Page 16 of Captive

“That is not—”

“Because, I assure you, we can. We’re just better at controlling our impulses than most men these days. I’d bet anything most women out there have fantasized at one point or another about killing someone. Women can be violent too. We’re not just nurturers by nature, we’re also humans, and human beings are violent.” She speaks with conviction, such conviction I can’t argue with.

And I wouldn’t. Because she’s not wrong. Everyone is capable of terrible deeds. People simply have a different threshold for accepting bullshit and the status quo. Some people need to be pushed quite far before they’d even think about hurting someone else, but the option is always there, ready to emerge in the back of someone’s head.

I decide to change the subject by asking, “Were Chad and Aaron your only kills?” Thankfully, she’s a bit riled up from my previous statement, so she isn’t currently wrinkling her nose. Good.

“Yes.”

Even more impressive that she was smart enough to copy D.D.K.’s methods. Typically killers evolve from their first kills, get into their own routines. Copying another serial killer isn’t a normal choice of action for someone like us.

“So Brock would’ve been your third, had we not been there,” I say. “You would’ve joined us in the ranks of being an official serial killer, by some definitions.”

“Yeah, thanks for that. You know, it’s kind of funny that you keep saying ‘us,’ like you go out on the kills, too. It sounds like you’re always here, the man behind the computer or whatever. Have you ever gotten your hands dirty like Royal and Ezra?” Her curiosity makes sense; she is owed some truth, but until I speak with the Benefactor, she’ll have to wait.

“You’d be surprised at what I’m capable of, Abby.”

She grins at me. “Ooh, chills.”

“I know I said I would tell you more about us, but there are some things I need to do, first. I hope you understand.” I can tell she’s about to argue with me, so I add, “Please, be patient. This is… new to all of us here. You’re new. You’re a complication. I will tell you more, I promise, just give me some time.”

Abby stands. “Fine. I guess I have lots of time, anyway. I’ll go back to bugging Ezra.” She heads toward the door, but before she leaves, she stops and glances back at me. The corners of her mouth tug into a sly smile. “You looked good holding that knife, just thought you should know.”

And then she leaves, as if she didn’t just say something completely out of pocket.

I sit there, staring at the door long after she’s not in sight. I don’t know whether she meant that last remark seriously or not, and if she did mean it seriously, I don’t quite know how I should take it.

Let’s just say it’s a good thing she left the room after that, because the blush that creeps up my face in response to that comment is not something I can fight.

Chapter Seven – Abby

When Royal wakes up, he ventures to the stores to get me everything on my list. That means I spend more time with Ezra. It’s dinner time by the time Royal returns, and he comes bearing tons of shopping bags and some Chinese takeout.

Royal, Ezra, and I sit in the living room with our food, while Hawthorne takes his to his office—the dude spends a lot of time in that room. He must live in it. He’s… not exactly what I pictured, but at the same time, I can totally see how he fits in this trio. He’s the brains to Royal and Ezra’s brawn.

“So,” I say with a mouthful. Not a very ladylike lady, but as soon as I moved out of my parents’ house, I stopped giving a shit about not talking with my mouth full of food. “You guys don’t eat together like a family?”

Royal keeps his dark eyes on his food, and he doesn’t say a word, leaving Ezra to answer: “No. Believe it or not, we’re not actually a family. We’re more like coworkers who happen to live together.”

Makes sense. I mean, besides enjoying a bit of serial-killing every now and then, they don’t really strike me as related.

“If this is a coworkers situation, why do you guys live together?”

Royal answers this one bluntly, “Keeps the bills down.”

“Right, and that matters because you guys don’t have day jobs. So, which one out of the three of you comes from money? One of you has to. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Take this house, for instance. It’s not ginormous, but it’s big enough that a normal family wouldn’t be able to afford it with your average, run-of-the-mill job. It’s a decently-sized, middle-class house.

Royal and Ezra exchange looks. It’s a moment before Ezra tells me, “None of us come from money.” The statement is not at all what I’m expecting, and it takes a while for it to fully process in my head.

“How’s that possible? If none of you come from money and none of you have jobs, then how does this all work? Is there a fourth member to this team that doesn’t live here?” It’s the only logical thing. Someone is funding this, them, but who?

“We can’t tell you” is what Ezra says, though at least he says it apologetically. He knows how badly I want to know more about them and what they do.

I wonder how long Hawthorne needs before he tells me some stuff. I’m absolutely dying here.

I don’t know if Hawthorne told them about our little chat, but since I’m with either one of them at all times, I doubt it. Things are still new. All things considered, things are okay. Hell, they could’ve been a lot worse. I’m grateful I happened to run into serial killers with a code.

“How often do you guys go out on a kill?” I ask, figuring that, at least, is safe to talk about. Sometimes the bodies are found quickly, but other times it’s so long after they’re killed they’re nothing but a bloated, semi-decomposed corpse rotting in pieces.