#dmitrimolotov

[the-optimistic-nerd]

(via https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6s16Of362fDMsHwGshdSpC?si=R5lNUFlbQxi_Yg8IbcSRFA)

Yes, it’s true, I had too much spare time over the break. Took the chance to make a playlist based on @dmitrimolotov‘s fic Divided We Fall (check it out if you haven’t already!). The idea is that there is a song for each chaper chronologically. Some song choices are iffy, but I tried my best!

[ragehappysecretsanta]

Write It in Blood

Author: http://dmitrimolotov.tumblr.com

Recipient: http://nescamonster.tumblr.com

Summary: Jeremy and Ryan have been engaged for nearly a year; Jeremy’s career as an investigative journalist at Weazel news is starting to gain some real traction, while Ryan’s floristry business is booming. Jeremy has been chasing a trail of police corruption, but when he gets his dream promotion at work, it comes with a catch that threatens to throw him into the middle of it all. He can’t expose it without risking his career and in all likelihood his life. Luckily, Ryan stumbles upon a handy solution to both help Jeremy’s career and rid the force of their bad apples; but he soon finds himself walking a far darker path to protect the one he loves.

Note: This story is a sequel to Say it with Flowers, although it is not a prerequisite read.

Warnings: Mature. Blood, murder.

Word Count: 22880

Read it on AO3

Write it in Blood

Jeremy hit the snooze button on his alarm. The sunlight was filtering through the thin curtains at an angle he knew meant he’d be pushing to make it to work on time, but he was too comfortable to bring himself to worry just yet. Instead, he rolled over and a hand snaked around his waist, pulling him into a firm, warm hug.

“Stay?” A sleepy voice muttered from under the blanket beside him as the arm pulled him in even closer, “You don’t have to go in just yet…”

Jeremy sighed, smiling contentedly as he repositioned himself to fit more snugly against his fiancé’s frame, his back pressing into the warmth of his partner’s chest; the perfect fit for a little spoon.

“I guess I don’t have to get up right away.”

A tired-sounding “Yay!” escaped the blanket and there was a slow, lazy rustling as Jeremy felt a gentle kiss land on the back of his head and a soft, stubbly chin snuggle in close, rubbing affectionately against his face, before settling in the crook of his neck with a satisfied hum.

“Ryan? Aren’t you meant to be working today too?”

“Shhhh… It’s fine…”

Jeremy smiled and relaxed into his arms, letting his eyes fall closed again. They’d been engaged for nearly a year and hadn’t even discussed plans of making it official, but they were content as they were and there was no pressure. They simply were and they were happy.

As soon as Jeremy shut his eyes, a muffled ringing reached his ears.

He groaned and debated letting it ring out, but his sense of responsibility won out in the end and he forced himself to get up and answer it; prying Ryan’s arm off him to roll out of bed.

Caller ID came up as Matt, and judging by the time, he’d probably already be at work by now.

“’sup Matt?” Jeremy said cheerfully, pushing the curtains aside to let in more light.

Ryan whined petulantly and pulled the sheet up over his head to block it out.

“Hey man,” Matt replied, “did you remember to get something for Leslie’s baby shower today?”

Jeremy wandered to the door and glanced over at the bouquet of flowers and neatly wrapped present waiting for him on the kitchen counter. Ryan had prepared them for him the night before. Jeremy’s boss was expecting, and he couldn’t be happier for her.

“I did indeed!” Jeremy beamed, so smug Matt could hear it through the phone.

“And uh… you put our names on the card, right?” Matt asked bashfully.

“Nope,” Jeremy replied matter-of-factly.

“Oh…”

The panic in Matt’s voice was palpable and Jeremy giggled to hear it, but didn’t let him suffer for long, quickly adding, “Ryan picked out something just from you and Trevor, got you your own card and everything, so you guys are covered.”

“Jeremy! Don’t do that to me, I nearly had a damn heart attack!” He laughed nervously, recovering, “But thanks man, and thank Ryan for us. We owe you guys one! See you soon.”

Jeremy hung up the phone and looked back to the bed, where the pile of blankets had shifted and was very faintly snoring. Considering Ryan only had to walk a few doors down to get to work, Jeremy decided to let him sleep a little longer and took the opportunity to be first in the shower.

Today was going to be a big day for him. It didn’t feel like two years had passed since his boss, Leslie, had gotten engaged. He’d hated her then, but it was that very hatred that had brought Ryan into his life. It was hard to hold a grudge after that. This was going to be her last day at work; she was taking an early maternity leave to spend some time with her new wife before they started their family and she was due to be announcing her replacement as reporter and lead editor for their little slice of the Weazel News website – crime, breaking news and anything else the heads felt like slinging their way.

Jeremy stepped out of the shower and roughly towelled himself dry, a process much faster now thanks to a recent potential disaster with the clippers that left him with a look he decided to keep after Ryan said he had the head for it. A quick check in the mirror showed his beard was still neat and he didn’t need to shave anything yet, so he wrapped the towel around his waist and went to hunt down his nice shirt.

The pile of blankets was gone from the bed and Jeremy could hear shuffling in the kitchen just outside.

“Matt and Trevor said thank you for their gift!” Jeremy called out, “Matt said they owe you one. Not sure what that’ll entail.”

A chuckle came from the kitchen, followed by the spring of the toaster.

Mindful of the time, Jeremy quickly started getting dressed and as he was buttoning up his shirt, Ryan returned with a glass of orange juice and a plate of toast. He held out the toast in offering and Jeremy gladly grabbed a slice and shoved it in his mouth.

“Faankooo,” he mumbled through the mouthful, smoothing out the shirt.

Ryan chuckled again, settling back down on the bed, still just in his underwear, nibbling at his own piece of toast, “You remember what the flowers mean?”

“Uhhh…” Jeremy struggled to remember the details of the arrangement Ryan had walked him through the night before, “there was… Japanese maple? And purple basil for best wishes… coral roses were for admiration… Oh! And caladium! For… uh…”

Ryan laughed sympathetically at Jeremy’s sincere attempt to recall the frankly excessive bouquet. He grinned wide, “I wrote it down for you, don’t worry…” Despite that, he still felt it necessary to run through the composition off the top of his head.

“The Japanese maple leaves – supposed to represent a baby's hand – but mostly they look pretty. Red-and-green caladium are for delight, while dark green hosta leaves and purple basil are for devotion and best wishes respectively. They frame the burgundy calla lilies for beauty – unlike white ones which are usually symbolic of death – probably best not to mention that… and light pink bouvardia is for enthusiasm. You nailed the coral roses for admiration and I also threw in some spikes of heather as protection from danger.”

Jeremy found himself yet again in awe of his fiancé and just grinned back at him, dumbstruck.

“Like I said though,” Ryan nodded his head towards the kitchen, “It’s all on the card… You nervous?”

Jeremy swallowed, “nervous? Nah. It’s going to be great… if Leslie asks me.”

“She’s going to ask you,” Ryan reassured him, standing to help him straighten his shirt, “she’s practically been grooming you for this.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy admitted hesitantly, taking another piece of toast. Leslie had been unsubtlely hinting to Jeremy for some time now that he’d be replacing her; increasing his work load so it was comparable to her own and giving him bigger and more important tasks to get him accustomed to the pressure. He’d found his personal niche in the more investigative side of crime reporting following an incident with the Mayoral elections when he’d first met Ryan, but Leslie had been gently coaxing him into more breaking news and crime scene reporting, arguing he’d be less “bogged down” and distracted by the details and better able to delegate to the juniors.

“Jeremy,” Ryan clapped a hand on his shoulder, “You got this.”

Jeremy took a deep breath, “I got this,” he repeated, not sounding entirely convinced.

“And you look great.”

Jeremy laughed and blushed a shade.

Ryan leaned down and kissed him softly. They weren’t usually the kissing sort, and it caught Jeremy by surprise. A very pleasant surprise though. It left him a little breathless.

“Now go, knock ‘em dead. And give Leslie and Dannie my love.”

Jeremy beamed up at him, “Will do.”

Jeremy snaked a hand around to the back of Ryan’s head, fingers carding through his soft, long hair and he pulled his head down gently to press their foreheads together in an affectionate ‘boop’.

“See you tonight.”

He collected the gifts from the table and left the apartment feeling on top of the world.

* * *

A scarce half hour later, Ryan had hauled himself through the shower and his morning routine that was, as usual, unaided by caffeine and walked the five minutes down the block to his quaint little flower shop he still called work.

Living with Jeremy had freed up a lot of money and he’d been able to make significant renovations to the shop; upgrading their sales systems and bringing their online ordering up to speed as well as finally officially re-naming the shop to “Say it with Flowers”. Their hook was custom arrangements and bouquets with meaning, and for the past year Ryan had loved it. It had pulled him right out of the funk he’d been in to have new projects and challenges to work with every day.

The bell above the door, left unchanged for years, cheerfully chirruped his arrival.

“Good morning Rye!” Meg called brightly from somewhere behind a counter packed full of pre-made and sorted floral arrangements.

“Good morning,” Ryan mumbled back, fetching his faded green apron from its hook behind the counter and donning it, flipping open his hand-written notebook to check the day’s orders, despite Meg having a digital copy already pulled up on the screen they used expressly for that purpose. “On top of things, I see…”

He snatched a rubber band from the box they used for securing bouquets and pulled his nearly shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail in an attempt to make it more manageable.

“Always.” Meg popped up from behind the arrangements and smiled at him, “Look how long your hair’s getting!”

Ryan tugged at it, “yeah, I’ve been meaning to cut it, just haven’t gotten around to it…”

“It looks good. Have you ever thought about dyeing it? I could help, I think you’d look great with darker hair.”

“If this is your way of trying to get me to cover my greys, it’s not working,” he ribbed back playfully.

Meg scowled at him, “You’re not getting old Rye… well, you are, but that’s not the point,” she grinned, “point is, I think you’d look very nice with darker hair.”

He shook his head, still grinning, but was interrupted by the bell at the door again.

“Kdin!” Meg called, standing on tiptoe to see over the flowers and waving her in, directing her to the arrangements for the daily deliveries.

The recent success of the business had also freed up money to hire a couple of casuals to run hand-deliveries and Kdin had been a wonderful addition to the team. She made deliveries on her custom vintage Faggio scooter and it added an extra special touch that customers loved for special occasions.

Meg clearly had things under control, so Ryan snuck out the back to start preparing for the afternoon orders.

The day went by quickly, filled by the usual flurry of late week activity, interspersed with showing Meg some techniques for using some of the more exotic and seasonal blooms. Ryan had been training Meg and Ashley to make their own “meaningful arrangements” and they’d taken to it really well. Ashley had even started her own specialty section of the store: succulent terrariums. Ryan was happy that he could trust them completely to run the store in his absence. With the additions of Mica and Kdin, they now worked as a well-oiled machine; but Ryan was always more of a tinkerer and when there was nothing to take apart and fix, he easily grew bored and started looking for the next project.

It was a Friday, so the shop would stay open late; catering to the after-work date-night contingent of late-twenties nine-to-fivers, looking to re-live their younger days in blessed nostalgia down at the pier, most to be disappointed by the chipping lacquer on the veneer of innocence that Del Perro provided these days.

Clearly being with Jeremy hadn’t done much for his cynicism.

At any rate, it meant he’d be throwing together the remains of his daily stocks for cheap, last minute bouquets, between prepping for the Saturday rush. Kdin had finished her afternoon deliveries and gone home and Meg was starting to tidy up the shop for the day.

“When was the last time you took a vacation, Ryan?” Meg said seemingly out of the blue.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, “how long have you known me?”

“Mmmm, ‘bout… 3 years, little over.”

“Longer than that then.”

“Have you ever taken a vacation, Rye?”

“Do days off for renovations count?” He grinned.

She rolled her eyes, “not when you’re the one doing them, no… You need a vacation.”

Ryan very nearly groaned, “I don’t need to go anywhere, especially with Jeremy getting this promotion…”

“Then a staycation! Just take some time off, chill out at home, watch some movies, play some video games, find a Dungeons and Dragons group – that sounds like your kinda thing – just something to keep you from going completely stir-crazy. Find your project, we all know you need one.”

“I need a project now, do I?”

“Yeah! You’re settling and when you settle, you get bored and when you get bored, you make rash decisions…” she pointed at him accusingly with a de-headed rose-stem, “…not that that’s always bad thing, mind you, last time was how we became Say it with Flowers – which was definitely a good move in retrospect.”

Ryan beamed, just about to gloat when Meg cut him off.

“-don’t you dare say ‘I told you so’!”

Ryan’s mouth snapped shut and instead he just smirked.

“Just have a think about it at least, Ashley and I got this, and we’ve got Mica and Kdin to help out as well.”

Ryan shot her a sceptical look, but eventually resigned, “Alright… I’ll think about it. But no promises.”

* * *

The front door was unlocked when Ryan got home, and he could smell something delicious wafting from inside. He went in and kicked his shoes off at the door, where he could see familiar take-out boxes on the kitchen counter, still steaming.

“And I was planning on cooking you something special…” Ryan teased as he shook his hair free of his ponytail, putting the rubber band with about a dozen others in the bowl at the door they usually kept for keys.

He really needed to start tying his hair up before he left the house.

He knew he wouldn’t.

“How’d everything go with Leslie’s party?”

Ryan wasn’t even sure where Jeremy was, he might have been talking to himself, but he kept it up anyway, nosing into the boxes to see their usual: beef with broccoli as well as their more indulgent option of orange chicken.

“Ooh, today must’ve gone well to deserve orange chicken…” Ryan called out, heading towards the bedroom, half expecting to find Jeremy in an affectionate mood, until he heard rapid typing coming from the small side room they used as a study.

He peered in to see Jeremy hunched over his laptop, headphones on, intensely focused on the apparent dossier he was furiously typing up.

“Jeremy?”

Jeremy paused to look up, nearly jumping out of his skin to see Ryan standing there. He half-closed the lid of the laptop a little protectively, but almost instinctively, and Ryan cocked his head sideways.

“Everything ok?”

Jeremy took his headphones off and shook his head, as if to shake himself out of it. “Yeah… yeah! Everything’s great. I uh… I got the promotion.” He smiled, but it seemed nervous.

“Starting work early then,” Ryan gestured towards the computer and Jeremy’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, yeah.” He still seemed a little shaken, but maybe it was nerves about the new job responsibilities.

Ryan smiled back gently, “Well, not that it needs to be said, but congratulations! Knew you’d crush it.” He jerked a thumb back towards the kitchen, “Celebrating with Chinese food, I see?”

“Yeah! I didn’t really feel like cooking, so there’s that as well… I just, uh… need about five minutes to get this done, yeah?”

“Sure,” Ryan nodded, “I’ll go get some plates ‘n stuff, it’ll be ready when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Ryan.”

As Ryan left the room, the typing resumed, and he couldn’t help but feel a little worried at the stress this new job might already be bringing with it.

Ryan had cleared space on the couch and set up a cosy dinner in front of the TV. Far from a formal event, their celebrations were always more intimate and comfortable, legs tangled together and wrapped in blankets. Ryan put on a movie, not so much to watch, but more as background noise; a low-budget, crowd-funded comedy sci-fi cult classic. He’d re-heated the food and grabbed bowls and chopsticks, a beer for Jeremy and a diet coke for himself.

He’d just gotten comfortable on the couch and dished up his own bowl of rice and chicken – it was even better than he remembered – when Jeremy emerged from the study, his face still showing the same look of vague consternation. He brightened to see Ryan’s “nest”, the worry melting into a relaxed smile as he casually vaulted the back of the couch to land dangerously close to Ryan’s lap and nearly sent his dinner flying.

“So, good job today then…?” Ryan ventured as Jeremy dished up some food and got comfy.

“Today was… eye opening,” Jeremy said slowly, rubbing his right shoulder where he could still feel the scar from the bullet he’d taken. It was a nervous habit he’d developed, and Ryan didn’t fail to notice it.

“Jeremy, is everything ok?” He asked a little more seriously now.

Jeremy chewed his lip, “If I tell you I could put you in a lot of trouble…”

“Well, now I have to know…”

“I’m serious, Ryan. This is the sort of shit that could get us killed.” Jeremy looked around as if he might be being watched.

“Jeremy,” Ryan locked eyes with him, “You can trust me. You can tell me anything. But you don’t have to. I am going to worry about you regardless though.”

“Leslie’s leaving for good,” Jeremy blurted out, “She’s not coming back after maternity leave. Her and Dannie are probably going to be leaving town pretty soon.”

“Holy shit,” Ryan muttered.

“So, on the upside, the job’s more permanent than we thought…”

“But…?” Ryan knew there had to be a catch for Jeremy to be acting this way.

Jeremy sighed heavily. “I just…” he bit his tongue. “Just… there are some big decisions I have to make. A lot of things to think about…”

Ryan scanned Jeremy’s face, searching for any clues, but only finding more worry. It almost hurt to see him like this. So uncertain. It wasn’t like him at all.

“I’m sorry, Ryan. I want to tell you everything, but just… maybe let me sleep on it, ok?”

Ryan nodded, “Ok buddy. I’m here for you.”

He leaned down and gently booped Jeremy’s forehead against his own; Jeremy smiled and nuzzled back up, almost catlike in the display of affection.

“Thanks Ryan…” He sat back with a more content sigh and focused momentarily on his food before noticing the TV. “What are we watching, by the way?”

Ryan half shrugged, “Helmet Boy and Friends or some nonsense…”

* * *

Jeremy’s palms were sweating. Aside from napping against Ryan’s side through most of the movie, he’d hardly slept, instead spending most of the night in the study writing up what may very well be his last piece of published journalism.

Jeremy was sitting at the kitchen counter with his laptop and a glass of water when Ryan emerged, bleary eyed and worried from the bedroom. He rubbed his face before frowning at Jeremy.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” He asked, grabbing the carton of milk from the fridge and pouring a glass.

Jeremy nodded unconvincingly, “a little… I just had other stuff on my mind. Stuff I had to get down…”

Ryan took a long sip of his milk, eyes never leaving Jeremy’s.

“I need you to read over something for me…” Jeremy hesitated. “Because I need you to know this. I don’t want to put you in any danger.” He already felt guilty for sharing this much with him. The report contained everything.

No one has to know he read it. No one even has to know it exists. He reassured himself.

He took a deep breath. “I want you to read this first, because I want you to have the opportunity to get out and live a normal life in Los Santos if you don’t want to be caught up in all this.”

Ryan’s face fell.

“Jeremy, I’m-”

“Ryan, I need you to read this before you say anything else. Please don’t make promises you can’t keep. Read this and then we can talk about it… or not, but that’s your call. Whatever happens,” Jeremy swallowed thickly, he hadn’t expected this to be so heavy, “I’m glad for the time we had together, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Jeremy slid the laptop across to Ryan and waited patiently while Ryan read the whole thing.

Bluewashing – Concealment of corruption in the LSPD

By Jeremy Dooley

The “Blue Wall of Silence” – the unwritten rule of solidarity among police officers when accused of misconduct – has spread far beyond the blue in Los Santos. Many media outlets are receiving cash pay-offs to turn a blind eye to bribery and put a put a positive spin on police brutality. They are told to ignore the crimes that go unpunished because it would be unprofitable.

Weazel news is no exception to this…

Ryan’s eyes widened as he skimmed over the rest of the information contained within Jeremy’s thorough and well-compiled report.

It detailed several investigations into corruption allegations that had been dropped for no apparent reason – well, none that wasn’t just a matter of paying off the right people. There was information about bribes, including the names of several officers involved in the dealings. Ryan even recognised a few from recent high-profile cases. These weren’t bottom feeders trying to make a quick buck. He’d always had a good head for details and he made sure to mentally commit the names to memory.

Vasquez, Ronson, Stalley, Jones, Poro, Jernigan. There would be more. This couldn’t be it or they’d be cooked by now. Whoever was coordinating it was still an unknown.

Essentially the investigations uncovered they’d been paying off gangs, drug dealers and media outlets with money obtained from god only knows where. He didn’t need to be a lawyer to know that the evidence Jeremy had compiled wouldn’t be strong enough to stand up in court, especially with the blue wall of silence in effect. Which it undoubtedly would be.

Ryan looked up, his expression now of more certain concern.

Jeremy chewed his lip hesitantly, “I had an idea from my interviews with Burnie… I’d been investigating it on the side. After we published some of the first stories on it, Leslie tried to get me to bury it. It was a complete 180 for her, which I thought was weird at the time, but didn’t really question it.” Jeremy shut his eyes and shook his head. “But she told me at the baby shower, before she offered me the promotion. She’d been paid off by the LSPD not to run those stories. To pick which ones went to press. That I’d likely be the one they came to when she walked. If they let her walk…”

“Jeremy,” Ryan’s face was twisted with concern, “you can’t publish this.”

“Not while I work at Weazel,” he replied simply.

“Not ever! They’d kill you before it was approved to print. We wouldn’t find enough of your body…” Ryan reeled, the weight of it hitting him full-force. He lowered his voice and threw a glance around the room as if to confirm they were alone, “The fact that you even know about this at all is enough to put a target on your back.”

“I can’t stand by and watch this happen, Ryan. Especially not after what happened with Burnie…”

“What happened with Burnie got you shot!”

Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut, “I know. That’s why I’m giving you an out.”

Ryan’s heart dropped to his knees. “I don’t want an out Jeremy. I want you. Safe and intact with me…” He took a long breath, “now, call me selfish, but I don’t think that should be too much to ask.”

Jeremy looked away, tears and uncertainty shimmering in his eyes.

Ryan put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, “Stay. Please. For me.”

Jeremy put his hand over Ryan’s, gripping it tighter to himself.

“I know you’re a good person, you don’t have to prove it to anyone. But you can’t do any good if they find out about this. They’ll cover it up, they always do.”

Jeremy knew he was right. They always covered it up, they always got away with it. And he couldn’t do any good if he was dead.

He nodded slowly.

“Just… please, please go along with it. Stay out of the investigations. Stay safe. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

Ryan pulled him into a hug and Jeremy felt the remaining shred of his resolve waver.

“Please delete it,” Ryan begged, his voice close to breaking.

Jeremy could wait, until they were both ready, or until the guilt of knowing consumed him. He would try. For Ryan.

“Ok.”

Ryan hugged him tighter.

“We’ll work this out,” Ryan assured him, “but not like this.”

Jeremy nodded into Ryan’s chest, “yeah, yeah, we will.”

Ryan let out a breathy laugh, “God, you’re just so good. Stupidly good. How have you survived so long in Los Santos?”

Jeremy pulled away slightly to look up at Ryan, “I guess I just got lucky. Met the right people... I suppose that’s going to change from now on though, huh?”

“Well, whatever happens, you’ll always be a good person to me.”

They visited their favourite café in Morningwood and drank hot chocolates as they walked through the cemetery, quietly watching a funeral service from a respectful distance on one of the benches.

The floral arrangement caught Ryan’s eye; it wasn’t one of his – for a fleeting moment, a small part of him mourned the lost business. The casket spray was definitely on the pricier side. It was made of pink stargazer lilies, white orchids and pink carnations; unique, heartfelt and colourful, likely a younger woman, possibly a mother. Ryan tried not to dwell on it.

“What did Leslie suggest?” Ryan finally asked, no real context to the question, not that Jeremy needed it; they’d both been thinking about it even if they hadn’t said anything.

“She basically said to keep my head down, not publish anything that might raise any suspicion, stick to crime and homicide and only report what they give us. Stick to the official stuff and commercial stuff.”

Jeremy sounded so flat, Ryan’s heart sank to hear it.

“I’ve just… I’ve worked so hard to get here and then to find out this is what it entails. It just… sucks.”

Ryan took Jeremy’s hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Hey, I know it’s real shitty, but we’ll figure something out. If you wanna take some time off, or hell, if you want to get out altogether, the shop’s doing great; I can support us for a while, while you take some time to work it out.”

Jeremy sighed and leaned his head against Ryan’s shoulder. “Thanks Ryan, but I can’t quit now.”

There was a hint of fight in his tone. He wasn’t completely defeated.

Good. It wasn’t like Jeremy to let something get in his way.

Jeremy pushed himself back upright to smirk at Ryan, “at least I get to assign who’s on what stories now. Maybe I’ll strike it lucky with a crime wave, or a serial killer or something.”

Ryan grinned back, “I like how you can consider that striking it lucky…” Ryan looked back towards to funeral, “then again, I guess I can’t talk.”

“Does it make us bad people?”

“Having survival instinct in this city? Hell no. We’re making the most of the hand we were dealt. You are the furthest thing from a bad person I can think of.”

The rest of the weekend was dedicated to relaxation and distraction; keeping their minds off it as much as they could, but still the looming sense of dread hung over them.

* * *

The following week had dragged on. Jeremy had returned to work, accepting his promotion and going on like nothing had happened. Trevor and Matt were happy for him as were the other editors, although as with any promotion, the usual brand of professional envy hung in the air. Ryan hoped for Jeremy’s sake, it would rapidly disperse. He had enough to worry about as it was, although some relatively harmless office drama might help to shift the focus away from the dread-inspiring thought that at any moment corrupt government agents could come down on him like the sword of Damocles.

In the shop, Ryan wasn’t faring that much better. He was worried about Jeremy. That much was clear, but not quite so much to Meg and Ashley who just got the impression he was stressed. Still, he maintained his ever-professional demeanour and went about his days as efficiently as possible.

By Thursday, Ryan had begun to settle down again, getting back to a semi-regular rhythm, but something about that in itself made him more uneasy than ever. He went about the daily duties with a huge weight on his mind. What could he do to help Jeremy?

He kept coming up empty. Any solution he could think of would likely result in one or both of them going to jail or getting killed.

He vaguely wondered how long it would be before they went the way of Leslie and Dannie and fled the city. He wondered if that would actually make them any safer.

It was getting late in the day and Ryan skimmed through the remaining daily orders. His eyes stopped at a familiar name.

Jernigan.

Ryan tapped the name a few times with his finger, looking to Ashley, “Regular?”

“Sort of?” She replied over the crinkling of cellophane, “he’s in here pretty often… I get the impression he must have someone on the side. He’s always after, like, ‘patience is a virtue’ and ‘someday our love will be free’ kinds of arrangements.”

Ryan frowned, “That’s a bit of an unfair assessment, isn’t it?”

“Well, once he asked for a bouquet that said: ‘I know how to show you a good time, sweet-cheeks’…”

Ryan raised an eyebrow incredulously, “well… I suppose that is slightly less ambiguous.”

“Total creeper. I think Kdin had an issue with him as well…”

Ryan practically snarled, “That’s not good. I asked her to report that stuff to me-”

“Ryan, she doesn’t need you white-knighting for her-”

“-and we don’t need the business of scumbags.” Ryan was quick to point out. “If that’s the case though, I’d feel better if I was the one to make the delivery… Then I can decide if they’re really worth the repeat business.”

Ashley set her gorgeously constructed arrangement on the counter and nudged a less impressive bouquet towards him.

“Your call. The address is out past East Los Santos; Nikola Pl in Mirror Park, near all that construction, so it’s not exactly on the normal delivery route anyway. It’s not like we’re understaffed anymore, you can make the run if you want. It’s for an evening delivery too, so you can go straight home from there and I’ll do close.” Ashley smiled at him, it was the same look Meg had had when she’d suggested he take a vacation.

“Have you and Meg been talking again?” He eyed her suspiciously.

“Never! Why would I ever talk to Meg, especially on a Saturday when it’s just the two of us in the shop together…”

“Does she have you trying to convince me to take a vacation too?”

“No!” Ashley exclaimed in exaggerated shock, “she suggested a staycation.”

“Figures,” Ryan mumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Please consider it Rye, you deserve a break.”

“I’ll think about it!”

He took the modest bouquet of hydrangeas, purple hyacinths and pink roses, that by the looks of it were meant to be interpreted as an “I fucked up, but I’m still into you” bouquet, and headed for home. As much as he scooter was cute for hand deliveries, he’d rather make the longer trip to Mirror Park on his bike. He had pannier bags for when he used to run small deliveries himself.

Jernigan. Where had he heard that name before?

He quickly ducked up to his apartment, grabbing his black and blue leather jacket and skull-decaled helmet, almost grabbing Jeremy’s hideously bright purple and orange one by mistake. That was when it clicked.

Jernigan. It was one of the names on Jeremy’s list.

His blood ran cold. Surely it was a coincidence.

You’re just dropping off some flowers. Making a delivery, like normal. Just a regular afternoon.

It was harder to convince himself than he would’ve liked.

It was a nice day. Sunny, but not too hot to wear leathers and with the wind whipping around him at the frankly dangerously high speeds he travelled, it was refreshing. It had been a day like this that he’d taken Jeremy for a proper ride, following the Great Ocean Highway north to Paleto Bay, topping speeds of 100 mph and living for the rush of blood in their veins. Jeremy trusted Ryan enough to let him take him to those speeds, even enjoyed it. That, or Jeremy was just as crazy as he was. Either way, he counted himself lucky to have met him.

The ride went far too quickly, Ryan arriving nearly 20 minutes before the arranged drop off time, partially due to light traffic and partially due to the fact that he’d been pushing the speed limits on every road.

As he pulled up to the address, he could see an LSPD cruiser parked in the drive and his stomach twisted. It was indeed that Jernigan.

Ryan made a mental note to tell Ashley they wouldn’t be accepting his business in the future. The guy was a scumbag and a corrupt cop. He parked the bike across the street and took off his helmet, leaving it with the bike. He retrieved the flowers from his bag, in pristine condition; he was still a professional after all.

He walked up to the large and ornate wooden door of the expensive property. If Jernigan was keeping someone on the side, Ryan could see how he could afford it. Then again, crooked cop was probably a decent-paying gig. Ryan’s blood simmered, but he carefully masked his face. Theatre training did come in handy occasionally.

Useless talent #14. Right after juggling and just before knife throwing.

He knocked loudly on the solid door and waited. No response. He noticed a doorbell and tried that, waiting patiently again; thankful for the shade of the porch as the warmth of the day started to make itself known. No response.

He was still early. If he left the flowers they’d wilt, even in the shade. He figured he should at least wait until the designated drop off time. Might as well kill some time walking around the area, rather than waiting on the guy’s doorstep. Especially if Jernigan was likely to be involved in gang activity.

He loaded the flowers back into the cool compartment of his pannier bag for safekeeping.

He’d take a walk. His bike was in the shade, parked inconspicuously next to a large tree out of the way opposite the house. He’d be ok to leave it and his helmet there for a while. The place was more or less deserted at any rate. He was rarely in this part of town, and it was something of an ongoing gentrification project, so he started lazily wandering down to see how construction was going in the street over, the planned gated community of “Utopia Gardens”. From where he stood on East Mirror Drive, he could see it was still more or less an empty cul-de-sac; the foundations poured and set, the site dotted with stacks of construction materials and machinery covered in tarpaulins, with a few shipping containers for the more valuable or weather-sensitive stuff and god knows what else. He was acutely aware of the fact that this was in the middle of the territory of The Lost MC. If he recalled correctly, Jeremy’s report pointed to Jernigan as the link to them. It seemed odd to make a local association… although it did perhaps make their meetings appear more coincidental. Might be a clever way to cover anything shady as “chance interactions”; lending a sense of plausible deniability to any case that might be brought against them. For the briefest of moments, perhaps a little bit out of wishful thinking, Ryan wondered if maybe Jeremy’s report was wrong. Maybe it was all coincidence.

A loose collection of motorbikes were gathered out the front of a dilapidated looking house opposite the site. There was a good chance it was a Lost MC clubhouse or hangout or something. The gangs were less than subtle so it wasn’t entirely unusual. Ryan tried not to let it spook him too much. He continued walking, and hooking a thumb into the pocket of his jeans, he felt the weight of the pocket knife he had tucked there. It was normal to have one on him in the shop and he hadn’t quite developed the habit of taking it out before he left, often finding it still in his pocket when laundry day rolled around. It was a modest blade, only a few inches long and mostly used for odd jobs in the shop, but in all things he did, Ryan was diligent and he kept it razor sharp. If he came into any trouble with gangs he doubted it’d do him much good, but it was still a mild comfort.

He skirted a wide berth around the house with the bikes and ventured into the construction site. There was nothing stopping him, he’d worked laying concrete slabs out of high school as one of his first jobs, the memories were still firmly planted in his mind. It wasn’t a bad experience, but it was physically demanding enough that Ryan had made a conscious effort to avoid toiling in the sun doing manual labour after that.

So far so good.

As he wandered, he could hear raised voices faintly echoing off the shipping containers. A little way down the street there were two containers, red and blue, placed perpendicular to one another. Sound travelled in odd ways in open spaces like this, it could be coming from the Lost’s hangout and bouncing off the metal containers, kind of like how a satellite dish worked. It certainly sounded like it was some kind of argument. He cocked his head and listened hard, trying to make out the words and find the source of the echo, fascinated by the way the sound seemed to reflect off the objects around him.

He caught fragments of conversation in the echo as they became clearer the closer he got to the containers.

“…fucking scum Vagos got paid twice what we did for … they didn’t even … the drugs!”

“Well they don’t also … fucking cage fighting syndicate that needs covering up – remember the deal, you scratch our backs, we scratch yours.”

“The deal is for cash, not fucking back scratching, Jernigan.”

Jernigan.

“Ungrateful cunts.”

Ryan was snapped out of it by a sudden loud crash of metal on metal and more yelling. It was distinctly coming from one of the shipping containers that were now not more than 15 feet away. The blue box to his left shuddered violently and the metal reverberated, as if something had been slammed against the wall from the inside. The thud was dull and heavy, an accompanied by a cry of pain.

Not an echo then. Shit.

Ryan ducked behind the red container, where he could peek along the length to see the entrance to the blue one, but could hide behind if anyone was to exit. Other than that though, he was dangerously exposed. He was at the end of the cul-de-sac between who he guessed were The Lost MC and their bikes. If he was to turn around to go back and they were to leave, they’d see him for sure, and they weren’t exactly known for their forgiving nature. Ryan pressed his back against the warm metal of the container and waited. There was a scuffle, wet packing sounds of flesh on flesh and more yelling.

A gunshot cut through the chaos and everything stilled.

He considered running. His legs refused to comply. Whatever was said or not said next, he didn’t hear over the pounding of his heart in his chest. What felt like an eternity later, six men, all of them bikers, filed out of the container. One was holding a hand to his face and wincing in pain. Ryan had enough sense to skirt around the box he was pressed against to stay out of their line of sight, while still getting a good look at them.

He waited until they were well clear of the construction site before he let out the breath he was holding. He didn’t relax right away though. He was sure Jernigan hadn’t left.

Really, Ryan should have known better. He could smell the faint tobacco smoke from the container. Some morbid curiosity kept him drawing closer to peek inside. See if he’d been shot, killed or left for dead, one less problem for them to deal with in the long run. It would’ve been something of a relief if Ryan was honest.

He crept closer to the open door of the container and looked around. It was poorly lit, with crates stacked in rows along the rear walls. Right near the entrance there was a mark from where the bullet had skipped along the metal floor. A warning shot. As Ryan’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see; at the back of the room, a younger man with short blonde hair took a long drag from his cigarette and looked up to lock eyes with Ryan.

Shit.

“Oi! Who the fuck are you?” he snarled.

Ryan’s mouth was suddenly very dry.

“God dammit,” Jernigan shook his head and pulled a pistol from his shoulder holster, “I don’t have time for this shit.”

He flicked the safety off and aimed the gun at Ryan.

Ryan panicked. He’d been gripping the knife in his pocket. Almost subconsciously, he’d pulled it free, flicked it open and weighted it in the palm of hand. Jernigan didn’t get a chance to respond before Ryan’s instincts took over and he threw the knife with unpractised, but not unskilled precision at the other man’s chest.

Useless talent #15.

He wasn’t sure if he’d intended for the throw to be lethal. He didn’t stop to consider the consequences; he just knew that this was a very bad man who had intention to hurt him. He had to slow him down or stop him. It was an act of self-defence.

Good luck trying to convince a well-paid jury of that.

Ryan was rusty. The throw had been aimed at Jernigan’s chest, but he’d miscalculated, and it flew high, striking him in the throat with a flat whump, the slim blade embedding up to the hilt.

In that moment, Ryan noticed everything, even if his mind would go on to attempt to erase all memory of the event later on.

Jernigan dropped the gun. His hands flew up to grab the handle of the knife, pausing momentarily, fighting all instinct to remove the foreign object from his flesh as blood gurgled and seeped around the wound, small bubbles escaping around his fingers as he coughed and spluttered for breath. Ryan saw himself draw closer, kicking away the pistol as Jernigan sank to his knees, hands tight around the blade in his neck, clasped almost reverentially in front of him. As if praying, or begging forgiveness.

Ryan was not the man to go to for either.

He thought nothing of it as he watched the man struggle for breath, eventually falling to his hands, letting the blood drip off the handle of the knife directly onto the dusty metal floor of the shipping container below him. Bloody handprints marked the spot where Jernigan’s life left him. Where Ryan watched and did nothing. It took longer than Ryan imagined it would. The officer had chosen the spot for it’s secluded nature, Ryan had to give him credit for that. It meant Ryan didn’t have to worry about the obscene wet and strangled noises he made as he attempted to cry out for help. He didn’t have to worry about trying to hide the widening pool of blood as Jernigan’s body finally slumped lifeless to the ground. He didn’t have to worry about being spotted by passers-by as he checked the officer’s breathing had stopped.

One less scumbag in Los Santos.

One less problem for Jeremy.

One big problem for him.

Shit.

The fear kicked in then. A small voice in the back of his head, almost quietly proud of him, reminding him, you just took a life.

What are you going to do now?

He debated calling Jeremy. He should. He’d understand.

The words: accessory to murder flashed through his mind.

Can’t drag him into this… So, what are you going to do?

He considered the evidence. His knife. That would have to go. Simple enough.

Careful not to touch the body, he grabbed the knife and pulled it free, a trail of blood flowing lazily after it.

He hadn’t physically come into contact with anyone. The gang members hadn’t noticed him, or hadn’t said anything if they had. The only other person who knew he was even in the area was Ashley and as far as she knew he hadn’t even made the drop yet. It wouldn’t be suspicious if he delivered the flowers and returned to the shops. It would just look like another run in with a gang on the streets of Los Santos.

Could he do it?

Could he walk away from this?

The flowers were surely for someone. Partner or mistress or some other unfortunate associate. They’d report him missing soon enough. The body was a walk from his house but inside the shipping container it wasn’t something they’d likely stumble upon. They’d find it soon enough once construction started again… perhaps too soon?

Jeremy had hoped for a homicide to report.

Ryan paused to entertain the thought for a moment longer.

Jeremy had wished for a serial killer. What if…?

Jernigan had been dealing with The Lost MC.

Leaving a small hint wouldn’t contribute to the evidence all that much. Especially if it was seen as an act of the gang marking their territory.

Perhaps it would inspire an internal investigation and put a stop to the corruption altogether.

A different voice in the back of his head kept repeating “this is stupid” as Ryan knelt next to the body to carve TLMC into the palm of Jernigan’s hand. A token. A clue. But not one that led to him.

He didn’t even look back as he folded up his knife and tucked it back into his pocket. He made a mental note to clean everything when he got home.

Somehow, almost miraculously, not a speck of blood had made its way onto his hands. Aside from the bloody blade in his pocket, he was entirely clean of the crime. He hoped.

He quickly returned to his bike, retrieved the flowers and left them at the doorstep in the shade.

Right on time.

He hadn’t seen a single car pass in the time he’d been there.

He could actually get away with it.

On the much slower drive back to Del Perro, all he could think was how relieved he’d be when he woke up and realize it was all just a dream.

Alas, he never woke up.

He went about the rest of his day exactly as usual, aside from the 15 minutes he spared to prepare a bleach solution and thoroughly clean his knife and the pocket of his jeans, it was as if nothing ever happened. He waited for the guilt to consume him. For that void pit to open up and swallow him whole, forcing him to confess his sins to all within earshot, lest he lose his eternal soul to the torment of his own mind. He waited, but it never came. He hadn’t felt any of that. He didn’t feel remorse. He felt good.

Knowing Jeremy was getting something out of it, knowing Los Santos was just a little bit less of a cesspool, knowing that Leslie and her family were one step closer to being able to safely return home one day; he could justify it. He wasn’t a good person, not the way Jeremy was. But he was redeemable. It was for the greater good.

He didn’t feel safe or like he’d gotten away with it and nerves still played constantly at the edge of his consciousness, but alongside that feeling there was a rush, an edge, a danger. And he loved it.

One thought kept coming back to him.

Jeremy. “Maybe I’ll strike it lucky with a crime wave, or a serial killer or something.”

It would certainly be a story.

* * *

It was strange how normal life seemed now that Ryan was effectively a murderer. It didn’t compute in his brain. It didn’t feel real, and yet it had happened. It didn’t quite compute that this 30-something florist who recycles and bakes his own bread and smiles at strangers and says please and thank you to every retail and hospitality worker who serves him, is actually a killer. He began to wonder how many others there were like him.

He went back to work and carried on like nothing had happened, occasionally wondering if anything had actually happened. A week went by and no new information emerged about the body. Or if it did, it wasn’t newsworthy. Perhaps the LSPD had written it off as collateral; covered it up. The acceptable price paid for dealing with the gangs.

Not knowing was the most frustrating thing. Ryan was tempted to drive out to see if the body was still there, but he couldn’t shake the memory of the line he’d heard countless times from cop dramas over the years: “they always return to the scene of the crime.” He couldn’t go back there, nor could he be the one to report the body. All he could do was wait.

On Saturday, Jeremy got called in to work on a developing story with a junior, which he was actually happy to do, so Ryan decided to surprise him by cooking dinner. When Jeremy got home, Ryan dished up Cajun-spiced baked catfish with collard greens and sweet potato wedges. It was one of those meals that sounded fancier than it was and was actually very quick and easy to make.

This time, they actually ate at the table.

“How was work, dear?” Ryan said with a smirk as Jeremy sat down to join him.

Jeremy grinned back. “It was good, dear,” he replied, clearly not in a bad mood and willing to indulge in Ryan’s playfulness.

“So, not wanting to quit just yet then?” Ryan ventured.

“Where’s the challenge in that?”

Ryan just grinned back at him, the look on his face very close to admiration.

“So, how’s the murder rate in Los Santos these days?” Ryan ventured, perhaps hopeful of some insider news.

“Sadly for me, about what it usually is…” Jeremy shrugged, “mainly just gang activity and stuff.”

Ryan slowly cut a chunk of fish and pushed it onto his fork, considering his next words carefully.

“I mean, if you get bored by the lack of murder, you could always come work in the shop for a while-” Ryan realised that hadn’t come out at all how he’d expected it to as soon as the words left his mouth and he suddenly went very quiet. Jeremy was looking at his quizzically.

“Ryan? Is everything ok at work?” His tone was joking, he could tell it was a typical Ryan misstep, “Are you planning on murdering someone?” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “Is it about Gavin?”

Ryan burst out laughing, his discomfort immediately easing.

Gavin was Meg’s new boyfriend. He hadn’t made the greatest impression on Ryan after he stood her up on their first date and Ryan had nearly scared him off, but Meg had been determined to have a “re-match” as she kept phrasing it. Weeks later and the relationship was still going strong and they all got along fantastically.

“What I meant was we can find things for you to do… We’re thinking about expanding our delivery area and having another person making runs. Maybe get a car…”

Jeremy nodded, experimentally dipping a sweet potato wedge into the creamy sauce Ryan had made for the fish. “That sounds good.”

“Yeah, I’ve made a few runs on the bike lately, it’s definitely do-able…” Ryan tried to make it sound as casual as possible, “I passed the site for Utopia Gardens out in Mirror Park the other day; you think they’re ever going to finish that eyesore?”

Jeremy shook his head, finishing what was in his mouth before speaking. “Nah, the company that owns it filed for bankruptcy. Plot’s technically for sale, but no one’ll touch it. Something to do with the courts, I’m not really sure, but Trevor was pretty interested in following it. The whole place is in a kind of financial limbo, who knows what’s gonna happen with it.”

Huh.

“Ah, that sucks. Could’ve been a real nice area…” Ryan mused, shifting his focus back to food.

His mind was racing though.

No one’s going to find that body.

The Lost are going to find the body and they sure as hell aren’t going to report it.

He could get away with it. Completely. Scott free.

No one would ever have to know.

But Jeremy wouldn’t get his story and the LSPD were no closer to being exposed.

Shit.

He wasn’t sure how to feel.

Thankfully, Jeremy changed the topic of conversation.

“Our anniversary’s coming up quick,” he noted with a small smile.

“It is…” Ryan smiled back, “and to think it’s been a year since we both tried to propose.”

“Technically, I did it first…”

“I was robbed! Those origami flowers took me days!” Ryan grinned back.

Jeremy blushed slightly, “Is that something you’ve… been thinking about?”

Ryan pulled a face that he hoped communicated an honest but non-committal “not really” and Jeremy instantly looked relieved.

“Ok, good, me either.”

Ryan smiled openly, relieved Jeremy felt the same way. “Not that I don’t want to… just…”

“There’s no need to rush into anything…”

“Yeah, we’ve both been busy…”

“It’s totally fine,” Jeremey concluded.

“Absolutely fine,” Ryan agreed with a giggle.

“But yeah,” Jeremy continued, “let’s maybe not do anything big this year, ok? No big presents or surprises or anything, just a nice night out… or in… or something.”

Ryan nodded, “Yes dear.”

Jeremy scowled at the use of the pet name, “You’re mean.”

“You love me,” Ryan teased.

“I do.” Jeremy said with all sincerity and without hesitation, and Ryan felt his heart flutter a little at it. “I really do... dear.”

Ryan knew at that moment exactly how far he’d go for Jeremy.

* * *

Jeremy’s new job had been busy, but not as confronting as he was worried it was going to be. Leslie had done a fantastic job of preparing him for the workload and the new responsibilities, while weighty, didn’t feel like anything he couldn’t handle. He also had Matt and Trevor to back him up.

Unfortunately, it did come with surprise wake-up calls at ungodly hours of the morning.

He reached, bleary-eyed for his phone as it vibrated across the bedside table and seeing it was Matt, he answered quickly, trying not to disturb Ryan as he got up and crept into the living room to talk.

“Matt, what’ve we got?”

“Shootout in the Projects; LSPD are on the scene, I’m heading out with Steffie now, but she’s closer.”

“Gang related? The Vagos are down that way, what’s the tension? I thought they’d been peaceful lately?”

“They had!” Matt sounded scattered over the phone, “I dunno man, might be something, might be nothing, but it seems pretty big. Might want to get in here to have something ready for print if they ask.”

Jeremy glanced at the clock on the wall. 2.40 am. Figures. At least he wouldn’t have traffic to contend with.

“Thanks Matt, I’ll be in the office in about 20 minutes, keep me in the loop.”

“Will do!”

“Hey Matt,” Jeremy added before he hung up, “be careful, alright?”

“I always am.”

Jeremy hung up and rubbed his face with both hands. He needed a shave, but it would have to wait. The news couldn’t.

He crept back into the bedroom and pulled on clothes, still conscious to try not to make too much noise. It wasn’t much use though, Ryan stirred as soon as he became aware that Jeremy’s weight wasn’t in the bed next to him. He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes still closed and hair sticking up at odd angles.

“Everything ok, Lil J?”

“Just gotta go into work a bit early. Don’t worry about it.”

“Y’sure?” Ryan mumbled.

It was a sweet and completely genuine gesture. If Jeremy had said he needed anything, Ryan would have undoubtedly gotten up and dutifully attended to it. Jeremy sighed, taking in a moment to consider himself so lucky.

“It’s fine. Go back to sleep, it’s not even 3 am yet.”

“M’kay,” Ryan was already drifting back off to sleep, “have a good day…”

“You too buddy,” he said quietly, picking up his shoes and heading out.

The office was never completely empty, there was a 24-hour news cycle to fill after all, but unless a major story was breaking, the hours between 3 and 6 am was the quietest it ever was. Jeremy still hadn’t quite developed a taste for coffee, but if these odd hours kept up, he felt like he soon would. Leslie was something of an addict before she started trying for a family. It was probably better than the cans of sugar-free energy drink he kept in the communal fridge for situations such as these. Thankfully, he was respected enough they were still where he’d left them. That, or Matt had been quietly re-stocking them for him, which was equally as likely. Jeremy cracked the tab on one and settled down at his desk to prepare what he could with the information Matt and Steffie were going to give him.

Jeremy nearly nodded off before the caffeine kicked in, but he didn’t have long to wait before Matt showed up in-person; scaring the absolute hell out of him by sneaking up behind him while he was starting to nod off again.

“So, I think I know what happened,” Matt announced after Jeremy’s heart rate had settled back to acceptable levels and he’d stopped laughing, “We got word that The Lost MC are trying to press into Vagos territory. Looks like things might get messy.”

“Where’d you hear that from?”

“Reliable source,” Matt winked. Jeremy took that to mean a local. He understood Matt had a respectable – he used the term loosely – circle of junkie and drug dealer contacts who were well in the know about the movements of the gangs. Well, where drugs were involved.

“Huh, that’s weird, thought the Lost and the Vagos had some kind of truce or understanding or something?”

Matt shrugged, “who knows with them, maybe a deal went south or something. Maybe they’re under new leadership. Caused a hell of a lot of trouble for the LSPD tonight though. It was a proper shootout. Heavy casualties; no one dead on the scene, but Steffie’s got an eye on the hospital if anyone dies from their injuries.”

“Really?” Jeremy asked incredulously, as Matt showed him the notes he’d jotted down. He knew the Lost had a contact and were on the take. Maybe that deal went sour. “And the LSPD gave you a statement?”

Matt nodded, “they were weirdly helpful this time. Might be a change in office politics, but Trevor would probably be the one to know more about that, if that’s the case.”

“Huh… well, that’s awesome. Make sure it gets another pair of eyes on it and we’ll run it.”

Jeremy was surprised he hadn’t been contacted by the LSPD himself about this one. Maybe he wouldn’t be. Maybe this was beyond their reach, or they were cutting ties. Maybe it had just been specific to Leslie. Or maybe there really had been a change in the politics. He made a note to check later with Trevor. Something had to be going on.

Jeremy was tempted to dive back into his investigations. Surely a purely professional inquiry wouldn’t set off too many alarm bells. Keep it low-key; office resources only.

A few hours and several cans of energy drink later, Jeremy’s office resources arrived right on time for work.

“Good morning Trevor,” Jeremy said brightly, catching him off-guard and nearly making him spill his coffee.

“Jeremy! God, scared the hell outta me. Didn’t expect you to be here so early. Keep forgetting you’re the boss now, gotta take care of all that… boss-y… stuff.”

Matt’s story had been published without backlash or comment from the LSPD and while Trevor hadn’t worked on it, he definitely would’ve read about it by now.

“Need a favour,” Jeremy launched right to the point, knowing if he ambushed Trevor for information, he’d get a more direct response. Leslie had confided in Jeremy that Trevor knew more than he let on a lot of the time and that was a card he should play very close to his chest. “What have you heard about LSPD happenings lately?”

Trevor frowned, throwing a glance around the room and dropping his voice, “they’re down an officer. Went AWOL last week sometime, no warning, no trace, no reason to leave. Current rumour is that the wife finally met the mistresses.” He smirked grimly.

Jeremy arched an eyebrow, “Got a name?”

Trevor pulled a face, trying to recall, “Began with J… Jerri- Jen-”

Jernigan. Jeremy made the connection instantly. The Lost’s contact.

Trevor shook his head unable to recall, “…wouldn’t be hard to find out, I can have a look if y-”

“No!” Jeremy blurted out before he could stop himself, “we uh… don’t need to do that… it’s fine, just never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

Trevor nodded slowly, understanding; knowing better than to question it. “Sure. Anyway… it hit pretty hard for one of the other cops in that office. Stalley, I think his name is. More rumours he’s gonna be getting fired, bit of the problem with the substances, if you know what I mean…” he made a drinking motion with his hand, “…but he’s been on the force a long time, so I don’t know how true those rumours are. You know how they are with dead wood.”

“They fuckin’ love it,” Jeremy muttered under his breath.

They weren’t going to get rid of Stalley. Stalley was the one who’d threatened Leslie. He was the contact, the muscle for the media outlets. Trevor would definitely have known that, but Jeremy wasn’t going to press him.

“Any movement in the higher-ups?” Jeremy asked, “Restructures?”

Trevor shook his head, “not that I’ve heard… but then that’s the kind of stuff we generally don’t hear about until after the fact.”

Jeremy frowned, but nodded, “thanks Trevor. Tell Matt you guys are square for Leslie’s baby shower present too.”

Trevor nodded solemnly.

Even though Jeremy trusted Trevor, silence always had its value.

Jeremy opened a blank document and stared at the blinking cursor on the screen for some time. Paranoia edged fear into the back of his mind. He tapped his fingers lightly on the keys, impatient but undecided. Ryan had all but begged him to erase all evidence of his investigations from his computer. He had a point. He closed the document. Checking the ‘no’ box on the prompt that asked if he’d like to save his changes. Instead, he walked over to the stationary closet and rummaged for a notebook. A5, 200 pages, lined. Brand new, no markings. He grabbed a handful of ballpoint pens while he was in there and took everything back to his desk. With a deep breath, he started to jot down all of the information he had.

* * *

Jeremy was stressed again. Ryan could see it. Ryan was stressed himself. He wasn’t sure if Jeremy could see it. For his sake, he hoped not. But still, Ryan worried. Jeremy had been keeping odd hours again, waking up in the middle of the night to work on something in the study. Ryan had his suspicions what that something might be. It was a Friday morning when Ryan found out. His alarm had woken him for the early start, Meg was taking the morning off to do something sweet with Gavin, so Ryan had taken the load for the opening shift. As he stretched and climbed out of bed, he noticed Jeremy’s absence. It wouldn’t have been the first time Ryan had awoken to an empty bed. Pulling on his pants and a clean t-shirt, he stalked quietly to the study.

Jeremy was slumped over the desk, still fully dressed in his clothes from the previous day, confirming he’d not come to bed at all. Four empty cans of energy drink were scattered about pens and pencils and clippings and a book. A journal that Ryan hadn’t seen before. He very carefully picked it up, so as not to disturb Jeremy, and leafed through the pages.

Jeremy had lied about not going digging. He’d brought a goddamn backhoe. If Ryan was honest with himself, he wasn’t surprised. This was the kind of evidence that could link him directly to Jernigan’s death. That wouldn’t look good for either of them… but that was never going to happen.

In the book, a big circle around Jernigan’s name had “missing??” scrawled next to it and the approximate date.

So, they knew he was missing and nothing further… that Jeremy had found anyway.

He had to do something. Jeremy wouldn’t stop until he had enough to bring the matter to courts. Ryan knew that wouldn’t work. No matter how good his case, Jeremy wouldn’t be able to go up against that kind of force in Los Santos. It just wasn’t done. Good intentions died here.

He couldn’t let him go through with it. He had to act first.

Ryan pored over the pages, taking in every bit of information he could, just in case he never got to see it again. One particular detail stood out to him.

The name of officer that had been threatening Leslie was Albert Stalley.

He knew what he had to do.

* * *

The time had come.

It was after sundown, Jeremy had said he’d be working late at the office, some technical error had come up last minute and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. For what exactly, Ryan wasn’t sure yet.

On the corner of Strawberry Ave and Vespucci Blvd was Shenanigan’s Bar. It was the local for the officers of the Downtown LSPD station – just down the road – but as such, it was really only frequented by the older beat-cops, the rookies and higher-ups preferring to hide the shame of their addictions in the privacy of their own homes, or at least where they wouldn’t garner too much attention from their colleagues. Jeremy’s notes suggested Officer Albert Stalley was a regular.

Ryan parked a block over, in the lot of the motorcycle dealers where his bike wouldn’t stand out and walked to the bar. It wasn’t a bad area, opposite the business district and Legion Square, amongst some reputable hotels, but it was a far cry from a desirable haunt. The bar itself looked respectable from the outside, but inside it was just like any other establishment, with the usual collection of after-work clientele looking for their weekly, or, probably more likely, daily escape from the grind.

He found Stalley exactly where he’d expected to. Barely vertical on a barstool, leaning heavily into one elbow balancing precariously on the edge of the bar, glass of brown alcohol almost empty in front of him and the bartender keeping one wary eye on him, almost expectantly.

Ryan ordered a diet coke, shucking his leather jacket as he did, and slid into a booth close by, pretending to wait for someone. He fiddled with his phone as he listened to the conversation taking place between Stalley and the bartender. It didn’t sound pretty, even if he was clearly a regular. The man could barely string three words together, but kept trying to order another drink. The bartender was having none of it.

“Al, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. I’m cutting you off. Finish up and leave.”

Stalley made a noise of frustration and swept his hand across the bar, knocking his glass to the floor; the bartender shook their head thankfully when it didn’t shatter.

“F-uck you!” Stalley managed to spit out, almost literally.

“God dammit Al! I was gonna call you a cab, but you know what, you can just get the fuck out.”

Stalley stood up from his chair and staggered backwards, bumping another customer’s drinks and making them spill. Ryan could smell him from where he sat.

“You can’t… t’ me like this!” He swayed and the customers whose drinks he’d spilled glared at him.

“I’m-m goddamn cop.”

The customers looked away again, suddenly very disinterested.

Ryan saw why when he spotted the pistol at his hip that Stalley’s hand was creeping towards, probably instinctively. Ryan clenched his teeth and despite the fire welling up within him, he reminded himself that this man was dangerous and uninhibited and however he planned to proceed, it would have to be carefully.

The bartender, however, was unflappable. They tempered their tone and looked him straight in the eye, all fiery assertiveness and completely done with his shit.

“Go home, Al.”

Stalley snorted a contemptuous acceptance and his feet slowly began moving him towards the door.

Ryan wasn’t worried about losing him. He didn’t rush to finish his drink, playing with his phone and finally sighing, returning his glass to the bar with a sad sort of smile to the bartender.

“Maybe next time,” they said optimistically.

“Thank you. Perhaps,” Ryan agreed with a brighter smile, dropped some change into the tip jar and headed out, eyes instantly scanning for the shuffling form of Stalley.

He heard some vague muttering followed by a loud clanging noise and a string of nonsensical profanities spewed from the base of a fire escape a little way down the road. Ryan pulled on his leather jacket and gloves. The familiar weight of the knife in his pocket was comforting, but not in the same way it had been previously. Now it felt more like anticipation. Preparedness. He had a sense of purpose now.

Stalley still had a gun but drunk as he was, it wouldn’t take much to disarm him. Ryan felt a rush of adrenaline as he made his way, as casually as he could, towards the noise. The swearing and muttering had stopped and as Ryan drew closer, he could see why.

The cop had passed out, slumped against the wall at the base of the fire stairs, conveniently next to the alleyway that would serve as Ryan’s cover. Ryan scowled at the man’s limp form. It would be an easy kill. He was almost disappointed. He glanced around to ensure no one was watching too closely before shaking Stalley to a semblance of consciousness.

“You look like you could use a hand,” Ryan offered gruffly, grabbing Stalley’s arm and pulling him to his feet, supporting the man’s ample weight under his shoulder and half-dragging him into the alleyway.

Stalley started snoring loudly before Ryan even made it to the shadows.

When they were sufficiently out of the way, Ryan dropped him heavily to the ground and retrieved his knife. All he would have to do would be a quick flick of the wrist and walk away. It would be easy.

He couldn’t risk having it go unnoticed again. He had to go bigger. Make it newsworthy.

For Jeremy.

He flicked out his knife and, looking around once more to make sure they were alone, he clamped one hand over Stalley’s mouth and sliced the man’s throat ear to ear. Stalley seized and spluttered but barely woke, his alcohol-soaked brain too overwhelmed to bother playing witness to his last moments.

He stepped back and waited until he was sure the man was dead; no more gurgles, no more pulse. Taking his knife again, he carved the name of the man’s contact into his arm.

Blood welled up in the incisions, filling the space like ink from a fountain pen to form the word.

WEAZEL.

Ryan left the body next to the dumpsters, so it would have to be found.

That was sure to get their attention.

Jeremy would get his story.

* * *

“Jeremy, you’re not gonna fucking believe this!” Matt’s voice was a mix of excitement, fear and pure disbelief as he swung around from the door frame into Jeremy’s office.

Jeremy looked up sceptically. It was another early start for him and so far, the day had been full of disappointments.

“There’s a dead body with our name on it… Literally.”

“What?” Jeremy’s eyes widened. This could be exactly the kind of thing he was after.

“You’re gonna want to see this one for yourself. Trust me.”

On the drive over, Matt explained.

“So, I picked up the chatter on the scanner…” Matt often left his radio scanner on and tuned to the LSPD frequencies, “…and heard some interesting things about a body… so I did what I usually do. I called ahead to the bar where they found the body and said I was with Weazel and that the LSPD asked me to call though first to see if it was ok to ask some questions.”

“I love the way you think sometimes, Matt,” Jeremy interrupted with a proud grin.

“Thanks man! So anyway, I struck it real fuckin’ lucky. As soon as they heard I was with Weazel, they asked if it was about the body they found. Naturally, I played along and got a few choice facts. Our stiff’s a middle-aged man, probable alcoholic and there was a lot of blood. But also, the killer tried to contact us it seems.”

“How so?”

“They said the body had been mutilated. Someone had carved ‘WEAZEL’ into his arm.”

A chill ran up Jeremy’s spine.

“Freaky, yeah?”

“Right,” Jeremy muttered, already masking a sense of unease, “well, we keep that all to ourselves until we find out what’s going on.”

“Agreed.”

When they arrived at the scene, the LSPD were questioning the locals and the forensics team was already walking the grid. The medical examiner had done their preliminary investigations of the body and given their findings to the police. Jeremy had visited enough crime scenes to know the general routine and timing. Judging by the way the blood still looked sticky, he guessed whatever happened must have been in the last 24 hours. He picked out the officer in charge and went straight to them, Matt following his lead.

“Jeremy Dooley, Weazel news-”

“Just the man I want to see,” The officer cut him off gruffly.

Jeremy had never seen him before, which he took as a good sign, it wasn’t likely to be anyone directly linked to his investigations… he hoped.

“Why might you want to see me?” Jeremy asked, feigning ignorance.

“Got a few questions to ask you… informally of course.”

The officer pulled a notepad from his pocket and Jeremy’s suspicions piqued. Much like he’d seen Ryan do, he masked his expression, smiling politely.

“Of course, ask away, Officer…?”

“Detective Gibson.”

“Detective Gibson,” Jeremy repeated, correcting himself “if I can be any help…”

Gibson picked up a tablet and flipped it around to show a photo taken probably only minutes earlier of the deceased man, who, Jeremy could see from the corner of his eye, had hardly shifted. “Do you know this man?”

Jeremy looked at the photo. He hadn’t gotten close enough to see the body properly yet, but the photo was good quality and he could clearly make out the dead man’s face. It was Stalley. His blood ran cold, but again, Jeremy didn’t show it.

He squinted and stared hard at the photo, replying confidently, “I’ve never met that man before in my life.”

It wasn’t a lie.

The officer frowned, “Do you recognize the name Albert Stalley? – this is outside the official statement, so that name is not to be published -”

“Of course,” Jeremy nodded professionally, “and no, I’m afraid don’t.”

“Do you know of any association he may have had with Weazel?”

Jeremy frowned, “I don’t think so. Perhaps before my time? What makes you think he has connections to us?”

“We’ll have an official statement for you shortly…” The detective avoided the question, “Would you be willing to provide us some contact details for further investigations?”

“I can’t speak for other Weazel employees, but I can give you my contact details and if I can be of any help…”

“We’ll contact you, thank you.” Gibson said, his tone finally softening slightly.

Jeremy nodded again, giving the officer his business card. “You’re welcome.”

“Like I said, we’ll have a statement for the media shortly.”

Gibson went back to his team and their investigations.

Jeremy was thankful his attention had shifted. He felt like he was going to pass out. He hurried over to Matt.

“Our body’s Albert Stalley, LSPD officer, crooked as a hillbilly smile, alcoholic – probably drunk at the time, that’s how the killer would’ve been able to get the drop on him…”

If it had been anyone else with him, he would’ve stayed quiet, waited for the official statement. But he needed someone else to know – to have all the information he had in case… in case something happened to him. He’d have to call Leslie too…

“You get that all from detective Stick-in-his-ass?” Matt asked incredulously.

Jeremy shook his head, “Just don’t worry about how I know, I need you to know. But wait for the official statement and that’s what we’ll go off. Anything else we can find without too much digging can go in too. I don’t want to half-ass this one, ok?”

“Sure!” Matt actually sounded excited, “think there’s something to it?”

Jeremy nodded. “Even if there’s not, our name is on the line.”

…and possibly our necks.

It had been a long day. Between Jeremy and Matt, they had written up the story using the LSPD’s very vague statement and embellished it in all their usual ways, adding a few choice details that they figured were easy enough to obtain through usual investigative journalism… nothing that gave anything away just yet. The LSPD chose to sit on the information about the mutilation and the links to Weazel. Technically it was embargoed for legal reasons. Details like that couldn’t go out to the public – well, yet – without potentially risking their investigation. Jeremy didn’t want to risk getting the company involved in a lawsuit; god knows they’d been through enough.

Part of him wanted this to be a one-off, another cop finding out, or one of the gangs mistaking his dealings for something else… But another part of him felt the electric buzz of excitement that came from a real story and the possibility of some kind of vigilante justice. Maybe it was Leslie’s doing… she wasn’t likely to risk her family, he knew she’d be laying low, but then again… he had to check she was ok and find out if she knew anything.

As he drove home, he took a detour through Little Seoul to a payphone and called the number Leslie had left him for just such an occasion. It took a long while for her to answer, but that was to be expected.

“Are you safe? Have you seen the news? Do you know anything about this? Have you told anyone?” He was a little surprised at the way his voice mirrored hers, speaking in that rapid-fire staccato style she had, keeping it to the bare essentials to prevent from being understood if overheard.

“I think so. Yes. No. Of course not.” She replied equally as quickly. “Are you ok? I wasn’t sure if I should call.”

“I’m ok, just…” he rubbed the back of his neck and suddenly felt a knot twist in his stomach, “I’m just worried… Whoever did it, they knew something.”

“It’s not from me,” Leslie said matter-of-factly. Jeremy had no reason to doubt her, there was too much at stake.

“I just… I don’t know then.”

“This is going to sound dumb, but stay with it Jer,” Leslie urged him, “I’ve got a good feeling about this one and they don’t know what you know. They can’t. You’re ahead of the game. This could be the break you’ve wanted to blow them open. But just be fucking careful, ok?”

Leslie never swore. It was jarring to hear and drove home just how dangerous this thing was that he was getting involved in. He trusted her though.

“You too, thanks. Stay safe.” He hung up and lingered for just a moment in the booth.

He took a few long breaths in and considered his options. Leslie was right. He had to stick with it.

The only people who knew anything about this were himself and Leslie and what he’d shown to Ryan in the report.  If someone else knew… had Ryan said something? Maybe just to someone in passing, mentioned a name. Los Santos was full of mercenaries looking to make a quick buck…

Oh god, Ryan wouldn’t hire a killer, would he?

No, he wouldn’t go that far. He could be a bit odd, but he wasn’t completely reckless.

Jeremy shook himself out of it and got back in his car. He’d ask Ryan about it when he got home.

* * *

Ryan felt even less remorse over the second death. He wondered if killing was something people got used to; got addicted to. He wondered if it could become a problem. He’d never really had an addictive personality, although he did make a conscious effort to avoid most things that constituted that kind of problematic behaviour.

Typical, of all things you could become addicted to, it’d be murder. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess.

He snorted at his inner monologue. Sometimes he wondered if he should worry about that.

Meg and Ashley had still been on his case about taking a break from the shop, and as far as they knew, they’d been wearing him down. He had better ideas for uses of his time.

Find your project.

He’d certainly found it.

When Jeremy came home that day, Ryan knew he’d found out. Something in the way he carried himself said he was anxious, moreso than usual lately. Ryan hated that it was his actions that led to it, but at the same time, he could take comfort knowing that the killer was definitely not going to be coming after Jeremy.

“Good day, dear?”

Jeremy brightened to hear the familiar teasing tone, and greeted him with a grin.

“Actually, dear, there was a very interesting story this morning.”

“Oh?” Ryan raised an eyebrow, “someone die?”

“Actually…”

“I knew it!”

“…a cop.”

Even though he knew it was coming, he had to be careful of his reactions. Act accordingly.

“Oh?” He repeated a little more incredulously.

Jeremy drew closer, lowering his voice, probably instinctively.

“You never told anyone about the report I showed you, did you?”

Ryan’s eyebrows knitted together, “No… why? What’s going on?”

“I’m serious, Ryan, even if it was a joke, even if it was just gossip in passing; you didn’t mention it to anyone?”

Ryan was stalwart in his response, “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that story’s dangerous, Jeremy,” there was a serious edge to Ryan’s voice now, “Do you think I’d risk anyone hearing about it?”

Jeremy seemed to slump slightly, nodding.

“Ok, I just had to know…” There was a long pause before he continued, prompted by Ryan’s scrutinizing gaze, “…The LSPD agent, the officer that was harassing Leslie – he turned up dead.”

Ryan took it in slowly. He’d seen the reports, he pretended he hadn’t. He knew full well the details.

“Cops die all the time in this city, Jeremy, the gangs are unforgiving. He probably just got caught up in something he shouldn’t have. It’s probably a coincidence. That’s all.”

Jeremy just hummed in response, pensive and silent.

Interesting.

“I mean, it’s good news for you though, right?” Ryan asked, “You won’t have to deal with that hanging over your head anymore.”

Jeremy shrugged after a moment of what Ryan knew to be some kind of internal struggle, “I guess. Yeah.”

Ryan instinctively felt a sting of hurt that Jeremy decided not to comment further, but he also knew it was a lot for him to take in and it would take a while for Jeremy to properly mull things over. Ryan couldn’t judge him for it.

“At least it’ll make for an interesting story for you?” Ryan suggested brightly.

Jeremy grinned, coming back to himself slightly, “yeah it will. Cops are going pretty hard after this guy, so it should be a good one to follow. I put Matt on it as well, should be a good boost for him.”

“Nice,” Ryan enthused, seeing a sparkle returning to Jeremy’s eyes, the same kind that made him fall in love with him to begin with, “at least something good can come of it… Might even open some avenues to expose them, yeah? Or let them expose themselves – open them up to an internal investigation or something.”

Jeremy nodded, “I’m gonna stick with it. At least see it through.”

Ryan moved closer to him, slipping a hand around his waist and pulling him in close, pressing their foreheads together with a slight nuzzle. “Just be careful, ok?”

“Always.”

It wasn’t entirely convincing.

* * *

It took less than three days for Ryan to decide his next victim.

He’d been keeping tabs on Jeremy’s notes, snatching pieces of information where he could. Thankfully, Jeremy kept the journal on him at all times, and that meant bringing it home with him from work.

Shari Vasquez was in contact with The Families and high up on Jeremy’s list. Incidentally, she’d also been aggressively investigating Stalley’s death. Jeremy’s most recent notes suggested he’d been keeping a close eye on her too.

Ryan would be doing Jeremy a huge favour. Lifting that weight from his mind.

That was how he justified it anyway.

Vasquez lived on Del Perro beach, not all that far from them, and it didn’t take long to discover she was a regular beach runner with a busy schedule that forced her out in the evenings.

He made the conscious decision to wear his leather jacket and gloves this time, despite the fact he would look out of place down by the pier. If there was a struggle, it would protect him and also limit the possibility of his DNA finding its way onto the scene, say, under the fingernails of his victim. The less exposed skin, the better.

To this effect, he’d also found an old Halloween mask amongst the window dressings they used for the shop – a black skull with a white toothy grin. It was latex, so he could fold it up and stuff it in his pocket, and it would cover his whole head; he could even tuck his hair into it, so if he screwed up, he wouldn’t be identified.

Besides, if he was going to commit to this, it couldn’t hurt to add a bit of theatricality, he reasoned.

He tucked a spare knife into his belt, just in case… well, just in case; and headed out.

There was really no going back now.

It was a pleasant evening with only a sliver of moon and the beach was growing rapidly darker as Ryan waited for the familiar figure to run past him under the pier. It was low tide and since he’d been observing her, that had meant officer Vasquez would extend her run to the water drain on the other side of the pier to see the lights of the Ferris wheel before turning around to run back. Under the pier was largely deserted of vagrants at this time of year which was usually far wetter, and the fact that it was mid-week meant there’d be fewer handsy teens using it as a make-out spot. School night and all.

Ryan couldn’t have asked for a more perfect setup.

What he wasn’t counting on was how alert Vasquez would be.

He stalked between the pillars under the pier, assuming he’d go unnoticed, just another passer-by in the evening, but her head was on a swivel and he struggled to unfold his knife without her seeing. When she passed him, he took his moment to flick open the knife and taking careful aim…

She turned to look back at the last second – clearly an instinctive response to seeing such an imposing figure lurking in the shadows – just in time to see the knife leave Ryan’s hand and she threw herself forward to the ground. The knife barely grazed the back of her skull, blade glancing off hard bone, rather than embedding in flesh as he’d intended and while she screamed and stumbled, it was far from a debilitating blow. She picked herself up and Ryan panicked as she turned back on him, suddenly going on the offensive.

She kicked a heel out and Ryan’s instincts took over, twisting his body in an attempt to dodge the blow, her kick mercifully missing its mark and striking hard on the inside of his thigh instead. His leg nearly buckled beneath him. Had her kick hit home, Ryan had no doubt it would have been the end of the night for him. He scrabbled for his other knife and pulled it free just in time to catch her forearm as she struck at him again. She hit hard, thumping him in the arm and he stumbled backwards, catching himself on his now bad leg and almost crumpling to the ground. Instead, he shifted his weight forward and launched himself at her with all the force he could muster, blade bared.

This knife was larger than the one he was used to and before he knew what he was doing, he’d plunged the blade into her throat and torn it free, leaving a gaping wound in its wake.

She was unresponsive, although he couldn’t be entirely sure she was dead when he retrieved his smaller knife from the sand and wrote “Families” across her exposed midriff with the sharpened tip, letters blooming behind it in her unique ruby red ink.

“For Jeremy,” he added under his breath.

He returned to the shop before going home. It was late, and Meg had closed, assuming he’d gone home for the night. He let himself in the back way and stashed his mask back with the Halloween decorations, inspecting it thoroughly for blood or signs of the struggle. He’d washed his gloves and jacket of any visible blood very quickly in the seawater before he’d emerged from under the pier, the whole time sweating bullets about being spotted, but thankfully he hadn’t seen anyone. His blood was ignited, he felt a rush of energy, better than any he’d felt before. It was addictive. He’d never felt more alive.

He wasn’t entirely surprised to discover he felt no remorse. It was like taking out the trash, just another job done. A small part of him wondered what Jeremy would think of that.

He never has to know.

Ryan used the work sink to clean up more thoroughly, scrubbing his knives with a freshly prepared bleach solution, then wiping down his jacket and gloves, before scrubbing his hands completely clean.

When he felt like himself again, he made his way home; knowing Jeremy would likely be working late again, like he had been often, giving Ryan a useful flexibility for his …extracurricular activities.

Unfortunately, his encounter had left a mark. The bruises came up dark and obvious within the day. Ryan was lucky enough that Jeremy had missed them when he’d come home in the dark and Ryan had gotten dressed and covered the larger one on his leg before Jeremy had woken up the next morning. His arm was pretty obvious though and he couldn’t cover it without drawing more suspicion. Jeremy had been so wrapped up in his work, he was up and out the door before he even had a chance to notice, barely even pausing to give Ryan their daily parting ‘boop’ as he left.

Surely, they couldn’t have found the body already… He wondered to himself.

Actually, with where he’d left it, and the popularity of morning beach running, that was very likely.

He felt an electric tingle run down his spine, less nerves than excitement at the prospect. There was a real element of danger there now. He was fairly certain he couldn’t be linked to the victim in any obvious way, that the LSPD would admit to anyway, that could make him a suspect by conventional investigation methods, and he wasn’t in any databases as far as he knew, so DNA evidence would be a long shot at best.

He grabbed a rubber band from the bowl by the door and tied his hair back, wondering briefly if dyeing it would somehow make it more difficult to identify if he accidentally shed at a crime scene. Maybe he should take Meg up on that offer…

Ryan went to work as usual, walking the few doors down to the shop.

He was greeted by the bell and not just Ashley, but also Meg, waiting for him.

“Good morning?” Ryan tried cautiously, “…why do I feel like this is an intervention?”

Ashley deadpanned it, “Because it’s an intervention, Ryan.”

“Ah, well… I suppose that explains it then.”

“We have to talk about your – frankly shocking – work habits.”

“I’m fiiiine.”

“You’re stressed out, Rye,” Meg started her tone gentle but serious, “and I’m sure you don’t mean to, but you’re stressing everyone else out, especially when you show up randomly and then disappear. We never know where you are. Take a break, roster someone else on and if you still really feel like it, come in to visit or something.”

Ashley had her arms folded and was nodding along.

He had been stressed, that much was true; although he hadn’t realised how it might’ve been affecting them. If he did take a break, it would give him more time to pursue …other interests… more thoroughly.

He sighed heavily, finally nodding in agreement, “Ok, I can see where you’re coming from, but I’m still going to come in and do the books and some stuff out the back. You won’t have to count on me for anything, and I won’t get in the way.”

“Thank you, Rye,” Meg said emphatically, “I think this will be good for you. About time you had a proper break.”

He smiled, mind already running with possibilities, “yeah. I think so.”

* * *

Jeremy was, unsurprisingly, home late again that night. Ryan had taken a good chunk of the day to make a proper dinner, doing up a roast, knowing Jeremy would at least appreciate the effort, even if the majority of it did become leftovers.

Considering he must have been exhausted, Jeremy seemed remarkably perky when he got home. The first words out of his mouth were an enthusiastic, “Another one!”

“Another what?” Ryan replied, playing dumb.

“Another crooked cop got got,” Jeremy explained, kicking off his shoes at the door and taking his journal and work bag to the study.

“Awesome!” Ryan tried to mimic his enthusiasm, before falling back on confusion, “…that’s good right?”

“I…” Jeremy’s tone changed when he realised the implication of his enthusiasm, brow knitting together, “Yeah. Sort of, I guess?”

“Then awesome.”

Jeremy laughed uneasily.

“I actually read the news this time,” Ryan admitted sheepishly, “so I already knew.”

“Ah…”

“But you’re looking at a serial killer then?” Ryan asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Jeremy nodded, “That’s what it looks like, yeah.”

“That’s exciting then, that’s what you said you wanted, that should be good for the paper and Matt too, right?”

Jeremy nodded again, “It’s real good news for us. Not so much for the victims, but definitely for us.”

Ryan smirked, “You should call him the Vagabond killer.”

“Excuse me?”

“Serial killer’s gotta have a name, right? Leaves the bodies out in the open like vagabonds…” Ryan shrugged.

“That’s… kinda dumb, Ryan,” Jeremy said with a quiet giggle.

Ryan shrugged again, a little more dejected, “I just thought it sounded cool.”

“It did, buddy, just probably want something a little punchier for this one.”

Ryan couldn’t help but pout ever so slightly. He really wanted that to stick.

Jeremy kissed his cheek, “thanks for the suggestion though, I’ll remember it for next time.”

“No, you won’t,” Ryan muttered under his breath, loud enough so Jeremy could hear.

“Probably not,” Jeremy confessed, “but I will do my best to humour you!”

“Aww,” Ryan leaned his face down close to Jeremy’s, “that’s all I ever ask.”

Jeremy met him to press their foreheads together and pulled away slowly, blinking up into his eyes with an affectionate grin.

“I made dinner,” Ryan said, returning his smile.

Jeremy collapsed into a hug, humming against Ryan’s chest. “Have I said I love you lately? I should.”

“Yeah you should, you ungrateful bastard,” Ryan ribbed playfully, “I love you all the time and this is the thanks I get…”

“Is that a bruise?” Jeremy interrupted, the large purple discolouration would have been very visible from Jeremy’s position pressed against him. “Holy shit Ryan, what’d you do?”

Jeremy prodded very gently at the bruise on his arm from Vasquez’s last-ditch efforts to overpower him. Ryan cringed to think how close she came.

“Oh,” Ryan said nonchalantly, brain scrambling to come up with an excuse, “that was …Meg.”

“Meg?” Jeremy repeated, bewildered.

Why was Meg the first one to spring to mind?

“Yeah, I used to do Kung Fu back in the day,” not a lie, “and I was teaching her a few things about self-defence, y’know, with Gavin and all…”

“And she did that?”

Ryan shrugged, “She’s got a mean right hook.”

Jeremy shook his head, but to Ryan’s relief, he seemed to buy it, “Maybe Gavin’s the one who needs protecting from her.”

“Oh definitely…” Ryan laughed, before adding proudly, “If she has to, she will kick his ass.”

Jeremy smiled, “they’re good though, right?”

“They’re great, real cute kids,” Ryan agreed.

“Kinda like us then,” Jeremy teased.

“Please, we’re not even remotely cute,” Ryan retorted, pulling Jeremy into a crushing hug before lifting him clear off his feet and spinning him around, placing him back down and pressing their foreheads together.

“Nope. Definitely not cute.”

* * *

Ryan wasn’t sure if it was something he should be proud of or not, but it turned out that murder did, in fact, get easier with time. The more names Ryan crossed off, the more Jeremy was busy, the less time he had to question exactly where Ryan was going, what he was doing.

He hadn’t told Jeremy about it, but Meg and Ashley were still smug about his staycation.

His twisted sense of humour had declared it a ‘murder break.’

He still dropped into the shop often, keeping track of records and using the space to unwind. It also provided a perfect alibi. No one could track his every movement in the shop, he could just as easily be cleaning out the back room as he could be stalking an alleyway in Vinewood waiting to bloody his blade.

In everything he did, Ryan was diligent. Ryan knew every name. Every contact. Every misdeed.

Over the next several weeks, Ryan carefully identified and observed his targets, waiting for just the right moment to strike. His death count rose, and so did his confidence.

Captain Poro. Contact for the Ballas. Bled out behind a dumpster in South Los Santos. “Ballas” inscribed on his forehead.

Captain Jones. Contact for the Los Santos Triads. Found in a construction site in Vinewood Hills. Multiple stab wounds, fatal slash to the abdomen. “Triads” scrawled unceremoniously across his back.

Officer Ronson. Contact for the Varrios Los Aztecas. Left by the canals in Vespucci. Throat slit ear to ear. “VLA” carved into his chest. Ryan was particularly proud of that one.

Their guilt written in blood. Left for Jeremy to find. To expose more and more of the rotten, decaying root of this city. They would get to the bottom of it. Had to.

Ryan had come to the end of his list. But there was one piece of the puzzle that was missing.

Jeremy’s notes had been getting increasingly desperate. With each murder came a flurry of activity and notes on the movements and reactions of the LSPD officers remaining. Jeremy had been narrowing down his suspect list of who might be orchestrating the whole thing.

There had to be a puppet master, and Ryan knew if they could just get to them, then they had a chance at wiping out this whole toxic syndicate.

Burnie would’ve been proud of them.

* * *

Matt had been meticulous about the story. He’d followed all of Jeremy’s tips and leads unquestioningly and kept on the scanners 24/7. He and Jeremy had been at every crime scene; they knew every detail of every murder, and Detective Gibson, while maintaining his reservations about the pair, had become almost friendly with them. Jeremy was glad he was still assigned to the case. Whoever was pulling the strings mustn’t have had any sway over the investigations, otherwise he’d be seeing the usual rotating cast of rookies incapable of finding evidence in the evidence locker.

Once the gangs were out from under the thumb of the LSPD, chaos bled over to the streets. Jeremy was in constant work reporting on their activity, the crime waves and turf wars and – amusingly enough – drug shortages that came with the gradual disassembly of the corrupt network. Professionally, he was thriving, but Jeremy was getting exhausted. He tried as tactfully as possible to build his story without drawing attention to himself. He needed all the evidence to be in place. Although, with the rate the killer seemed to be working at, the whole crooked connection could be dead before it got a chance to build back up.

To be fair, Jeremy wanted to wish whoever was doing it best of luck.

Because he had run out of names.

His journalistic efforts were spent in the papers, but his own investigations – trying to figure out who was running the show – those needed to continue. Once he knew, he could bring them down… but he needed a common theme. Returning no clues from the investigations the paper necessitated, Jeremy attended the victims’ funerals and memorial services. They were held in the same cemetery he and Ryan would visit sometimes, so it was easy enough for Jeremy to slip in and observe amongst the mourners. The first thing he noticed was a lack of overlap in their friend circles, aside from a few cops that turned up probably as if it was expected of them, but there was only one person he noticed was repeatedly present, and he nearly missed him. He discreetly managed to snap a photo of the man and messaged it to Trevor. He’d know what to do. If there was anything to find on him, Trevor would find it.

Less than 24 hours later, Jeremy knew he’d made the right choice when Trevor dropped a thick manila folder on his desk with a wink.

The name written on it was: Lee Whitless.

* * *

Ryan had come to the end of his list. It slowed him down significantly and frustrated him that he couldn’t just look up his next victim. He needed more information, but he kept coming up empty handed. There had to be more to it. There had to be someone running the show.

To try to give himself a break, he went back to the shop more often. He couldn’t be prouder of the way it had been running in his temporary absence.

In everything he did, Ryan was diligent. Even as a florist, a job some may argue was primarily an art, Ryan kept meticulous handwritten notes. Despite the new online system Meg and Ashley had installed, he still recorded every order that walked into his store in his notebook. It was originally for his own reference – recording the meanings of the flowers people had ordered, noting bunches with interesting aesthetics or curious meanings, analysing trends. Ryan had always fancied himself a bit of an economist, easily able to read patterns in data and extrapolate information. Every now and then he’d find himself flipping through the pages, looking for anything that might stand out, perhaps to anticipate the new “fashionable” blooms.

Despite the redundancy, Meg and Ashley had been filling in the entries for him while he was away, Ryan noticed the differences in their script immediately – suddenly it became legible. It was really sweet of them. Ryan noticed a doodle of a little skull and crossbones next to one of the names written as: Lee (Creeper).

“Hey Meg, what’s this guy? Creeper?”

“Oh, that’s just the nickname I gave him,” Meg said, blushing a little, clearly embarrassed, “He just gives off this real creepy vibe. I called him ‘Creepy McCreeperson’ one time describing him to Mica and it stuck – but don’t worry,” she added quickly, “it’s only like that in your book, not in any official records, he never gave a last name and always pays in cash, so it’s all I had to go off.”

Ryan shook his head, “that’s ok. What’s with the skulls?”

“That’s the other reason he’s creepy,” Meg explained, “he always orders funeral flowers.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. He flicked through the pages to double check the dates. They coincided with the murders. A few days after each. Surely that couldn’t be just a coincidence.

“What’s he look like?”

Meg pulled a face, “Does it matter?”

“I just… I think I might know who he is,” Ryan tried.

Meg conceded, “he’s a pretty big guy, thinning hair, blonde, probably late 30s, early 40s. Gives off a bit of a cop vibe… not sure how to explain it other than that.” She shrugged. “He has like an…”

“Air of authority?” Ryan suggested.

“…he acts like a total ass,” Meg said bluntly, “like he owns the place or something. You know the kind.”

Ryan sighed, “yeah… I do. All too well. Let me know next time he comes in and I can deal with him if you’d like.”

Meg let out a relieved sigh, “That’d actually be great. I can deal with him, but he just… makes me really uncomfortable.”

Ryan nodded understandingly, “that’s ok, I’ll handle it.”

His dark inner monologue chuckled at the implications.

Ryan hadn’t been paying close enough attention. One of them had been right under his nose this whole time. He double checked the dates of the pickups against the memorial or funeral services for the murdered cops so far. They all lined up. All the services had been held locally at Hill Valley Cemetery.

Funeral flowers were one of the few arrangements the shop offered a pre-made selection for. Mourning could be a difficult enough process and Ryan always wanted to make sure he wasn’t placing undue stress on those who needed it the least. Consequently, Lee “Creeper” had simply been coming to choose arrangements from a book and that offered very little insight into the relationship he had with the deceased.

Why had he not thought to look for connections there before?

He was frustrated with himself. Find the man who brought the flowers, find the common link.

Ronson’s funeral was the only one that hadn’t been held yet. The eulogy in the paper said it had been scheduled for next week.

Which meant Creeper should be visiting soon. And he would be ready.

Ryan took his bike out of the garage and parked it behind the shop so that he could quickly slip out to follow the Creeper if he happened to show up. Technically he was still on vacation, so he didn’t strictly need to be there to begin with. His sudden disappearances weren’t all that unusual to his staff anymore.

Day one, he didn’t show up at all. Ryan wondered if he was wasting his time on it. The second day, Ryan was prepared to spend another day essentially toiling in the back room killing time waiting to make a move, when the first customer of the day walked in, the little bell happily chirruping at his arrival.

Meg’s head immediately appeared in the doorway and she mouthed the words “help me!”

Ryan donned his green apron and headed to the front of the shop.

Meg’s nickname had been aptly chosen. “Creeper” was exactly that – a Creep. Ryan immediately saw the large man crowding Meg’s personal space as she attempted to back up even further into a display, clearly uncomfortable.

“Good morning, sir!” Ryan called out cheerfully, grabbing the man’s attention and letting Meg slip away to pretend to attend to something more urgent over the other side of the shop. “Can I help you today?”

He seemed a bit flustered to be interrupted and annoyed that Meg was more interested in something other than him. It was clear to Ryan this was a man who was used to getting his way, but he was courteous enough to accept Ryan’s offer and allow Meg to extricate herself from the situation.

The man smiled grimly, “I’d like to place an order for an arrangement, it’s for a funeral I’m afraid.”

Ryan nodded solemnly, “Of course, what kind of arrangement were you after?”

The man hummed, “A simple one, to honour a fallen friend. Something with blue in it.”

Ryan nodded and flipped open a display book to a modest arrangement that fit his description, “something like this?”

The Creeper nodded, disinterested, his eyes glancing up towards Meg as she bent over to sweep something off the floor. Ryan noticed. It took a tremendous amount of restraint not to growl.

The transaction continued as expected, a professional level of civility between the two of them.

“Do you need delivery? There’s a flat rate delivery to Hill Valley church if that’s where the service will be held,” Ryan explained.

“No no,” the man insisted, “I’ll come pick them up.”

“Very good, they’ll be ready for pickup after 9 am the day of the service,” Ryan made a note in the system, “Can I just get a name for that?”

“Lee.” The man said it in a tone so final that even Ryan hesitated to push for more information. He wasn’t getting a surname out of him, and even if he gave one, Ryan was almost certain it would be a decoy. He was going to have to follow him.

That was fine. He’d been prepared for that.

He wished Lee Creeper a good day amidst other pleasantries and kept an eye on him from the shop window as he walked down the block, towards where Ryan assumed he was parked.

“You weren’t wrong about that guy,” Ryan said to Meg.

“Right? Total creep to me, not as bad to you, but you still saw right?”

Ryan nodded, “Yeah, I saw… I just gotta run out for a bit, you’ll be right here.” It wasn’t really a question. Ryan was distracted trying to track Creeper. Meg nodded, but he didn’t really see her.

He slipped off his apron and dashed out the back, pulling on his jacket and helmet to follow him.

Creeper drove a nice car, expensive, all shiny metallic black and sleek and fast. But Ryan had no problem keeping up on the bike. Not that he had to keep pace long. Ryan followed him to a well out-of-the-way house in Pacific Bluffs, West of the Cemetery. As he pulled into the driveway, Ryan kept driving, but made note of the address. He had a feeling he’d be back here soon.

* * *

The one day Ryan planned on doing his reconnaissance, Jeremy came home early. Figured. Still, Ryan had an itch to scratch and he knew Jeremy was deeply distracted by his own work; he wouldn’t miss him for just an hour or two.

Ryan had left his mask and knives in the storage compartment of his bike, along with some notes he’d printed off if an opportunity presented itself. He dressed his usual casual self just for the occasion. He grabbed his jacket and helmet and started to pull on his boots when Jeremy emerged from the study, a look of curiosity and mild concern on his face.

“Where are you going?”

Ryan shrugged as he pulled on his boots and started lacing them up, “Out. Just gotta run some errands for the shop, post some things, pick up some seeds for Ashley. I won’t be long…”

“You’re not walking, are you?”

Ryan shook his head, “I’m taking the bike. I’m not going far, I’ll be fine.”

Jeremy hesitated for a moment. “You know there’s a killer on the loose. They’ve taken down guys bigger than you…”

Ryan pulled a face. “The big, bad Vagabond’s got nothing on me,” he cocked an eyebrow and smirked at Jeremy.

Jeremy scowled back at him, “Ryan, please be careful.”

“Jeremy,” Ryan started, but Jeremy’s eyes were full of concern. He sighed, “I promise, I’ll be careful.”

“People have died, Ryan… I’ve been following the story and we might be involved in all of this now… I just… I worry about you.”

Ryan’s face softened, “Well, I worry double for you. I promise Jeremy, I’ll be careful. And I will do whatever it takes to protect you too.”

“And I’d do the same, so don’t do anything stupid, ok?”

Ryan pressed a kiss to the top of Jeremy’s head. “Ok. I’ll be back soon.”

It was early evening, and the sun was setting, shades of orange through purple lighting up the sky and rapidly growing darker, but it was still early enough to be out and not raise suspicions. The drive was relaxing, more than it had any right to be for what Ryan was going to do. Although, to be completely honest, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.

Ryan pulled up to park on the kerb and retrieved his mask, the notes and knives, before leaving his bike and helmet a few doors down and walking the remainder of the way to the large and likely very expensive house. The car was in the drive – it was a nice neighbourhood, and the car was likely insured, so Creeper probably felt no fear about leaving it outside. Ryan vaguely wished he could find that kind of security. Checking for CCTV cameras and onlookers, he slipped around the side of the house, making his way around the back. Lights were on inside the house, but there was very little movement that Ryan could make out. He found a vantage point amidst some bushes and, pulling his mask from his back pocket, he slipped it on to help his camouflage and squatted down to watch.

He saw the back of Creeper’s head as he sat down and flicked through television channels. He appeared to be alone. That was a good sign. Ryan backed up as he saw the creep rise, turn around to look almost directly at him out the window, before making his way to the back door, sliding it open and sticking his head out, looking around.

Ryan tried to melt into the shadows, holding his breath as Creeper looked around, seemed satisfied with his findings and went back inside, leaving the door ever so slightly ajar.

Ryan wasn’t sure what he’d been looking for, but he was certain he hadn’t been seen.

The weight of the knives at his hip gave him a sense of certainty and courage and he found himself inadvertently thumbing the hilt. A sense of impatience washed over him. He wanted this over. It could be over. It could be over tonight. All he had to do was get inside and finish it. And the universe had presented him with an opportunity, he’d be foolish not to take it…

Before he was completely aware of his actions, he was sneaking towards the back door, staying low and quiet, hand resting assuredly on the handle of his knife.

The creep wasn’t in front of the TV anymore. He wasn’t in the room at all. Ryan slid the door open and it was almost silent on it’s bearings. Perfect.

Inside was nice, modern, clean, minimal. A suitable bachelor’s pad. Ryan briefly wondered if it was a post-divorce thing, or maybe he was just like that. At any rate, there was nothing cosy about it, nothing that felt like home. At least to him.

He wandered as quietly as he could to the tiled area leading up to the kitchen where he’d seen the creep disappear to. Maybe he could catch him with his pants down.

He sensed movement behind him. A chill ran down his spine and Ryan froze.

He heard the slide of the pistol snap into place as the voice boomed with all the authority of a senior Sargent behind him; “Put your hands on your fucking head and turn around slowly, or I will shoot you where you stand.”

Heart pounding, head swimming with too many unhelpful or downright dangerous ideas, Ryan reluctantly obeyed.

At gunpoint, Creeper pulled Ryan’s knives from his belt and emptied his pockets, throwing everything to the floor to clatter along the tiles just out of reach. He tugged the skull mask off of Ryan’s face and held it up to examine it, shaking his head, before turning his gaze to Ryan’s face, studying it carefully.

“I know you… You work in that flower shop.”

Ryan looked at the floor and tried not to respond.

Creeper sneered, “You’re a goddamn freak, you know that?”

Ryan sneered in response.

In Ryan’s back pocket, there was the wad of folded-up paper, names and addresses and contacts, evidence of the web of corruption he’d been spinning, links to Ryan’s victims, including the flowers. The Creep unfolded and examined them, all the while keeping his gun trained on Ryan.

“You piece of shit, what the fuck is this?” he demanded, almost spitting in Ryan’s face as he looked at the notes, “You think this is a fucking game?”

Ryan started to lower his hands, slowly sliding them off his head and putting them up in front of him defensively.

Creeper looked back to the notes in his hand, lowering the gun slightly.

Ryan saw an opening.

He reached for the gun, planning on grabbing the man’s wrist and wrestling it free, but Creeper was faster. Much faster. Ryan wasn’t expecting it.

Ryan caught an elbow to the solar plexus and doubled over, gasping. Seconds later, the butt of the pistol connected hard with Ryan’s skull.

Ryan saw stars and could’ve sworn he heard Jeremy calling his name.

~

The world spun as it faded back into existence. Ryan’s head was on the floor, cheek pressed against the cold tiles, he quickly became aware of something warm and wet running down his face.

A weight was on his back, pinning his arms behind him. He heard the click of metal on metal and the bands press into his wrists painfully tight. It brought him back to reality with terrifying speed.

Creeper was a cop.

He was a was a serial killer.

Los Santos supported the death penalty.

As far as he knew, Ryan had killed everyone else involved in the corruption coverups. He’d done all the dirty work for him. All Creeper had to do now was tie up the one remaining loose end… and he could do that legally.

The creep climbed off Ryan’s back and placed the keys to the cuffs on the table well out of Ryan’s reach. He could see his knifes across the floor, but they’d do him no good now.

There was too much evidence against him already. Ryan wouldn’t stand a chance.

Jeremy would never forgive him.

Ryan wasn’t sure if it was the head wound, or the thought of never seeing Jeremy again, but suddenly he felt the urge to sleep; to give up and let Creeper do what he pleased with him. Kill him now or kill him later.

A fist in his hair pulled his face out of the sticky puddle that had formed beneath it, before slamming it back down hard onto the tiles. His left eye socket took the brunt of the impact, splitting his brow open before he was yanked ruthlessly back up. His back arched as he was pulled to his knees, wrists cuffed behind him; he was dragged back to sit on his heels. The hand in his hair yanked his head back, forcing Ryan to look up at the man he had planned to kill.

He snarled in response, an instinct, unable to stop himself, the thought of Jeremy still in his mind. He’d be so disappointed. The Creeper had ruined everything.

Ryan spat at him. It was mostly blood and it didn’t reach his face, the gob landing instead on his chest. It only served to make him mad. His right hand staying firm in Ryan’s hair, the meaty left fist wrapped around Ryan’s exposed throat and squeezed.

Ryan gasped and choked, feeling his face go red as he struggled uselessly in the bigger man’s grasp. Suddenly he wasn’t getting any more air and his heart was pounding in his ears. Everything ached and tasted like copper. His vision started to blur.

He was going to die.

His legacy would be as a killer.

If he was fortunate enough to have a funeral, the wreath should feature foxglove, yellow carnations and geraniums. He was a liar, a disappointment and a fool.

No one would mourn him.

“You pathetic fucking freak,” Creeper spat the words in Ryan’s face as he struggled to hold onto a shred of consciousness, fighting the blackness.

“You come into my house and think you can just get away with this shit? Try to fucking frame me? Was that your plan?” He briefly eased up his grip on Ryan’s throat, letting him drag a hot, ragged breath of air to his starved lungs before clenching tight again.

“At least you cleaned up the mess. I’m gonna turn you in and wash my hands of this godforsaken city. The LSPD will have a field day with a serial cop killer. You’ll be lucky if the trial lasts the day; even luckier if you make it to your official execution.”

Spots danced in Ryan’s vision, all his energy to fight leaving him. Creeper gave one final yank on his hair and dropped him. Ryan folded under his own weight and crumpled to his side on the floor, drawing his knees up instinctively as protection, fingers tingling, useless cuffed behind his back.

Creeper pulled out his phone to dial his buddies and report the arrest.

It was over. He’d been caught.

A dark part of Ryan’s brain mocked him, what did you think was going to happen?

He honestly couldn’t answer it.

He didn’t have to.

Something hit the Creep from behind and shattered in a spray of terracotta, dirt and flowers. The man stumbled forward, clutching his head, before reeling sideways as something again hit him from behind. As he fell, he struck his head against a wooden cabinet and lurched, lapsing into loud snoring as soon as he hit the ground.

Jeremy was left standing where Creeper had been moments before, clutching the shattered remains of the flowerpot he’d used to get the drop on the larger man. Dirt and flowers scattered the ground about his feet; small pinkish-red blossoms with waxy dark green leaves; begonias, if Ryan wasn’t mistaken. If he’d had more sense about him, he would’ve laughed.

Begonias meant “beware”.

Jeremy dropped the pot fragment and grabbed the keys for the handcuffs, kneeling next to Ryan to free his hands.

Ryan sat up and rubbed his wrists tentatively.

Jeremy wasted no further time bending down to inspect Ryan’s face, hands cupping it gently, his eyes full of concern as they skimmed over the laceration above Ryan’s eye, the swelling raising up on his cheekbones, tinging shades of red and purple already.

“Holy shit, Ryan, are you ok?”

Ryan rubbed his throat, not that it did any good, he could feel the crushing damage and bruising that would follow. “I’m ok…” he rasped, “How? ...why are you here?”

Jeremy shook his head, “I was investigating a lead in the cop killer story and I heard a struggle. Whitless has been known to get violent, so I got worried. I went to the window to see if maybe someone needed help and I saw you… you were in trouble…” Jeremy’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head again, “what are you doing here, Ryan?”

The snoring stopped suddenly with a snort. In the corner of his vision, Ryan saw Creeper twitch and struggle to pull himself upright.

Instinct took over.

Ryan jumped to his feet and dashed for his knife, snatching it from the ground where it had fallen and launching full-force into Creeper’s chest. In one decisive motion he jammed the tip of the blade up into Creeper’s neck, right at the jawline, before twisting and ripping it free, a spurt of blood spraying over Ryan as he fell back. Creeper gurgled and spasmed before eventually falling still.

Ryan scooted backwards away from the body, falling back to lie flat on the ground, chest heaving from the adrenaline and exertion.

Jeremy was in shock, eyes wide, he could only stammer, “Ryan… are you… have you..?”

Ryan sat up slowly, looking back at the body, before finally turning to look Jeremy in the eye.

“Surprise?” Ryan offered weakly, his voice hoarse, with an equally pathetic display of jazz hands.

Jeremy stared at him, mouth agape.

“It… was meant …to be a present…” he coughed and swallowed, tasting the copper of the blood in his mouth, “I guess things sorta… got out of hand.”

“All of them?” Jeremy looked so confused, “You’re the killer?”

Ryan hated to break it to him like this. He simply nodded.

“Ryan…” Jeremy stepped back, his tone was stony, “you could go to prison for this… you could get the death penalty if they catch you…” his voice caught, “Why?”

“It was an accident at first… but I figured I’d be doing some good, y’know? I have to do something to keep me busy… I did all my research and thought it’d make a good story for you and it started with just the one and it was only ever meant to be the one but it just…” he trailed off, realising he was rambling and his throat felt like sandpaper, “well, you know how these things are…”

“I… I really don’t, Ryan,” Jeremy stressed, at a loss for words.

“I wanted to help. I was only thinking of you. Of us. I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

Jeremy looked devastated, he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.

“I mean…” Ryan shrugged helplessly, “it’s also been pretty good for the floristry business.”

Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh at that, his eyes beginning to tear up. “Well, you fucked up. How the hell am I meant to report on this now?”

Ryan paused, pensively, “Investigative journalist and all-around hero, Jeremy Dooley single-handedly apprehends the Vagabond serial killer?”

“Ryan,” Jeremy sniffed, “First of all, you’re the only person who’s ever called him that, and secondly, how’s it gonna look when I bring in my own fiancé? Aside from ‘suspicious as fuck’, I’m not cool with you turning yourself in for my sake. We’ll figure this out. Together.” He took Ryan’s hand in his own and let their fingers lazily entwine, Jeremy squeezing reassuringly, “We’ll get through this, ok? I want to help. Whatever it takes.”

Ryan looked confused, “You’re not scared of me?”

“Ryan, please. We share a bed. You’ve never given me a reason to suspect you’d hurt me. To be completely honest, I’m more afraid of you on chili night.”

This time Ryan laughed. Thankfully his voice was starting to come back.

Jeremy’s face fell again as he pondered the implications. “You’ve killed six people Ryan…”

Ryan cringed, “Well, technically seven… but the number of murders I’ve committed has no bearing on my desire for human companionship and the amount of cuddling I should receive.”

Ryan caught Jeremy staring at him, a bemused look on his face, as if he couldn’t figure Ryan out. That was fair, he supposed.

“What?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“You’re a florist.” Jeremy said simply.

“So?”

“How does a florist become a serial killer? And fucking get away with it, might I ask?”

Ryan smirked, half closing his eyes, “Yeah, I’m a florist, but I’m self-taught. Before I was a florist, I was in IT, before that I was prop-making for theatre, and before that I was doing pool installations and laying concrete. All self-taught. You’d be amazed at what you can learn on the internet.”

“Ryan, what the fuck dude? When were you going to tell me this? Were you going to tell me this?” Jeremy looked hurt and Ryan felt a pang of guilt for putting him in this position.

Ryan looked away, “I don’t know… but I was very careful not to leave any evidence that might tie me to the victims. You’re not in any danger.”

Jeremy shook his head, “remember a few hours ago when I said not to do anything stupid?”

Ryan blushed sheepishly, “I don’t remember that at all…” he lied.

Jeremy chuckled softly, still struggling to come to terms with it.

A beat of silence passed between them.

After a moment, Jeremy shook his head again, “Well, this makes me feel less guilty about secretly researching government corruption…”

“You’re still doing that?!” Ryan snapped.

“You’re a serial killer!”

“Well… Touché.”

“What are you going to do?” Jeremy asked, more seriously now.

Ryan shrugged weakly. “I was going to dispose of the body, wait for the cops to do their actual jobs and find out about the corruption scandal, maybe turn a blind eye like they always do.” Ryan bit his lip, “but now that you’re here… I guess… I don’t know. I always sort of… expected to get caught, maybe? I don’t know.”

Jeremy looked hurt, but resolute, “I’m not turning you in, Ryan. Besides, you’re not the only one with secrets.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow curiously.

“I worked as a crime scene cleaner just after I moved to Los Santos. Plenty of part time work in that industry; ‘bioremediation’ it’s called – so getting rid of all traces of a murder? Well, it wouldn’t be my first time.”

Ryan’s grin grew wide as he looked adoringly up at Jeremy. “You do realise this would make you accessory to murder if anyone ever found out, right?”

“For you Ryan, it’s worth it.”

A somewhat stressful hour later, aside from the body they’d wrapped in tarpaulin and moved to the bathroom, the house was nearly spotless.

“How did you know to follow up Creeper… what was his name?”

“Lee Whitless,” Jeremy informed him, “former LSPD spokesperson and all-round asshole.”

“Apt then.”

Jeremy snorted a laugh, “I went to the funerals. He was at all of them. The only one as far as I could tell, they didn’t have a great overlap of friend circles, apparently.”

Ryan laughed at the absurdity of it, “we sold him the flowers!”

They both laughed at that, a giddy, slightly hysterical, relieved laughter that felt good.

“Wait,” Ryan added, “does this mean I missed seeing you in a black suit? Damn.”

Jeremy waggled his eyebrows at him, “I can show you later if you like…” He blushed, “Ok, that came out far more ominous and way less sexy than I intended it to…”

Ryan laughed again as Jeremy blushed deeper. It hurt his bruised face, but he was beyond caring.

“So, what’s the plan once this is all cleaned up?” Jeremy asked.

Ryan chewed his lip gently, pensive. “Well, we dispose of the body – I know a place –” the shipping container came to mind, “and then we head home, wash off and pretend like none of this ever happened.”

“That’s it?”

Ryan shrugged, “For now… we could always go the path of Leslie and Dannie, flee the city, start a new life somewhere.”

Jeremy looked distressed, “but what if…?”

Ryan cut him off with a gentle kiss that tasted like copper. Jeremy returned it, letting himself forget in the moment.

Ryan pulled away and looked into Jeremy’s eyes. “Right now, we have each other. You said it yourself, we’ll figure this out. Together.”

Jeremy nodded.

“Ryan!” Jeremy exclaimed suddenly, “You know what tomorrow is?”

Ryan was confused, pulled a face for a moment, trying to think. “Oh! Is it… It’s our anniversary!”

Jeremy grinned up at him, eyes sparkling.

“So much for no surprise, huh? You saved my life though, so I guess I owe you something big…”

“Ryan, please; you’re the best present I could’ve asked for.”

Epilogue

A month had passed since the Creeper incident and they had managed to avoid any kind of investigation, for now. Ryan had gone back to work and was planning on expanding the business and Jeremy, Matt and Trevor had done a spectacular job with the write-up of the serial killer cases. Considering the murders had come to such an abrupt end, the leads went cold and the pervading theory was that the killer had met an unfortunate end, likely at the hands of the gangs they’d been disturbing.

Jeremy kicked open the door to the apartment, his arms full of bags of groceries, leaving the door swinging open behind him. He put the bags down on the kitchen counter and started unpacking the items while Ryan put them away, enjoying the breeze the open door let rush through the room.

“Did you get milk?” Ryan asked.

Jeremy looked at the items and the bags, “shit, no, must’ve forgotten…”

“Jeremy, how could you wound me this way?” Ryan cried theatrically.

Jeremy looked him dead in the eye. “Serial killer.”

Ryan looked sheepishly at the floor, “I’ll pick some up next time I’m out.”

It never failed to shut him up, but it had also become something of a running joke.

Jeremy paused, considering his next words carefully. “Do you miss it?”

Ryan froze. Jeremy could see the wheels turning in his head, could see the desire to say “yes”, fighting the socially acceptable answer of “of course not”.

“Funny you should say that,” a voice said from the doorway. They hadn’t noticed the figure that had followed Jeremy up, “Because if your answer is ‘yes’, then I might have an offer for you both.”

They turned around to see a tall man in a suit with tattooed hands tapping on his crossed arms leaning against the doorframe.

“Who are you?” Ryan asked, stepping forward defensively.

“I’m an old friend of Burnie’s.”

Ryan and Jeremy exchanged an interested glance, before looking back to him.

“The name’s Geoff Ramsey, and I’m putting together a crew.”

[joybones]

Your "one thing": I adore your tags and all the creativity you bring to the madhouse and the other servers we play in. You are an absolute ray of sunshine :D

Asdfjksl-! It is my goal in life to spread some joy to the lovely people such as yourself who make me happy (oh god I just noticed the pun that’s terrible). You’ve made my day

[jordie-brekker]

fahc golden boy moodboard

ask me for one!

[kingsofchaos]

dmitrimolotov replied to your post “If no one smuggles me out a recording of whatever video/s AH have made...”

We've been talking to Ryan about wanting to do an escape room for months. They're definitely making content for it.

Ohh awesome, i really hope they upload it afterwards, or at least bring it to Sydney next year

[queencoeurl]

Corrupted Blood is one of my favourite things ever. Of all time.

;v;!!

I promise I’ll get the next chapter out this week!

[samijen]

dmitrimolotov replied to your post “Did you know that in Australia we call tracksuit pants "Trakky Dakks”

I call them my "give up on life pants" and I'm wearing them right now.

"give up on life pants" omfg

[mindfulwrath]

💬

Hestretches, working kinks out of his back and neck, cracking hisknuckles and rolling his shoulders. A hundred hues of neon lightfilter through his windows and paint him with thin strokes of shadow,imitating the shape of the rain on the glass. He pads down the hall,his feet making hardly any noise on the polished pine floor. Edgar ismeowing insistently from the bathroom, and he murmurs platitudes toher as he pours premium kibble into her bowl by the soft glow of abluebird night-light. She digs in with immense gusto, and he rubs herbehind the ears again.

"I'llbe back soon, buddy," he promises. "Don't wait up for me."