Butterfly Assassin Read online

  “Yeah,” Harry answered. A rustling sounded, probably Harry pulling the money out of his pocket. Then silence.

  Aaron pictured him handing it over and one of the others counting it.

  “It’s all there,” West said. Even his voice grated on Aaron’s nerves. He clenched and unclenched his hands, claws itching to slide out.

  “Right.” Blake again. “That’s your debt paid, Nash. Since you paid on time, Mr Smith’ll be happy to extend a line of credit to you whenever necessary. And not just for betting on the boxing.”

  “How nice of him,” Aaron couldn’t help but mutter.

  “Yep,” Archer said, “he’s a selfless kind of guy.”

  “Thanks,” Harry answered Blake, “but I won’t be needing it again.”

  “That’s what they all say.” The amusement was clear in Blake’s voice. “Have a good evening, Nash. See you soon.”

  The shuffle of footsteps sounded.

  “Fuck,” Frank hissed. “He needs to ask about membership.”

  Aaron held his breath. Harry wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t forget.

  “There’s another thing I wanted to ask about,” Harry said, and the footsteps stopped.

  “Make it quick.”

  “I want to become a member.”

  “Do you now?” Blake sounded wary, and Aaron tensed. “It’ll cost you.”

  “I know how much it is.”

  “Fair enough. I can’t do it now, we need some details from you, and I don’t want to hang around here any longer tonight. Besides, I’ll need to check with the Boss. Bring your money to the fight next week. Come with Rob, and we’ll sort it there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me, Nash. I’m not doing you any favours.”

  Silence.

  Then Harry’s huge sigh of relief indicated they’d gone or he’d walked away at least. “It’s done,” he said, for their benefit. “They disappeared around the corner and we just heard a car drive away. I only recognised one of them. Not sure of his name, though. He’s usually on the door when I get there with Rob. Miserable bastard. Always greets you with a scowl when he takes your money.”

  Aaron relaxed into his seat. Harry sounded a lot more like his usual self now that it was all done and out of the way.

  “Right,” he carried on. “Just about to meet up with the two from Isaac’s unit.”

  “Our unit,” Isaac corrected in the background, making Aaron smile at the reminder.

  “Our unit,” Harry parroted, sounding like he was smiling too. “Please disconnect from my phone now. I’m turning it off anyway, not sure whether that will affect things, but whatever.”

  Stewart clicked a few keys on the laptop, then shut the lid. “He’s gone,” he said, sitting back in his chair. Glancing at the others in the room, he said, “What exactly did we get from that little exchange?”

  Archer straightened, picked up one of the photos, and pinned it on the far wall. “From what Harper has said and from what we just heard”—he tapped Blake’s face—“I believe this is who we need to get close to.” He met Aaron’s gaze, another half-smile. “Well, it’s who Harper needs to get close to. Close enough to listen to at any rate. Out of the men we’ve seen, he seems to speak for Smith. If anyone’s going to know if Smith’s connected to these murders, then it’s going to be him. As far as—”

  “It’s Aaron.” The words just fell out of his mouth, but he was tired of being referred to as Harper.

  “What?” Archer looked at him quizzically, as though he’d spoken in a foreign language.

  “You called me Harper, but I hate being called by my last name. Reminds me of school.”

  All eyes turned his way, and Aaron suddenly wished he’d kept quiet. Archer had a pink tinge to his cheeks—probably a match for Aaron’s—and the rest of them seemed a mixture of amused and whatever else that look was that Stewart was aiming at him.

  Clearing his throat, Archer said. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned back to the photo on the wall. The tips of his ears were pink, Aaron noted. Why was he so embarrassed? Aaron was the one who appeared to have said something wrong. “As I was saying, as far as the rest of us are concerned, we need to blend in, not attract attention. We’re there for backup and to gather any information we can without putting either Nash or Harp— Aaron, at risk.”

  There were a couple of eye rolls at Archer using Aaron’s first name, but all Aaron felt was a flicker of warmth inside. The way Archer’s tongue curled around his name made Aaron want to jump out of his chair and pin him against the wall. His teeth ached at the thought of scraping them over the base of Archer’s throat, pressing in enough to leave a mark.

  A familiar scent drifted up, and Aaron suppressed a groan as he subtly leaned forward to hide his lower half from view.

  Thank fuck he was the only shifter in the room. He didn’t need Archer knowing his mind was in the gutter.

  And maybe he should stop referring to him as Archer in his head.

  Michael.

  Aaron said it over a few times, found it didn’t feel that weird. Was that a good thing or not?

  “Right,” Stewart said before Aaron could dwell on it further. “When does this all start? Nash is—” He glanced over at Aaron and grinned. “Sorry, Harry is going to a fight next week. Are we all tagging along?”

  “No.” Michael turned to Aaron. “How many people does Harry usually go to these things with? Is it normal for a member to invite a few people?”

  “You’d be better off asking Harry. I don’t think it’s unusual for people to bring guests, but not everyone does it. Whoever they bring, they’re responsible for. So if anyone goes squealing to the police…” He let them draw their own conclusions. “I’m not sure how many Rob usually takes with him. I know Harry’s been a few times where it was just the two of them.”

  “Either way,” Michael said, “it’s going to look odd if he suddenly turns up with three extra guys.”

  Stewart nodded. “It is.”

  “So I’ll go with them next week, and when Harry gets his own membership, we can all go.”

  The rest of them nodded like the suggestion made perfect sense, but Aaron didn’t like it. “They’re a rough bunch, those that go to these fights.”

  Michael raised his eyebrows. “Unlicensed fighting, bare-knuckle or otherwise, has been illegal for the past five years. Betting on it—also illegal. I don’t expect the crowd to be full of upstanding citizens.”

  “But what if they find out you’re a police officer? They’ll kill you. Or rough you up at least.”

  Isn’t that what they did with the police?

  Michael snorted. “You’ve been watching too much TV.” Aaron didn’t think he was exaggerating much, and judging by the way Michael’s jaw clenched, he didn’t either. “Besides, I’m SCTF. No one at the fight should have cause to recognise me. And I know how to blend in.”

  Aaron begged to differ—looking like he did, Michael would easily stand out in that crowd. But Aaron wasn’t about to say that out loud. “If you say so.”

  Michael smiled. “I know what I’m doing, trust me.”

  The funny thing was, Aaron did. He wasn’t sure why exactly. He didn’t know Michael at all really, but his instincts told him he was someone Aaron could trust. And Aaron always went with his gut. “Okay.” His gaze locked with Michael’s, stomach fluttering again when Michael stared back instead of looking away.

  He’d almost forgotten the others were there when Frank spoke.

  “Will you be fighting that night?”

  It took Aaron a moment to realise the question was directed at him. “What? Oh… um… Do I need to be there?” He looked to Frank. “I usually leave it about three weeks between fights, but if I have to be there, I guess I could say I needed the money.”

  “What about those bruises?” He pointed to Aaron’s face. “How do you stop those from healing?”

  Aaron smiled, pleased with himself. “They’re not real. It’s make-up.”
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  Frank let out a low whistle. “Wow. Fooled me.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice.” That probably shouldn’t be something he was proud of though. He’d been committing a crime.

  “I think you should be there.” Michael’s gaze dropped to the fake bruises along Aaron’s jaw and stayed there; Aaron felt the weight of it pinning him in place. “The sooner we get this wrapped up, the better, and we need you there in order to do that. You’re our best shot—Blake knows you and Smith’s already singled you out once. We need to get you on his radar again.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He hated the idea of being on Smith’s radar, but Michael was right. They needed to catch this killer quickly. A shifter who’d killed three humans already clearly had no respect for either humans or the law. They obviously didn’t think they’d get caught, and they’d been right so far. So why would they stop?

  Unless, of course, they were doing it all on Smith’s orders, for a reason Aaron couldn’t begin to comprehend, but then the same theory probably applied.

  They needed to catch them.

  “I’ll fight,” he said, loud and clear.

  “Good.” Michael clapped him on the shoulder, his hand lingering a touch longer than necessary, then turned to the others. “Go home, guys. We’ll have another meeting in the morning.” They filed out of the room. Frank paused in the doorway but then left.

  “How did you get here?” Michael asked him as he unpinned the photo from the wall and collected the others from the table.

  “Tube.”

  Michael checked his watch. “It’s almost eight thirty. I’ll give you a lift home.”

  “Why?” Aaron frowned, wondering what he was implying. “I think I can take care of myself should there be any rowdy passengers.” He let his fangs slide down just for fun and grinned wide. “Promise.”

  Rolling his eyes, Michael said, “Yeah, yeah. Point made.” His gaze caught on Aaron’s teeth a little too long though, and the hint of arousal in the air made Aaron reckless.

  He licked over the tips of his canines, pulse racing as Michael’s gaze tracked his tongue. “I’m a big boy, Michael.” The words came out rough, the barest rumble of a growl lacing them. He’d normally not say something like that, especially not to an SCTF officer, but knowing Michael wanted him changed things.

  Swallowing thickly, Michael finally looked away. Voice a little strained, he said, “Just humour me though. Word’s out that the SCTF’s investigating the murders. I’d feel better if you let me drive you home. Please.”

  People might be getting wary of shifters, but surely they’d give Aaron a wide berth if they recognised him for what he was, not engage him in a fight. But Michael was looking at him like he wanted him to say yes, and Aaron’s traitorous mind conjured up all those times when Michael had brushed up against him or squeezed his hand.

  And there was the way he’d looked at Aaron’s fangs… as though he were imagining the way they’d feel on his skin.

  Aaron sucked in a breath, his resolve crumbling. Despite his better judgement—because he knew this was a bad idea—he wanted to be alone with Michael.

  But he didn’t have to let Michael know that. “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “You can give me a lift.”

  Michael rolled his eyes, but Aaron caught the hint of a smile. “Come on, then.”

  Aaron followed him down the corridor to another card-operated door, nervous excitement building inside him.

  This should be interesting.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Michael played with his keys as he led Aaron down to where his car was parked. They were incredibly lucky to have an underground car park beneath their offices. It wasn’t huge and wouldn’t accommodate everyone who worked there, but thankfully, most of them preferred the tube anyway.

  When they reached his dark-grey Audi A6, Michael walked around to the driver’s side, unlocking the doors.

  Aaron gave the car an appreciative whistle. “Only two years old. Nice. I guess the SCTF pays well.”

  “I guess.” Michael wasn’t about to tell Aaron it had been his dad’s and he’d sold it to Michael at an extremely reasonable price when he’d upgraded. It made him feel weird to talk about it. Like he was still depending on his parents at his age.

  Once they were buckled in and on their way to Aaron’s flat, the silence in the car began to feel uncomfortable. Michael toyed with the idea of putting the radio on but then thought better of it. He was used to interrogating people for fuck’s sake, used to waiting them out. He could handle a little silence.

  Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he did his best to ignore the tension building between them. Back in the conference room, he’d been caught up in the moment—the sight of Aaron tonguing his fangs proved to be an unexpected turn on. Who knew he’d find that hot?

  But Jesus Christ, he’d been unable to do anything other than watch.

  With thoughts of Aaron strictly off the table, his mind inevitably wandered back to the case and what they’d just learnt. Daryl White didn’t get his hands dirty, or they suspected as much, so if he was involved, someone was doing the killings on his say-so. And in Michael’s experience, it would be someone he kept close. If it wasn’t one of his bodyguards—and unless he’d recently acquired a shifter bodyguard, it wasn’t—then they likely knew who it was.

  Or at least one of them did.

  White was smart, had to be to run his business, his underground fights, and stay one step ahead of the law. They were going to need a healthy dose of good fortune to get anything on him.

  But maybe they had that?

  Aaron and Harry were like the SCTF’s own personal listening devices. White and the others wouldn’t know to keep quiet around them. Michael glanced at Aaron out of the corner of his eye. “How far is your hearing range?”

  Aaron faced him, eyes almost black in the dim light of the car, and Michael was suddenly glad he had the road to concentrate on. “It depends.” Aaron swallowed, and Michael caught himself watching the bob of his Adam’s apple.

  He looked away sharply. Eyes on the bloody road. “On what, exactly?” Focusing on the traffic ahead, he tried not to listen to Aaron’s soft breathing, tried not to remember the close touches they’d shared while listening to Harry on the speaker.

  Michael still wasn’t sure what had come over him in that room. Aaron had been so worried, it practically poured out of him, and it’d drawn Michael in. He’d wanted to comfort him, which had been both impossible—there were other SCTF officers in the room—and ridiculous. But despite knowing that, he’d found himself brushing up against him, offering support that way, or with a squeeze of his shoulder or hand. And in the quiet, while they’d all been concentrating on Harry, it had felt right.

  Now though, he felt really fucking stupid.

  Aaron sighed next to him and ran a hand through his hair. Michael purposefully kept his gaze forward. “We have enhanced senses, but it’s not something that’s ever been measured. I don’t know exactly how close I have to be to someone to hear them speak because situations are always different. Doors could be closed—some are better at blocking sound than others—background noise plays a big part, and some people are just louder than others. And I have to concentrate.” He glanced over at Michael again and didn’t look away this time, as though he was studying him.

  Michael tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, but something about Aaron made him react differently than he normally would. It wasn’t that he was a shifter—Michael had met plenty of them. It was just…

  You like him. The voice in his head sounded a lot like Frank, which was disconcerting all on its own.

  Ignoring it, he grabbed onto the thread of their conversation. “Concentrate?”

  “Yeah, I mean I don’t get bombarded by people’s conversations all day long. That would drive me mad. I can pretty much tune them out now, only listen to what I want to.”

  “I suppose that makes sense.” It didn’t really tell Michael what he was after though. “S
o, say if you’re in the middle of a fight, can you hear what’s going on around you? And does White usually watch the fights?”

  “White?”

  “Smith, then. Does he watch?”

  Aaron finally faced forwards, another sigh escaping. “I don’t know for sure. I guess he probably does. But when I’m fighting, it takes all my concentration to pull my strength and speed enough to appear human and not let myself heal when I take a hit. I don’t pay much attention to those watching.”

  “So you wouldn’t be able to pick out Smith’s conversation?”

  Aaron laughed. “Not unless you want me to give myself away in about two seconds.”

  Bollocks to that theory.

  “Why did you do it, then? If it took so much effort to keep yourself in check, why bother?” The more he got to know Aaron, the more the question niggled at him. “I know you said you started going to keep an eye on Harry, but he’s a shifter too. Surely he can take care of himself? It seems like a fuckload of effort for something that could easily get you thrown in prison.” And Krillick Hall wasn’t somewhere any shifter wanted to go. Michael had seen enough reactions to know that. “Was it the money?”

  “No. It wasn’t about that. I didn’t keep my winnings.”

  Michael desperately wanted to ask what he did with them, but the tense set to Aaron’s jaw told him to leave it for now. “What then?”

  Aaron shrugged and stared out the passenger window. “I liked it,” he said, so softly Michael had to strain to hear. “I liked the adrenaline rush of the fight, of knowing I could get caught out any minute.” He was silent for a moment. “And maybe I miss being human sometimes.” His wistful sigh cut off abruptly as he sat up straight. “Fuck. Ignore me.” He rubbed at his eyes and shook himself. “I’m just tired. Becoming a shifter saved my life, and I don’t regret it for a second. I love my pack.”

  Michael kept as still as he could while driving. That was more honesty than he’d ever expected to get from Aaron. Maybe more than he wanted, because knowing something so personal—and he didn’t doubt that there was some truth to it—it made him feel closer to Aaron. And he couldn’t afford to go down that road.