17. Unforgiven
SEVENTEEN
UNFORGIVEN
THE GREAT ESCAPE: BOYS LIKE GIRLS
KILLIAN
H earing from my father fucked me up more than I thought it would. It fucking shattered me. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it and the bullshit he fed me, much like he was reading from a script.
Oh, it's been a while, son... I miss you, my boy... Why don't you come pay your old man a visit? I promise there's no strings attached...
I might be naive with some things, but when it comes to my father and his manipulation and his narcissistic ways, I know well enough—from years of practice—not to believe a single fucking word that comes out of his mouth. Instead, I played along, pushing the fact that he tried to have me killed to the back of my mind while I stroked his ego and made it seem that all had been forgiven.
The fuck it has. I'll never give that man any kind of forgiveness. The motherfucker doesn't deserve it. He doesn't even deserve a second of my fucking time, but I gave it to him anyway. His ending is approaching, and it's the first thing I've looked forward to since Cali came back into our lives.
I used to wonder if it came down to it, would I actually be able to kill my father? For a long time I believed I didn't have the fucking balls—I didn't have it in me. But after Cali opened my eyes to a lot of things, just by the way she takes control of her life and utterly destroys her demons, and now I know for a fucking fact that I'll be able to kill my father, and with the most twisted, psychotic grin on my face while I'm doing it.
The image of it plays on repeat in my head: the glint of steel, the surprised widening of his eyes, the choked gasp before the silence. It’s not a violent fantasy fueled by rage, but a cold, calculated act. A necessary one. It’s not about revenge, not really. It’s about severing the last thread connecting me to the man who tried to erase me. It’s about reclaiming my fucking life, the years stolen, the trust betrayed. It’s about finally, truly being fucking free.
The phone call was nothing but a damn performance, a grotesque puppet show orchestrated by me. I basked in his pathetic attempts at reconciliation, his desperate need for validation. Yet I heard the fear crack in his voice—the realization that his manipulations no longer worked on me. That power, that knowledge, is fucking intoxicating. It’s the taste of victory, bitter and sweet, a prelude to the final act that's approaching quicker and quicker every day.
Shit, I’ll make sure it’s quick. Clean. Efficient. No drawn-out suffering, no fucking pleas for mercy. He doesn’t deserve that shit. He fucking deserves the cold, hard finality of his own demise. And then, after, I’ll finally be able to breathe. To truly live. To build a future unburdened by the shadow of his existence. The guys will be there, obviously. Cali will be there, of course. She’ll understand. She always fucking understands. And together, we’ll watch the sunrise on a new day—a day where the only ghosts are the ones we finally laid to rest.
After hanging up the phone, I had to get out of the apartment; I needed some air because breathing felt impossible. The drive I took alone was quiet; the only sound was the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thump of my own heart. It felt…lighter. Emptier, even. Not the hollow emptiness of despair, but the clean, sharp emptiness of a room finally cleared of its clutter. The weight of years of resentment, of carefully suppressed rage, was starting to lift with just one phone call and the sadistic thoughts that invaded my mind because of it. It was unsettling, this sudden lightness, but also liberating, just knowing that soon, like really fucking soon, my father would be dead and I wouldn't have to live in constant fear anymore.
I drove around Boston aimlessly, smoking and switching between cigarettes and prerolls—anything to numb my entire insides because I didn't want to think or feel anymore. But I still ended up outside of my father's house; the car blacked out and my binoculars pressed against my face as I nervously watched from the car as he engaged in what I could only assume was fucking rape with a kid that couldn't have been anymore than fifteen. It made me sick. But it fueled my anger and determination even more. I sat there like a peeping fucking Tom and recorded everything that I could see from the car, knowing it would come in handy when the four of us expose our parents for who and what they truly are.
He needed to fucking die so he couldn't hurt not just me anymore, but anyone, for that matter. As long as all of our parents were still walking among the rest of society, nobody was fucking safe.
When I finally pulled into the parking garage, the familiar sight of our home welcomed me, making me able to breathe now that I wasn't in the presence of the the sterile, suffocating atmosphere of my father's house. As I killed the engine, a sense of calmness settled over me. It wasn't just the inevitable ending of my father's life, but the end of a fucking era. The end of a brutal cycle I've been begging to get out of basically my entire fucking life.
Now sitting here reflecting on that phone call, just thinking about his death gets me hard and horny, and before I know it, I'm beating my cock like a fucking redheaded stepchild, alone on the couch while the others are sleeping soundly.
As I feel my cock pulsing against the palm of my hand, a firm grip feeling like Cali's tight pussy, I stroke faster, wanting to come before someone comes out and interrupts me. But there's no rag, shirt, or napkin I can use to come into, only a barely eaten vanilla pudding cup on the table in front of me. So I grab it, pushing my dick into the thick, creamy pudding, filling it with my cum. And of course, I put the lid back on and set it down when I'm done, secretly hoping someone decides to eat it, unknowingly mixed with my fucking cum.
And as if on cue, Five stumbles into the living room, rubbing his bloodshot eyes high out of his mind. He sits on the couch, licking his lips as his eyes lay on the cum-filled pudding cup.
“Is that yours?” He asks, smirking.
I shake my head, trying not to laugh. “Nah, Cali's, but she's done with it.”
He snatches the cup and picks up the spoon beside it, generously scooping the pudding out and shoveling it into his mouth, all while I sit here and grin, fighting sleep, knowing he's eating my cum. Serves him right for trying to steal my girl.
Exhausted and feeling somewhat lighter, I rise from the couch, turn all the lights and leave the TV on, and stagger down the dark hallway to my room, my body needing sleep like it needs air to fucking survive. I collapse on my bed without pulling down my blanket or taking my shoes off, my eyes heavier than the burden I've been bearing for the last fifteen years. And before I know it, darkness engulfs me, and my mind goes blank for the first time in a long fucking time, allowing me to succumb to the sleep I so desperately fucking need.
When my eyes finally flutter open, I’m greeted by a veil of hazy twilight dancing outside my bedroom window as the sun gracefully bids farewell to another day, leaving me momentarily disoriented. As I sit up, I realize I’m still wearing the same clothes I had on the day before—shoes and all. Is it still the same night? Or have I truly slept an entire day away?
The answer comes striding through the door as Calista enters, exuding effortless beauty while looking sexy as sin in tight black jeans that perfectly hug her ass paired with a black cropped hoodie that boldly proclaims "Always Lilith, never Eve" across the front. Her fresh black and red Converse perfectly complete the look, the red popping against all the black. Her platinum blonde hair is styled into two tight French braids, half-hidden beneath a black snapback turned backward, and in this moment, she has never looked more stunning, even in such a simple, unflattering outfit. It’s the aura of confidence that radiates from her that draws me in, igniting a craving within me like an addictive substance I desperately need to ease my pain.
“Get up, sleepyhead,” she chirps, heading straight for my closet to rummage through my clothes. “You’re coming with me tonight, Killian, and we’re going to have some fucking fun.”
She tosses me an all-black outfit to match hers before digging into the depths of my closet and pulling out two masks and an empty backpack.
“Where are we going? And did I really sleep the whole fucking day?” I ask as I begin to change, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the window, casting a warm glow around her, as though she has a radiant aura.
“Oh, you definitely slept the entire day away,” she teases, laughing lightly as she looks up from the bag, her smile infectious. “And since Five took Ash and Dominic to a race, you’re coming with me to check another name off my list.” She winks, casually tossing in my gun, her zippo, a bottle of lighter fluid, and a few knives, along with a camera, gloves, the masks, and a change of clothes for both of us.
“I thought only our fathers and your parents were left on the list,” I say, hastily getting dressed, a wave of exhilarating anxiety bubbling up inside me.
Calista shakes her head, setting down the bag before striding over to me. She pulls me up from the bed, her fingers intertwining with mine, gripping my hands tightly. Rising slightly on her tiptoes, she reaches up with one hand to cradle the back of my neck, capturing my lips in a commanding kiss that signals she’s in control tonight. And honestly? I’m more than fucking okay with it.
After teasing me with her tongue and drawing the warmth from my mouth, my spit coating her lips in a shiny gloss, she locks her gaze with mine, savoring the moment as she sensually licks my spit off her lips. Her black acrylic nails glide down the front of my body, igniting a pleasurable shiver that resonates along my spine to my tailbone, making my entire being ache only for her.
“No, Killian. Gunnar and Holden Graham are still on the list, and then it’s just our parents,” she states, rising on her toes again to capture my lips in another kiss—this one slow and sensual, deepening my love for her beyond what I ever thought possible.
But damn, I can’t help but love her fiercely. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I know I’m in a silent competition with Dom and Ash for her affection, but with Five in the picture, it’s terrifying to wonder if she feels for him what she does for us.
Gently, I slide my hand under her chin, cupping it with my fingers, while my other hand finds its way to her waist, pulling her closer and coaxing a moan from her that I savor as our lips meet again, our eager tongues dancing in a thrilling duel for dominance and control. She pulls away first, tugging on my bottom lip and flirtatiously growling as she licks the taste of me off her lips.
"Come on, we need to get going," she flatly states, swiping the backpack off the floor and slinging it over her shoulder.
My eyes focus on her ass as I walk behind her, hugged tightly in her black jeans, which form to her curvy physique perfectly. She snatches the keys to her car that Five got her and pulls her hood over her head as we walk out the front door, heading in the direction of the back exit to avoid any chance of someone watching and following us.
Once we're safely in the car and driving with purpose down the busy street, I turn up the volume on the radio and let the bass from Tech N9ne vibrate my seat, giving me a light massage that eases the tension in my shoulders. I glance over at Cali, her hand resting on my thigh, her eyes fixed on the road in front of us. The setting sun paints her face in hues of orange and gold, highlighting the delicate curve of her cheekbone and the soft line of her jaw.
She's a beacon, a constant in the chaos of my life, a grounding force in the storm. She doesn't say much during the drive, but her presence is more than enough. Her understanding, a silent reassurance, has been a silent strength I so desperately needed when I didn't even know it. Cali remains my rock, her unwavering support a constant source of strength.
We talk little about the impending event of our parents murders, but our shared understanding is palpable—a silent pact forged in the crucible of shared trauma and emerging triumph.
The following silence between us is comfortable, filled with unspoken words and shared emotions. There's no fear, no regret. Only a quiet anticipation, a sense of peace. The sunset surrounding us as we drive is breathtaking. The sky blazed with color, a vibrant tapestry of orange, pink, and gold. It's a beautiful, fitting end to a long, dark chapter. And as I look at Cali, her hand in mine, I know that the future, though uncertain, holds the promise of a life lived on our own terms, a life finally free from the shadows of our parents. The ghosts will soon be gone. And fuck, we'll finally, truly, be fucking free.
The car pulls up to a dark two-story house with a white picket fence on the outskirts of town, its darkened windows reflecting the fiery sunset. The air hangs heavy with the scent of damp earth and something metallic, a faint tang that prickles my nostrils. Calista kills the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of my own heart. She doesn't speak, her hand tightening momentarily on mine before she releases it to reach for the door handle.
"Let's go," she says, her eyes glazed over and glued to Holden's house that almost looks abandoned.
We move with practiced efficiency, Calista leading the way, her movements fluid and silent. Managing to slip in through the unlocked basement door—she knew it was unlocked—she puts her finger to her lips to make sure I stay quiet.
The air inside is thick with dust dancing in the weak light, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards under our feet. The odd smell of decay is strong, mingling with the metallic scent from outside.
"He's upstairs either in his office or his bedroom," she states, focused and more determined than I've ever seen her. "Put your mask on."
Opening the backpack, Cali hands me my mask and takes hers out. The masks go on, concealing our identities and transforming us into something entirely else. She hands me a pair of black latex gloves, sliding her hands in her own pair. Tucking her zippo in her back pocket, she sticks the lighter fluid in the other and grips her favorite knife in her hand, ready to put an end to another name who caused her so much pain.
We quietly walk up the stairs, the red glow from our masks dimly lighting our way through the unknown maze of old furniture and shitty art hung on the white walls. My heart thumps as I retrieve my gun, wanting to be ready for anything.
"You sure you're good?" I ask, double-checking her mental state before we make our move.
"I'm fucking perfect," she whispers, giving me a thumbs up as we come to a cracked door at the end of the hall on the second floor, the TV echoing inside.
We find Holden in a dimly lit room. his back facing the door as Cali pushes it open. Holden is notorious for his ruthlessness and involvement in the same underworld circles as our parents, which means he has to fucking die.
Creeping up behind him, Cali catches him off guard, pressing her sharp blade against the front of his throat as she spins his chair around so he's facing us. Holden's eyes, wide with terror, meet ours, confusion swirling as he takes in the masks, probably already knowing who's beneath them. He tries to speak, a strangled gasp escaping his lips, but Calista silences him with a swift, sharp movement, making a small, deep cut across his Adams apple.
"It's fucking over," she whispers, her voice devoid of emotion, a chilling contrast to the vibrant energy she exuded just hours before.
The air crackles with tension, the silence punctuated only by the ragged breaths of our captive and the metallic click of my gun being cocked.
The next few minutes are a blur of controlled violence, a dance of death choreographed with precision and practiced skill. There's no screaming, no pleas for mercy. Only the muffled sounds of struggle as Cali stabs Holden over and over until a pool of blood lies underneath him, and then the random, sharp snap of bone as she puts her knife down, grabs his head tightly, and twists it, breaking his neck and killing him quickly, before he can even bleed out.
When it's over, we stand amidst the carnage, the silence heavy with the weight of what we have done. Calista meticulously cleans the scene, making sure no trace of us is left behind, her movements efficient and precise. Pulling out the lighter fluid as I stand near the door feeling useless, she pours it over his body and around the room until it's empty.
"Fuck, I already feel better," she says, laughing as she leaves a ziploc baggie with a flashdrive inside, away from the dead body and soon-to-be fire, so the authorities can find it. Once she lights the zippo and puts the flame on his drenched shirt, she bolts for the door, dragging me hurriedly back the way we came, a rush of adrenaline coursing through us.
We leave the house as we had arrived, silent and unseen, the only evidence of our passage being the lingering scent of blood, the roaring fire on the top floor, and the chilling memory of what had transpired within those decaying walls.
Back in the car, the silence is different this time. It isn't the comfortable silence of shared understanding, but the heavy, suffocating silence of guilt and the knowledge that we have crossed another line from which there is no return. But we've been far past that line for a long time, and still the guilt continues to eat away at me.
The sunset, once a symbol of hope and freedom, now feels like a cruel mockery, a beautiful backdrop to a brutal act. Calista's hand rests on my thigh, but the touch feels cold and distant. The weight of our actions presses down on me, a crushing burden that threatens to consume me.
She pulls out the crumpled-up piece of paper and reaches for a pen in the center console, a smile prpidly dancing across her red-painted lips as she crosses off Holden's name, admiring the list like a newborn baby, a twinkle in her eye and all.
1. Mother
2. Father
3. Holden Graham
4. Gunnar
5. Adam Moretti (Ash's father)
6. David Blacksburg (Kill's father)
7. Jackson Gray (Dom's father)
8. State Senator Pete Gallagher
9. Mayor Kyle Benjamin
10. City Councilman Marcus Rutherford
11. Judge Hayden Wilson
12. Brockton Chief of Police Robert Bailey
13. City Councilman Mr. Josè Brown
“Six motherfuckers left, Kill; six left,” she says, her voice cracking, knowing her adventure is coming to an end.
“I can't believe it,” I admit, still stunned. She killed half a dozen men on her own, for the most part.
"Well, believe it, baby. Your fathers are next. We'll save Gunnar and my parents for the finale,” she laughs, tucking the paper away and starting the car.
The ghosts of the men who hurt Cali are gone, but in their place, new ghosts have emerged, haunting me with the echoes of our violence. I sit here and think about my father and killing him, killing all of them, and I begin to feel sick as Cali presses the pedal to the floor and speeds down the interstate. We're almost all free, yes, but at what cost? The question hangs unanswered, a chilling testament to the price of revenge. But as I look over at Cali, the smile on her face puts me at ease. I want to smile like that. I want to feel the way she does. I can't wait any longer. Even though I'm having mixed feelings, I know what needs to be done, and fuck, I'm ready to get it fucking over with.