy, baby?"  
  
June gave a half-hearted glare. "Maybe."  
  
A knock sounded at the hospital room door, just before the young physician
stepped in with his clipboard. While he had been all smiles through the
previous hours as test after test was administered, his sudden recalcitrant
expression made June worry.  
  
"Jesus Christ, doc, just tell me what the hell's wrong. Write me a
prescription or whatever."  
  
The doctor gave June a sheepish look, his eyes flickering back and forth
between the two women. "I, uh, really can't write a prescription for this," he
said.  
  
June frowned. "What do you mean? It's just acid reflux, right? Right?"  
  
He nodded slowly. "It's, uh, a little more than that, Miss Barret. The acid
reflux is just a symptom. A fairly common one for your condition, actually."  
  
Her face fell. She glared at him. "My . . . 'condition,'" she repeated darkly.  
  
He nodded again, then took a deep breath. "I don't know how you're going to
take this, so I'll just say it."  
  
June gripped Sophie's hand and squeezed hard, afraid of the answer she already
knew she would hear.  
  
At last, the physician spoke. "You're pregnant."  
  
_-fin-_




End file.

