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TnT Ch. 01

By: slyc_willie



(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.


TnT Ch. 01



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."




TnT Ch. 01



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?"




TnT Ch. 02



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.




TnT Ch. 03



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."




TnT Ch. 03



"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.




TnT Ch. 04



"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.




TnT Ch. 04



"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.




TnT Ch. 05



* * * *

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."





TnT Ch. 05



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.




TnT Ch. 06



"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.




TnT Ch. 06



"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.




TnT Ch. 07



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 & 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 . . . ."




TnT Ch. 07



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."




TnT Ch. 08



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-