Isaac kneels down and takes the stray sock on my foot. He tosses it inside before putting my feet into the sandal. I don’t have the time to tell him that he can’t get his suit dirty again by kneeling on the ground with bacteria clinging onto his clothes.

  “The killings on the news, sweetheart,” he stands, trapping me with Kian.

  He kisses my cheek as he whispers a good morning on my skin, Kian’s hand pinches my waist, and I swallow the whine of soreness.

  Men are creatures I will never understand; their motives are as clear as the Terms and Conditions. I have to read every line to grasp their intentions, but even then, there is still confusion.

  “I will drive you to school.”

  Chapter Five

  Isaac

  I have seen multiple clients come to me with their cases, hoping I would take them out of the goodness of my heart even when they don’t have enough money to afford my rate. Sometimes, once in a blue moon, I would take a pro bono case that piques my interest and get whatever my clients want out of the case.

  I have a knack for pinning out lies. I don’t take cases where the client lies to me with some sob story. I will only take those who are truly in need, and they don’t have enough money, but most of my clients are rich individuals with shady businesses.

  I have had a dirty cop come to me, wanting me to get him the best deal because the prosecutor has more than enough evidence to convict him of money laundering and police brutality.

  Money is money. I took the job and did my part for him.

  Some other ingrates are also my client, and they would rather get the favor from them instead of money. The money trail is messy and traceable; sometimes, I need something done out of the radar.

  Being a lawyer allows me to have an advantage in the court’s system to avoid conflict and know when something is going down.

  A month passes. Holly and I have a routine where she would meet up with me at the coffee shop, and I would have her coffee ready. Sometimes Kian tags along for the hell of it, sometimes he doesn’t, and he is not shy when he tells me that if I hurt a hair on her, I would end up in a ditch lifeless.

  He didn’t verbally say it, but knowing his reputation and his past assignments, his eyes say it all.

  He has the eyes of a ruthless killer.

  Having come in contact with all sorts of degenerates, Kian does not scare me in the slightest. My mentor in law school always did say I have too much gut, but he doesn’t know that a young Isaac Verille is clinically diagnosed as a part sociopath and part psychopath by the psychologist my parents hired.

  My parents didn’t understand why I acted certain ways, nor did they want to understand why their child was different from others. They shipped me off to boarding school and never bothered to bring me back for family holidays.

  I did resent them at one point, but it was pulling too much of my time to dwell on matters that were out of my hands.

  The thing that is more important than my trip down memory lane is the chatter of my contacts about the Butcher’s crimes and how a pattern is starting to show.

  Petite brunettes, young and living alone is his target type.

  It screams Holly’s life.

  My contacts in the police force tell me that the Butcher is speeding up his time table; he started out three girls a year to four girls in six months. Now he’s killing and taking the legs of brunettes on a weekly basis.

  The Butcher is becoming bolder and kidnapping in broad daylight; these are the types of criminals that have nothing to lose if they get caught by the police, and they would take their victim with them.

  His latest victim is within a five-mile radius of Holly’s apartment. Same built and the same college, it’s almost a mimic of Holly’s life in an eerier similarity.

  The Butcher has always been on my radar, but it didn’t have anything to do with me, so I left it to the police. As long as it didn’t hinder Holly’s well-being, I don’t care who he kills or how heinous his crimes are to take away young women’s lives.

  I’m not capable of feeling any empathy or sympathy towards anyone who isn’t Holly. My sweetheart ignites emotions in me that I have never felt before and I can proudly say that what I feel is the closest thing to love.

  As a labeled sociopath and psychopathic lawyer, I’m unqualified for relationships.

  Holly proved me wrong once again; she is such a special girl.

  Mine.

  “The couple from the coffee shop,” I begin quietly. The bench is empty while college students walk by with giggles when they look at me.

  I flash them a smile, holding a newspaper open to blend in. Kian sits on the bench behind mine, we aren’t sitting face to face, but our backs are towards each other with a gap of just mere inches between our shoulders.

  “It was you,” I finish vaguely.

  The killing of the couple that’s across the city is contradicting; the messiness comes from the amount of blood everywhere while the precision cuts are too clean, the length that was gone to remove the identities of the victims are shown through the pulled teeth, peeled faces, and the missing fingers—yet, police concludes that it was someone who knows the victims so they won’t be tied back to the murder.

  Kian doesn’t know the couple other than the fact that they had harmed an assassin’s weakness. I hate to admit it, but Kian is the best form of protection for Holly when I’m not there.

  People will get suspicious when I don’t show up for work. I never take a day off from work, but the past couple of months of watching Holly and being with her has the workers in the firm taking interest in my absence since I’m also not taking in clients anymore.

  I have more than enough money to sustain Holly with a life of luxuries and comfort on a private island.

  I still can’t picture Kian in the picture. I’m not ready to accept the possibility of sharing her.

  “What do you want?” Kian says.

  The corner of my eye catches him pulling down his cap to shield him from the sun and from the people walking past him.

  “The Butcher,” I say, lowering my voice as that name has the city on edge for a while now.

  “He’s been in Holly’s apartment,” Kian doesn’t shift nor does he move when he says that.

  My reaction is bigger but still subdued when a sizzling burst of anger curls at the tip of my fingers as they dig into the newspaper.

  “What,” I hiss through clenched teeth, “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner.”

  “It happened last night before she returned home,” Kian said.

  The trees rustle with a gentle breeze soothing the boiling blood under my skin. The shades from the leaves move on the concrete floor and on our clothes.

  “And you let her stay in her home?” I snap back lowly, minding that we aren’t alone in a secluded area.

  This is a very public place with students walking past in hoards. This is the only spot that we can speak and wait for Holly to be done with her class. The building is just in front of me as I watch the door, she always comes out that way, and it’s another pattern that makes her vulnerable.

  “She was with me last night,” Kian explains.

  The thing I should be asking about is The Butcher, not whether if they slept in the same bed or if he had touched her inappropriately.

  I do wonder what excuse he used to get into her apartment, but Holly would have let him in without question.

  “Busted pipes?”

  “Broken shower,” Kian corrects.

  I inspect the surroundings again, looking for anyone that doesn’t sit well with me. The Butcher can stand out or not, no one knows what he looks like, and any indication of his physical description died with the victims.

  He could be a young man or an older professor for all I know, but the police did conclude that he is a man based on the injuries inflicted on his victims and the strength to carry the girls as there weren’t any scuff marks from the heels of shoes.

  “Hibiscus,” Kian grunts deeply, “I smelt it in her apartment.”

  Holly doesn’t drink anything herbal or floral. It would be noticeable in her apartment when she only has water and her floral shampoo is in the bathroom.

  The Butcher is confident, too brazen to break into an apartment leased by an assassin just below and think no one would notice.

  Holly didn’t, and I doubt the police would find any evidence of a break-in that has no scratch marks on her locks or any tampering of her windows. Holly didn’t lose her keys, but someone could have gone through her backpack to make a copy of one.

  That solidifies the credibility that one of the students in her lectures might be the serial killer.

  The reports from the medical examiner concluded that the only evidence that connects all those crimes together is the scent of hibiscus that lingers on the body from being in prolonged contact with The Butcher. Otherwise, the police would think that the cutting off of the limb is a copycat action.

  The cuts aren’t surgical. They seem more likely from a man who is used to a meat cleaver since the removal of legs is crude and done in one chop.

  The news media have one key piece of information wrong.

  The Feet Butcher isn’t taking feet, but he’s taking entire legs from women. Once the media dubbed him that, people often overlook the fact that his fetish is on the whole leg instead of just the feet.

  “He’s coming after Holly,” I say, and it’s the only thing that makes sense.

  With all the evidence pointing that way and my gut telling me that Holly is definitely the next victim has me on edge.

  Kian turns his head towards me, and his dark eyes have no color through the bright reflection of the sun. He’s emotionless and mysterious. I’m reminded of how nefarious he truly is, and he is by far the most difficult to read out of all the criminals I have defended.

  “I will take care of him,” he comments rather plainly, “Keep Holly safe until I return.”

  “And how are you supposed to find him?” I scoff, holding the newspaper and letting it to the side of the bench.

  “The less you know, the better for Holly. Then you have plausible deniability.”

  My cup of coffee has gotten cold on my other side, it hasn’t been tasteful for a while now, and I think the coffee shop had changed their formulas.

  “Are you concerned about me?” I mock with the tone of a humorless sneer.

  “I couldn’t care less if you die, Verille,” Kian tips his cap down, “You wouldn’t be able to hide anything from Holly if she asks, this is for her own good.”

  He’s not wrong. I have noticed that I tell Holly more things than I thought I would share with anyone when she asks innocently curious questions. If she begs me with those big, brown eyes, then I would not be a man at her mercy anymore because I would be her slave willingly.

  “You can’t blame me,” I say with a chuckle, “It would be a crime to make her upset.”

  Kian stays silent.

  When Holly would invite the two of us into her apartment for dinner, she asks questions with intense curiosity, and it is in her nature to be inquisitive. I find it endearing, and I can never say no to her. Lying would only hurt her in the future when things would eventually unravel.

  Kian is not like me; every other word out of his mouth is a lie. A half-truth is what he says. He’s not technically lying because he chooses to opt out information that could pose harm to her while he sticks to the basics that even I know.

  He puts a cloak of an enigma over Holly’s eyes, and she falls for it, but I’m not easily fooled, and I see right through his insincerity.

  It’s his ass that karma is going to bite; it would be a scene that I want to see unfold.

  Kian stands the moment I lay eyes on Holly walking out of her lecture hall building. Her tiny shoulders hold up her backpack while she crinkles her nose at the sun beaming down on her face.

  She is too adorable. I want to scoop her up and shower her with kisses.

  Kian and I make our way towards her. She doesn’t see us with the sun in her eyes, and the girls that walk past us stop us with a high-pitched clear of their throats.

  I stop to see what they want, and half of my brain always knows that this would end in annoyance; it’s always the same with women who try to get my attention, they want to see if they can get my number or go to a local place to grab something to eat so that they get to know me.

  I have no interest in learning what these women do in their lives; most of the women who come up to me are made from the same mold.

  Lust is the main ingredient with a strong dosage of selfishness. Those qualities hit too close to home. It’s practically what I am made of when it comes to my sweetheart. I can’t stop the obsession singeing my veins.

  “Hi!” one of them is one pitch from screaming.

  “What can I do for you, ladies?” I put on a faux smile.

  Kian is with Holly, keeping her at his side for safety purposes as I deal with these girls.

  “I’m Lydia, and this is Monica,” the girl says as she gestures to her friend who blushes at my attention.

  I don’t make an effort to remember their names or faces, they are irrelevant in every sense, and they are wasting the time that I can never get back.

  “We were wondering if you want to come back to our place, we want to get to know you!” the other one giggles behind her hand.

  Just as expected, but it’s quite the shock for them to hint something other than a drink or food. Young people these days are bold and confident about what they want, but it disgusts me more than people who actually try to get to know me first.

  “I apologize, ladies. I am spoken for,” I smile and turn around to walk away from them.

  I don’t pay any attention to the flabbergasted sputters. I’m too busy taking in Holly’s beauty under the sun with the gloomy cloud offered by the stoic Kian. He puts a damper in the scene with his presence, what a bothersome man.

  “Hi!” Holly waves with a big grin.

  My lips tug for a sincere smile as I get close enough to bend my waist with a kiss to her soft cheek. I pull back to watch a blush blooms over her skin. She makes a face with her pink, pouty lips.

  “We’re in public, Isaac. People will get the wrong idea.”

  I don’t care what people think. It would be better if they know that Holly is not available for suitors, especially college boys who have no clue about what a precious, little thing like Holly needs.

  She needs a man.

  “What are you two doing here? I’m sure you guys aren’t students,” she says as she squints her eyes, looking at me and at Kian to gauge our reaction.

  Our poker faces reveal nothing, and she huffs adorably.

  If she continues to be her loveable self, I’m going to kiss her senseless, and I won’t take responsibility for what could happen next.

  “I want to take you on a lunch date,” I say.

  That isn’t what I planned this morning, but it wouldn’t hurt to spend more time with her instead of stalking her from the shadows.

  “Don’t you have work, Mr. Big-Shot-Lawyer?” her eyebrow jumps.

  I do, but I don’t want to work. My firm can handle the clients that come in every day; new ones are thrown to other capable lawyers in the firm.

  “Our date comes first,” I answer.

  Holly glances up at Kian, “And you? Did you fix the shower yet?”

  “No,” he grumbles, “I’m your date too.”

  She laughs, melodic and beautiful. “Don’t friends usually say ‘third-wheel’?”

  She thinks we’re all friends; I desire more than friendship from her, and I am an acquaintance with Kian at best.

  “It’s a date,” Kian says adamantly, and Holly doesn’t correct him while she just accepts it.

  “Okay, I guess we’re all on a date,” she hums, curling her tiny fingers around her backpack straps.

  Some students walk slower to watch us. I’m sure we gain attention from all sides; Kian and I are bigger than normal men. We stand out too much with my thousand-dollar tailored suit and his visible ink on his arms.

  Dwarfing Holly with our heights makes it hard to distinguish if we were her lovers or the bodyguards, both would be correct in a sense, and I want it to be true.

  Holly is just too oblivious to read the hints that I have been hammering into her head, but her dense skull won’t penetrate for the message to go in.

  Though I am a man of action, and I would rather show her what she means to me.

  “Does that mean you’re both on a date with each other—”

  “No,” our voices simultaneously shoot down that thought.

  “Okay,” she draws out but shrugs when she puts on a wider smile.

  “Let’s go, I’m hungry!” she laughs, guiding us to the side of the road.

  I take her arm and stop her next step, “My car is over there.”

  She looks at the direction of my finger and her lips round to see the new sleek car. I brought a new one just because I wanted to. I was getting sick of the other one and needed a change. It has better maintenance, and it’s the newest prototype for swift speed.

  “Do you guys have something against colors?” she asks as she walks, “It’s always grey or black, maybe a navy blue once in a while.”

  “Do you not like it?” I ask, flashing a glance at Kian whose attention is divided between Holly and the area around us.

  “I do,” she says, blinking up at the blue sky, “It makes you guys look so cool!”

  My chest swells, I make a mental note to throw away the pink dress shirt that I have. There is nothing wrong with it. I just haven’t worn them much since I brought it for an occasion that required some pink for breast cancer awareness.

  “Supervillains suit your style.”

  She has no idea how much of villains Kian and I are.

  Chapter Six

  Kian

  “Ms. Price?”

  My eyes train on the two men in suits; the guns and the badges clearly show their occupation. One of them is heavier set than his partner, but he seems to be in charge with his senior field agent status.

 

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