She looked over at him from her place at the kitchen table, eating an orange. Nobody had that number but Sara and Jim. "Who is it?"
"Her," he said, sliding the phone across to her. "We need to get an invite. Or just party crash. I vote the second, personally."
"Hanover isn't a big player, in the scheme of things. Probably no security to speak of. We'll party crash. It will make sense, given how little time has passed since we've known her," she shrugged, popping another slice of orange into her mouth.
He nodded, reaching across to take his phone back along with a slice of orange. He ate it as he texted Sara back for details on the party time and locations.
"What are we going to do with Keira? I don't particularly love the idea of leaving her alone here," she sighed. "But it's not exactly like we can hire a babysitter."
He was quiet for a few moments as he finished texting.
"She comes with us. My cousin."
She nodded, polishing off the orange. "Okay. Shouldn't be too hard to sell."
He nodded. "We look similar enough, and the age gap isn't too significant." He glanced over at her. He wondered for a moment if it bothered her, that he had a kid, but he decided he didn't want to know.
She let out a dry chuckle. "You know, one benefit of owning a uterus is that you never have to wonder if you've got any kids out there. Unless I was somehow abducted by aliens and don't remember."
"Did I forget to tell you about the time I found you unconscious in the middle of a cornfield?" he asked absently, flicking through his phone.
"You're hilarious. Either way, it's nice to know that I don't have stray genetic material just wandering," she snorted, rolling her eyes. "I'm too young for that crap. God."
He rolled his eyes and stood, walking over to grab his coat. "I'm going to the shooting range. I'll be back later."
"Okay. If you kill an innocent civilian on the way home, do text me to warn me. There are some things I can't let you get bloody handprints all over," she hummed, picking up her phone and starting to scroll through the news.
He let out a mock sigh. "And to think, it used to be when I murdered someone you'd jump me the second you saw me. The passion is gone. Farewell, honeymoon phase."
She smirked, deciding to treat that sentence semi-seriously. "Oh, I will be jumping you the second I see you. I just won't be wearing anything stainable."
"Is that a suggestion to murder someone on the way home, or just a 'just in case'?" he asked dryly as he paused by the door.
She looked up from her phone to look at him, still smirking. "I think you know."
He smirked back, eyes darkening. "Might be home sooner than planned... We'll see." Then he headed out the door for the car parked in the garage.
She chuckled to herself and stood from the table to head for the stairs. Time to start planning what she would wear to the party.
He texted her from the shooting range as he waited for his latest opponent to take his pathetic shots.
Too many people give a shit in the suburbs... I'm looking forward to the challenge of staying below the radar. S
Going to subtract 1 from the suburban population? L She responded, standing in the walk-in closet, weight on one leg, hand on her hip, fingers drumming thoughtfully. Black, or red?
At least. We'll see how things go. S he responded, standing once the man stepped away and placing all six of his shots dead center on the man's spread. His bullets only left one hole in the paper.
She smirked and slid her phone back into her pocket, just barely turning her head towards the door to call, "Keira? If you rather not be mentally scarred for the rest of your life, I'd suggest you go into your room and find yourself a good movie. Don't say I didn't warn you!"
There was an exasperated sigh, and the teen appeared outside the door. "What are you going to do?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
"I'm going to assume that you rather not see Sebastian and I fucking against the nearest possible surface," she hummed, deciding on the red and putting away the black lingerie. "But half your family is psychotic, so I won't try to predict you."
"Jesus, no," she snorted, shaking her head. "I'll find a movie. What do you mean, though, that my family is psychotic?"
"Oh no, now is not going to be story time," she shook her head, "I'm looking forward to having fun in a little while and I do not need to be dredging that shit out of the depths. Ask your father. If he doesn't want to tell you, it's not my business."
"Really? 'Go ask your dad?' Coward's escape," she muttered under her breath, turning to head for her room.
"Watch it, you little shit. You're lucky I didn't just lie to you," she snapped, following her out into the bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind her. Touchy subject. But she wouldn't tell Keira anything Sebastian didn't want her to know.
"Thank you, oh benevolent one," she said sarcastically with an exaggerated bow before entering her room.
She leaned back against the door, staring at the neatly made bed with a sigh. An asshole, just like her dad. She had to wonder what the mother had been like. She shook her head of those thoughts and stepped away from the door, getting undressed.
Hunting in suburbia was easier than he anticipated. People liked their semblance security, sure, but in actuality their systems were laughable and their homes isolated. Sure, it wasn't his usual jaunt in an alley, but it was nice to change things up, add a bit of risk.
He chose a house on a cul de sac, removed from the road for what he was sure had been some very expensive 'privacy'.
It did very little for the woman he found inside, though he appreciated the advantage immensely. She apparently wasn't a fan of cameras, either (he'd made a scan for technology as he'd entered), so his life was simple.
He made no particular effort to be clean with her fluids, though he manipulated the blood spatter as best he could to send confusing signals. Eventually he stood, wiped his prints from the knife and tossed it aside, and examined his work. He'd laid out her organs in some sort of ritualistic pattern, to throw whoever investigated off the trail. With that, he headed out of the house, dragging his feet to obscure any footprints, and got into his car where he'd parked it behind the hedgerow. Within five minutes, he was gone without a trace.
Lorna settled herself down on the sofa in the living room, reading a magazine that had been left here by Jim's home decorators about cooking. It wasn't exactly captivating, but she knew Sebastian would be home soon, so she didn't feel the need to truly engross herself in anything. She'd changed into sweatpants and a shoulder-less top she'd reserved for such an occasion, the blood-red strap of her bra on display. Just so he knew not to rip anything.
He pulled the car into the garage and waited for the door to fully close behind him before he emerged, his clothes flecked and stained crimson. He was pulsing, every part of him roiling with energy, the kill still vivid in his mind. Her gurgled attempts at screams, hands clawing, eyes wide with the realization that she was going to die, that Sebastian was going to kill her.
He'd covered the car with trash bags to save the clean-up, but for the moment he left them in place, heading into the house via the connecting door, a small smirk in place, eyes ravenous as they fell on Lorna, sweeping over her. He eyes quickly found the red of the bra strap and his breath caught slightly as he walked forward.
"Honey, I'm home..." he murmured, his voice soft and deadly, a silk noose.
Her eyes roved over him, taking in the specks of crimson. If she didn't know better, she'd have said he'd purposely worn light colors today. "Who are you wearing?" she smiled, reaching out a hand towards him.
"Margaret Turnbull, judging by her mail," he said, taking the hand as if dancing and stepping forward, bringing her hand up to trace through the blood spattered across his cheek.
She gathered up a smudge of still-wet blood onto her thumb, eyes dark. She stood. "And what did you do to Miss Margaret Turnbull?"
He smiled, pulling her closer and stepping in against her, a hand wrapping around her waist to hold her there as he dropped her hand, reaching up to get a light grip on her throat. "I crushed her larynx," he murmured, stained fingers leaving a trail as he dragged them across her throat, "So that she couldn't scream..."
Then he let the hand drop, and examined it, sighing slightly to note most of the blood had dried. Then he smirked, reaching up to press his finger between her lips, between her teeth as she opened. "I need ink to tell the story properly," he murmured, heart thundering as he waited for the pain and the fresh blood.
She grinned, biting down slowly until she tasted blood, her heart jumping as the taste of copper spread across her tongue, and then let him go, even though she wanted more, wanted to taste him in the most intimate way. "By all means, feel free to use my body as a canvas. We wouldn't want anything to be left out, would we?"
"It would be a shame," he agreed quietly, examining the blood rolling down his finger with a smile before shifting his other hand to remove her loose shirt, shifting it up over her head and tossing it aside. He paused for a moment to admire her bra, eyes catching hers with a grin. "Incredible color choice," he murmured as he pressed his oozing finger into the dip of her collarbone and dragged it slowly downward, holding her gaze. He lifted his finger just for the bra, then dropping again, over her sternum and her abdomen. "I cut her open," he whispered, a low growl in his voice, his nail scraping her skin.
"You must have been careful, to have this little blood on you," she murmured, just a tad breathless, all her focus on the slight burn left behind by his finger.
He knew he was taking it slowly, too slowly for her liking, but he was coiled up like a spring, bloodlust roaring, and he wanted her to join him.
"I was precise," he said quietly, leaning in to let his tongue trace her ear. "Exact. Ritualistic. Wanted to throw anyone investigating off my tail... I removed her liver first..." He traced his finger over her corresponding patch of skin. "Left it attached, just severed the tissue holding it in place..."
She shivered, closing her eyes to imagine it, imagine him bent down over a living body and cutting it open, the blood welling up wherever he touched. "I almost wish I'd gone with you," she whispered, hooking a finger into the waistband of his trousers, just to keep herself anchored to something. "I love watching you work..."
He smiled. "Next time we go together," he agreed quietly, nipping her under the corner of her jaw. "What would you have taken next?"
"Was she alive?" she breathed, lifting up her head just slightly to allow him access. "If she was, I'd have gone for the kidneys. Wouldn't care what was in my way."
"She was," he confirmed, her words bringing imagery to the surface, and he groaned slightly. He moved his lips down to her shoulder, light scruff brushing against her neck. "Trying to scream, but that's difficult without vocal cords..." He spread a hand across her abdomen, fingers splaying wide. "I took her intestines first. Unraveled them slowly and used them to make designs on the floor... that's about when she went into shock."
"Mm, I bet," she chuckled, leaning into the searing warmth of his hand, "The psychological damage alone... When did you take her heart?"
"After her kidneys and her stomach," he said quietly, pushing down the sweatpants with his good hand, his bloody finger still tracing his path. "It was still beating... she was a hell of a woman..." He drew a circle over her heart, feeling her pulse quick beneath her skin. "Actually saw the thing in my hand before she finally died..."
"Hot damn," she murmured, her breath coming not quite as easily as it normally did. She wanted him to go faster, to scrape harder, but she knew that that wasn't his game right now. He wouldn't. "Did you leave her there like that?"
"No, made her organs a bit more... ornamental. Then yes, I left her on the floor." He finally bit her, like he'd been dying to do, his teeth sinking into the turn of her neck and shoulder, piercing flesh, blood welling up.
"Fuck," she gasped, arching a little without meaning to, digging her nails into his abdomen. "Sebastian... Fuck me, please."
He smiled, dragging his tongue over the marks, teeth stained red. He stood back just enough to begin removing his clothes, unbuttoning his blood-stained shirt.
She helped him, ignoring her own for the moment, hands going to practically tear off his belt, whipping it out of the loops with a slap of leather against the wall behind her as she tossed it aside.
"Oh, good, you're caught up," he muttered as he gave up on buttons and just ripped his shirt the rest of the way open, tossing it aside as he stepped out of his trousers. He reached out to push the blood red panties off of her hips, before sliding his hands up to her bra.
She closed the distance between them again, disregarding his convenience for ridding of her final article of clothing, leaning up to capture his lips heatedly, hungrily, her hand sliding down his chest.
He unlatched the back of her bra, but left it hanging on her shoulders as she pressed up against him, his hands sliding back down to grip her arse and pulling her hips firmly against his. He kissed her back, his tongue pressing forward to slide against hers.
She slid a hand into his hair, getting a rough grip, her hand between them shoving down the waistband of his pants. "Against the wall?" she breathed, pulling away for just a second, lips trailing across his jaw.
"Either that or the counter," he retorted, reaching down to grab her hips and lift her up either way, pulling her legs around his waist, tilting his head back and pulling slightly against her grip in his hair with a moan.
"Whichever makes it easier for you to fuck me," she groaned, slipping off her bra before wrapping her arms around her neck, her fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders. "Bend me over something if you have to, I don't care."
"As appealing as that idea is..." he muttered, shoving her against a wall without much delicacy. He didn't bother with any more conversation, just pushed into her with all the energy and strain that had been gamboling around his body for hours.
"Fuck, fuck fuck fuck," she gasped, arching, clawing at his shoulders, unable to keep still with the sudden rush of intense stimulation. "Seb."
He groaned as her nails gouged into his shoulders, and took just a moment to let her settle around him before he was thrusting into her, starving for sensation. "I was th-thinking about this... when I killed her... abo-mmnn - about fucking you into the wall..."
She groaned, forehead falling onto his shoulder, breaths already coming hard. She took savage pleasure in the fact that he thought about her when he was killing someone else, something almost as good to him as sex. Another reminder of how much he was hers.
He swore under his breaths as she suddenly drilled her hips against his with startling energy, and grinned. "You like that?" he asks breathlessly. "Like the idea of me carving your name into her ribcage?"
"Yes," she gasped, fingers tightening on him, getting a grip so she could lift herself up and slam back down, another ragged moan leaving her lips. "Christ, yes."
He laughed even as he pushed back, pinning her almost harshly against the wall, his forehead pressed to the cool paint above her shoulder. "Christ, I so want... want to kill with you... there..." he panted, a hand reaching up to grip her hair. "Hold your gaze while they die... Watch their blood stain you..."
"God, I love you," she groaned, feeling like she was on fire, the best fire she'd ever felt in her damn life, the cold wall pressed up against her back doing nothing to soothe it. "You're so hot when you're covered in blood, you know that?"
"I've picked that up," he gasped, his tongue finding the side of her neck where he'd cut her before, needing to taste her, taste her blood, the images in his mind too potent and visceral to ignore. He moaned as his tongue agitated the wound again and blood bloomed across his tongue, his hips driving into hers furiously as heat raced up his spine. "Wasn't enough this time... need to be dripping in it..."
"We'll go out again," she told him, panting hard, enthralled by the friction, the pure blazing heat of him, "After the party. We'll- shit- we'll make a kill together."
"Brilliant... Always wanted to try draining someone... getting every. Last. Drop..." he punctuated the last three words with the movements of his hips. He was starting to get close, the muscles along his broad back tensing and rolling with each movement. "Fuck, Lorna.."
The sound of him starting to tip over the edge was a rush, her back arching, nails clawing, breathy gasps the only sound she could make. Almost there, almost there...
He pulled back enough to meet her gaze as he bit hard into his own lip, a trickle of blood starting down over his chin as he chased release, every part of him focused on her and him and them as he finally careened over the edge, pulling her against him with a yell, eyes clamping shut.
She swore as she followed him over, leaning forward to kiss him hard, shuddering at the taste of blood, of knowing that it was his, white spots flaring up behind her eyes. When it was over she was still clinging to him, breathing hard.
He slowly sank to the ground with her in his lap, legs too shaky to support both their weights. He took slow breaths, then let out a small laugh, nipping her ear. " Fuck."
"Yeah, I think that about covers it," she breathed, draped over him like a particularly in-the-way knapsack. "Jesus. I'm glad I warned the kid."
"Me too. I didn't even think about that... fuck, that would have been hilarious," he snorted, chuckling against her shoulder.
"God, like we need someone living in this house who wants to kill us," she rolled her eyes, a hand absently going to run her fingers through his hair. "I already had to fend off questions about your family today."
"That will be an entertaining eventual conversation to have," he smirked, leaning into her fingers in his hair.
"I don't know how 'eventual' it's going to be," she chuckled, a small little rush of warmth spreading through her at how easy it was to be affectionate with him now. "She gave me quite the attitude when I told her I wasn't going to tell her shit. I didn't know what you wanted to keep to yourself."
"I appreciate it. Though not that you seem to think I can't stand up to the interrogation of a sixteen-year-old," he snorted.
"Oh, hush," she rolled her eyes, still good-humored. "You know what I mean."
"That's a wild assumption," he muttered, but his tone was amused.
"I'm good at those," she chuckled, leaning back to kiss him once on the cheek and then disentangled herself, standing with a groan. "I'm going to shower before I get all crusty with blood. Coming?"
"Already did," he smirked, though he stood and stretched, heading for the stairs.
"Hilarious," she snorted, following after, just a tad stiffly. "When is the party? I don't think I've asked yet."
"Tomorrow night. Some sort of holiday gathering," he snorted, walking into their room and the bathroom to turn on the shower.
"Oh, it's holiday themed? I wonder if they packed you any ugly holiday sweaters," she laughed, waiting for the spray to get a little warmer before getting in. "I can wear red."
"Then I might end up finger fucking you under a table. Fair warning," he said, stepping in beside her.
She reached for the soap, deciding she really didn't want to get a dumb infection where he'd cut her. "As long as you know retaliation is likely."
"Oh, it's expected," he said, leaning into the spray for a moment to rinse off his face before stepping back again, watching the dried blood dissolve into the water. He held up the finger she'd bit, rinsing it under the spray as well.
"I'm glad we understand each other," she smirked, shampooing her hair. "Are we bringing Keira? I can't remember if I asked."
"I think we should, yes," he said, reaching out to trace his finger- which was bleeding again- across her shoulders, watching the blood mix with the water and suds running down her back.
"Okay. I'll get her something to wear," she hummed, not bothering to turn around to see what he was doing. "I do so hope she doesn't piss off someone we need to suck up to."
"She does seem to have a bit of a tact issue," he agreed with a small smirk. "Must be from her mother."
She chuckled, wringing her hair out and moving to step out of the shower. "What was she like, anyway? Do you even remember her?"
He nodded just a little. "I do, yes. I was infatuated with her for a few years. Then the Army happened and I found my calling. Never looked back."
"Were you with her all that time?" she asked, pulling a towel off the rack and drying off her dripping red hair.
"Hell no," he laughed. "Drunken spring break in Scotland. Had a Polaroid and a plan though." He turned off the water and stepped out.
"A plan?" she raised her eyebrows, turning to look at him as she wrapped the towel around her waist, pulling her damp hair over one shoulder. "Christ, I'm shocked she was alive after you left."
"I wasn't always aware I was this fucked up, Harrison," he said, amused. "Took the Army to dig that up. I embraced it thoroughly once I knew it was there, but for a few years Scotland and alcohol and red hair meant escape." He glanced at her red hair with a smirk. "All roads lead to hell, it seems."
"Please, I'm easily the best thing to ever happen to you," she scoffed, smirking, turning for the door to the bedroom. "Hell, my ass."
"And what a lovely ass it is," he smirked, following after her and smacking said rear end as he passed her by.
"I can't believe we put up with each other," she laughed, swatting his shoulder before he got out of range. "Although I think we've both mellowed a little. Gross."
"I know. It's disturbing," he muttered, making a face as he pulled out clothes. "Keira thought we were married. Bad sign."
"We are actually posing as married," she pointed out. "Either way, this is probably the longest relationship either of us have ever had, I'm not really surprised. You know me as well as you know Jim. Better, I guess. I just don't pay you to."
"I suppose," he sighed, pulling on pants and trousers. He glanced over at her and then back to his clothes with a smirk. "What would our neighbors think if they knew of our murderous habits?"
"They'd probably think we belonged in prison," she chuckled, getting dressed herself, half through the doorway of the walk-in. "Maybe they'd make an exhibit out of the house."
"That would be hilarious," he smirked. "I'm half tempted to start a string of ritualistic murders just to hear them all chatter about it," he added with a grin, pulling on a shirt.
"Who knew you were such an attention whore?" she teased, pulling a sweater over her head. She wanted Keira to have as little of an idea about the extent of her scars as possible. She didn't want to have to deal with any comments.
"It's less attention and more amusement at the fear-mongering that would go on," he chuckled, heading for the stairs.
She simply shook her head and finished getting dressed. He had no idea how ridiculous he was.
He left Keira up to her own devices, and she eventually emerged when he was halfway through cooking dinner. He looked up as she came down the stairs and nodded slightly, turning the sausages on the pan.
Keira took up a spot leaning against the counter a few feet away, watching him cook in silence for a few moments before speaking. "Lorna said something about your family in passing earlier, then wouldn't explain what the fuck she was on about. Why does she think your family is psychotic?"
He smirked a little. "Well, they pointed a fake gun at me to get my attention, for one thing," he said, shifting the sausages and glancing up at her.
She huffed an exasperated sigh. "Jesus. You know what I mean. Give me a straight answer, huh?"
"Why?" he asked, still with a relaxed grin. "What concern is it of yours?" He returned his attention to his food.
"I think I deserve to know who I'm related to," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Especially considering how touchy she got. What happened to her?"
His expression hardened, though the smile remained. He turned around to face her, leaning against the counter, eyes cold, knife still casually in hand. "A lot," he said coolly. "I imagine you've wondered where the words carved into every inch of my skin came from?"
She leaned back just a little, sensing the need to tread carefully. He was a trained killer, she had to remind herself. This picture of domesticity he'd been presenting was a front. "I've wondered, yeah," she nodded. "Didn't think I should bring it up."
"More tactful than I was giving you credit for," he chuckled. There was no humor in his voice. "This was carved into me over a period of months. Over, and over, and over again. By the time I was able to escape, I'd temporarily lost my sight and was a bit out of spitting distance of my sanity. So understand me when I say that Harrison had it far worse, and you would do well to respect her for it."
She swallowed, an embarrassed flush appearing on her cheeks. She didn't give most people enough respect to feel embarrassed when they chastised her, so this was a bit of a rarity. She let out a small, uncomfortable cough. "So, uh... I'm guessing a Moran had something to do with it?"
"Something, yes," he said, the coolness slipping away like it had never been there, his demeanor returning to neutral. He went back to chopping vegetables to add in with the sausage. "Now, ask yourself if you really, reallywant to know. If you still do, I'd be happy to inform you in graphic detail. If you're content just living life in a bubble I'm happy not to pop for you, then you can start peeling those potatoes."
She grimaced, and reached for the potatoes, but she had a stubborn streak a mile wide, and she was certain that her little bubble had been popped ages ago, and living her life in ignorance wouldn't help a thing. "I'll peel the potatoes, but I still want to know."
"My sister kept me locked in a root cellar smaller than the space under that table for the better part of three months. My father, your grandfather, kept Lorna locked in his basement and raped and tortured her daily. Any questions?" His voice was nonchalant.
"Fucking hell..." she muttered, very nearly dropping a potato on the floor. That was not what she'd expected. She'd known her family was fucked up, but this? She cleared her throat. "Why?"
He looked up. "Because Lorna found out about what my father used to do to me as a child and took a little revenge. My father escalated. As for my sister, I was in the way of her political career by existing. She removed the issue."
"Jesus. That certainly puts my mum's side of the family into perspective," she shook her head, still absorbing all of that. "My other grandfather sold peat, for Christ's sake. Not exactly criminal stuff, that."
"No, not exactly," he agreed, pushing the pile of peppers and onions into the skillet.
"Are they still alive, your sister and father?" she ventured, after a moment of peeling potatoes in silence.
"My sister is. She's... useful. You might get to meet her, who knows?" he said, pushing the contents of the skillet around a bit. "My father was accidentally brutally murdered." He glanced over at her. "Slice the potatoes up and start passing them to me."
She nodded, dragging over a free cutting board and doing as he said. So Lorna was a killer, too. She hadn't been sure. A criminal, yes, but not all criminals were murderers. "How'd you get out? She let you go?"
"My network found me and extracted me," he said, turning down the heat slightly and walking over to the cabinet to find a few spices he needed.
"Huh. Useful," she murmured, shrugging. She passed a few chopped potatoes his way.
"That is one of the advantages to having a network that doesn't hate you," he agreed with a smirk.
"And being important, I'd assume," she snorted, rolling her eyes a little.
"Yes. Also something to strive for," he agreed with a chuckle, reaching out to scoop up some of her diced potatoes and throwing them into his pan.
"People generally don't like me," she shrugged, making just a bit of a face. "Unlike the two of you. I saw you at the art gallery, through the windows."
He also made a face, which was remarkably similar, though he didn't notice. "Grifting. Very much not my style."
"That's what she is? I've never seen a grifter so fucked up in my life. Thought your network was a little more cutthroat than that," she said with raised eyebrows, passing over the rest of the potatoes.
"Moriarty's versatile. We do everything from grifting to heists to hits. Generally all towards some grander plan." He tossed the remaining potatoes in and turned the heat back up. "And she's had extenuating circumstances."
"Yeah? And what are those? You?" she snorted, leaning against the counter again.
"'Those' are none of your business," he said calmly, turning the stove off. "Go tell Harrison dinner is ready. And be polite. I like her more than you."
"Sheesh, okay," she groaned, turning around with a hint of attitude and walking out of the room. When she told Harrison dinner was ready, it was with a lot more respect than earlier.