I realized I was dating serial killers when Billy showed up to our third date with blood under his fingernails.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, sliding into the booth at Moretti's. "Work ran long."
"No problem." I sipped my wine and tried not to stare at his hands. "Tough day at the office?"
"You could say that." He smiled that devastating smile that had made me swipe right in the first place. "Had to take care of some... persistent problems."
I nodded like this was normal conversation. Because in New America, it kind of was.
Let me back up.
My name is Riley Chen, I'm a forensic accountant, and I live in a reality where the justice system collapsed twenty years ago. Too many criminals walking free on technicalities. Too much corruption. Too many victims with nowhere to turn.
So people started taking matters into their own hands.
At first, the vigilante killers were prosecuted. Then tolerated. Then celebrated. Now we have the Kill Board, which tracks and ranks these vigilante serial killers based on the severity of their victims' crimes. We have KillCon every summer in Vegas. There's a reality show called "America's Next Top Murderer."
It's weird, but you get used to it.
Anyway, I'd apparently matched with three different killers on DateMate without realizing it.
Billy, the charming pediatric surgeon who I now suspected was the "Scalpel Slayer," known for artistically eliminating human traffickers.
Alexis, the quirky art gallery owner who probably moonlighted as "Palette Knife," famous for her creative dispatching of corrupt politicians.
And Jordan, the sweet librarian who I was ninety percent sure was "The Bookmark," a killer who targeted white-collar criminals and left literary quotes at crime scenes.
The worst part? I really liked all three of them.
The worse-than-worst part? I was pretty sure they didn't know about each other.
Yet.
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"You seem distracted," Alexis said, painting over a canvas in her gallery after hours. We'd been dating for six weeks. She wore a white button-down splattered with what I desperately hoped was red paint.
"Just work stuff," I lied. "We're auditing a pharmaceutical company that's been price gouging cancer medications."
Her brush stopped mid-stroke. "Which company?"
"Valerius Pharma. Why?"
"No reason." She smiled, but there was something sharp in it. "Just curious."
I made a mental note to check the news in a few days. The CEO of Valerius would probably end up displayed in some disturbingly artistic tableau, and I'd have to pretend to be surprised.
This was my life now.
"Riley," Alexis set down her brush and walked over. "Can I ask you something personal?"
"Sure."
"Are you seeing anyone else?"
I choked on my wine. "What?"
"It's fine if you are. We never said we were exclusive. But I saw you having dinner with someone at Moretti's last week. Tall guy, nice build."
Oh no.
"We're just friends," I said, which was technically true since Billy and I hadn't defined the relationship yet either.
"Okay." She didn't sound convinced. "Because I really like you, Riley. And I'd hate for things to get... complicated."
The way she said "complicated" made me think of crime scene photos.
"I like you too," I said honestly. "Things are just... I'm figuring some stuff out."
She nodded and went back to painting. I watched her work, the precise way she handled the brush, the economy of her movements. Like someone used to working with sharp implements in stressful situations.
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I was so screwed.
Jordan suggested we meet at the library after it closed. Romantic, right? Just us and thousands of books in the quiet dark.
"I brought wine," they said, producing a bottle from behind the circulation desk. "And snacks. And possibly an alibi if anyone asks, but that's unrelated."
I laughed because Jordan was funny and sweet and looked like they couldn't hurt a fly. Which was probably why they were so effective at getting close to financial criminals before ending them.
We settled into the reading nook. Jordan poured wine into paper cups because apparently murder was fine but breaking glassware policy was where they drew the line.
"Riley, I need to tell you something," they said.
My heart sank. Here it comes. The murder confession. I'd have to act shocked. Supportive but shocked.
"I'm falling for you," Jordan continued. "Like, really falling. And I know we've only been dating two months, but I feel like I can be myself around you. My real self. Which is rare in my line of... work."
"Your library work?" I asked carefully.
"Sure. My library work." They smiled. "The point is, I think this could be serious. If you want it to be."
I looked at Jordan's earnest face, their gentle eyes that had probably seen terrible things, and felt my heart do something complicated.
Because I was falling too. For all three of them. Which was a problem for several reasons, not least because serial killers were notoriously territorial.
"I want it to be serious," I said. "But I need to tell you something too."
"You're also seeing other people."
"How did you know?"
"You smell like different colognes on different days. You're always checking your phone. And last week you called me Billy." They sipped their wine. "I'm a librarian, Riley. I notice things."
"Are you mad?"
"Honestly? I'm more worried about the other guys. Because if they're who I think they are..." Jordan trailed off meaningfully.
"What if they are?"
"Then you're dating three of the most dangerous people in the city, and when they find out about each other, it's going to get extremely messy. Possibly literally."
I put my head in my hands. "I know. I'm the worst. I should have said something earlier. I just didn't realize what I was doing until it was too late."
"Hey." Jordan moved closer. "I'm not judging. You're allowed to date whatever people you want. We live in a society where serial murder is a career path. Multiple dating partners barely registers on the weird scale."
"But what do I do?"
"You choose. Or..." Jordan paused. "You tell them the truth and hope they're mature enough to handle it without turning it into a contest."
"A contest to win my affection or a contest to murder each other?"
"Either. Both. Look, killers are people too. They have feelings. They can be reasonable."
"Have you met killers?"
"Riley, I am a killer."
"Right. Forgot."
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I decided to come clean at the Kill Board Awards ceremony.
Look, it wasn't my best plan. But all three of them were nominated in different categories, and I'd somehow agreed to be all of their plus-ones without realizing the dates overlapped. So now I was going to show up solo and hope for the best.
The venue was the Nexus Grand, all chandeliers and red carpet. Actual celebrities mixed with killer celebrities. The whole thing had the energy of the Oscars if the Oscars celebrated premeditated murder.
I wore my lucky black dress and enough anxiety to power a small city.
Billy found me first, looking devastating in a tuxedo.
"Riley! You made it." He kissed my cheek. "I'm up for Best Technical Precision. Fingers crossed."
"Good luck," I managed.
Then Alexis appeared, stunning in a red gown that matched her alleged crime scene aesthetics.
"Riley!" She hugged me, then noticed Billy. "Oh. Hello."
"Hello," Billy said slowly. "Do we know each other?"
"This is Billy," I said quickly. "Billy, this is Alexis. We're all... friends."
The silence was deafening.
Then Jordan walked up in an absolutely perfect black bespoke suit and the situation became mathematically impossible to explain away.
"Riley!" Jordan beamed. Then saw Billy and Alexis. "Oh."
All three of them looked at me. Then at each other. Then back at me.
"So," Alexis said slowly. "We're the friends."
"All the friends," Billy added.
"So many friends," Jordan finished.
I wanted to die. Which was ironic given my present company.
"I can explain," I started.
"You're dating all three of us," Billy said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"At the same time." Jordan added.
"Yes."
"Without telling us about each other." Alexis finished.
"In my defense, I didn't realize you were all famous serial killers when I started!"
Several nearby celebrities turned to look. A camera crew started drifting closer.
"Inside voices," Jordan suggested. "Unless we want this on the livestream."
We moved to a quieter corner. The three killers formed a triangle around me, which was both geometrically interesting and absolutely terrifying.
"Okay," Alexis said. "Let's all stay calm. We're professionals."
"Professional murderers," Billy pointed out.
"Still professionals."
"Are you mad?" I asked.
"Mad?" Jordan laughed. "Riley, we kill people for a living. I think we can handle nonexclusive dating."
"Really?"
"No," all three said in unison.
"We're furious," Billy continued. "But also weirdly impressed. Do you know how hard it is to triple-book serial killers? We're paranoid by nature."
"It wasn't intentional!"
"That makes it worse," Alexis said, but she was smiling. "You accidentally seduced three killers through pure oblivious charm."
"Is that better or worse than doing it on purpose?"
"Jury's out," Jordan said. "Pun intended."
The lights flickered. The ceremony was about to start.
"So what happens now?" I asked.
The three of them exchanged looks.
"We could fight to the death," Billy suggested.
"Very dramatic," Alexis agreed. "Good optics."
"Or," Jordan said, "we could be adults about this and let Riley choose."
"Or," I heard myself say, "we could try something completely insane."
They waited.
"What if you all dated me? And each other? What if we did the most dangerous polycule in history?"
More silence.
Then Billy started laughing. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"I love it," Alexis said.
"It'll never work," Jordan added. "Let's try it."
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Turns out, dating three serial killers simultaneously is complicated but manageable.
We established ground rules. No killing each other. No using murder to resolve relationship conflicts. Weekly house meetings to discuss feelings and upcoming hits. Shared calendar to avoid scheduling conflicts.
It was weirdly domestic.
"Your turn to do dishes," Billy called from the living room of our increasingly crowded apartment.
"I did dishes last night after the Moretti job," Alexis protested.
"That was rinsing blood off weapons. Doesn't count."
"Riley, help me out here."
I looked up from my laptop where I was tracking financial crimes for Jordan's next target. "You're both wrong. It's Jordan's turn. Check the chore wheel."
"The chore wheel of death," Jordan muttered, but got up to do the dishes.
We'd been together six months. The media called us "The Killer Quad." There were conspiracy theories. Fan fiction. A true crime podcast called "Four's Company, Three's a Crowd, Murder's Allowed."
My mother was thrilled I'd finally settled down, even if she was unclear on what exactly my partners did for a living.
"They're in waste management," I told her.
"How nice!"
The weird part was how normal it felt. Movie nights where we debated the realism of slasher films. Brunch where we ran into other killers and had to make small talk. Arguments about whose turn it was to clean the murder basement. (We didn't have a murder basement. That was my one rule. Murder happens outside the home.)
"I have a confession," Billy said one night as we all squeezed onto our definitely-too-small couch.
"You're secretly a dentist?" Jordan guessed.
"Worse. I'm falling in love with all of you. Not just Riley. All of us."
Alexis and Jordan exchanged glances.
"Samesies," Alexis admitted.
"Yeah, me too," Jordan said. "Is that weird?"
"We're serial killers in a quad relationship," I pointed out. "Weird is relative."
"Good point."
Billy pulled out a small box. "So I got us something. All of us."
Inside were four matching rings. Simple bands with tiny engraved knives.
"Are you proposing?" I asked.
"To all of you. If that's okay. I know it's fast, but when you know, you know. And I know I want to spend my life with three people who understand me. Who don't judge me for what I do. Who help me hide bodies and also remind me to drink water and take breaks."
"That's beautiful," Alexis said, crying.
"I'm in," Jordan said immediately.
They all looked at me.
"Riley?" Billy asked. "What do you say? Will you marry three serial killers?"
I thought about my life. My weird, impossible, dangerous, absolutely perfect life.
"Only if we can have the wedding at KillCon," I said. "If we're doing this, then we're doing it right."
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The wedding was beautiful and only slightly bloody.
We got married at KillCon, officiated by the retired killer known as "The Preacher." Three hundred guests, most of them murderers. The cake had fondant weapons. The first dance was to "Killer Queen."
My parents cried. They were a bit confused, and still didn't know the truth. But they were happy for me nonetheless.
We'd told them my spouses worked in "criminal justice," which was technically accurate.
During the reception, I stepped outside for air. The Vegas night was warm and full of neon.
Jordan found me on the balcony.
"Having second thoughts?" they asked.
"Third and fourth thoughts, actually. But no regrets."
"Good." They handed me champagne. "Because I need to tell you something."
"If you're dying or moving to Antarctica, I'm going to be upset."
"Neither. I just wanted to say thank you. For seeing past what we do. For accepting all of us. For being crazy enough to try this."
"You make it sound like I had a choice."
"You did. You could have run. Most people would."
"Most people are boring."
"True." Jordan clinked their glass against mine. "To boring people who'll never understand us."
"To boring people."
Billy and Alexis joined us, still in their wedding attire. Billy in a maroon stained tuxedo and Alexis in a pinkish white V-neck wedding dress.
We stood together watching the city lights, four people who'd found each other against impossible odds.
"So," Alexis said. "Anyone else hungry?"
"Starving," Billy agreed.
"There's a great place down the street," Jordan said. "Twenty-four hour breakfast."
"Perfect."
We went to breakfast at 2 AM, still in our wedding clothes, and ordered far too much food. We laughed and argued and planned our honeymoon. (Three separate trips, because apparently even killers need vacation time.)
I looked at my three spouses, these complicated, dangerous, surprisingly sweet people who loved me and each other. Who'd built something impossible because we were all too stubborn to accept that it couldn't work.
"Hey," I said. "I love you all."
"We know," they said in unison.
"No, I mean it. This is insane and probably shouldn't work and definitely violates several laws of probability, but I've never been happier."
Billy squeezed my hand. Alexis kissed my cheek. Jordan smiled that soft smile that made my heart do complicated things.
"Same," Billy said.
"Ditto," Alexis agreed.
"Obviously," Jordan added. "Why else would we let you talk us into a quad marriage at a serial killer convention?"
"Because you love me?"
"Because we love you."
The waitress brought more coffee. She had a Kill Board tattoo on her wrist. Probably a fan.
"Congratulations," she said. "I saw the wedding announcement. You four are goals."
"Thanks," I said, because what else do you say when a stranger calls your relationship with three serial killers aspirational?
We ate breakfast as the sun came up over Vegas. Somewhere in the city, crimes were being committed. And somewhere else, killers were planning their next moves. The strange ecosystem of New America churning along.
But here, in this booth, we were just four people who'd found each other in the chaos.
Four people who'd made something beautiful out of something impossible.
Four people who proved that love could bloom anywhere.
Even in the heart of a serial killer.
Or three.
"Pass the hot sauce," Billy said.
"Say please," Alexis reminded him.
"Please pass the hot sauce."
"Better."
Jordan caught my eye and winked.
Yeah, I thought. This is exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Weird. Dangerous. Impossible.
Perfect.
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END
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