Chapter 54 Kip
KIP
Three months had passed, and the rainy season had started in the Pacific Northwest. Holland and I had settled into our relationship, and Dope and Ella had welcomed her into the group.
As far as Death, I hadn’t heard shit from him since the day I’d told him about how the Pied Piper had planted me in his life.
I only hoped he wasn’t out killing without anyone cleaning up after him, though.
Not a day passed that I didn’t grieve that friendship.
Thank God I had the woman I loved and the Horizon Society.
When Death wasn’t around to clean up the sons of bitches who needed to be ended for the abuse and horrible acts they committed, I stepped in.
Dope had even joined me a few times to kill.
I suspected it gave him a safe place to get rid of his pent-up anger and raw emotion he didn’t know how to handle.
He’d even slowed down on the weed. Every one of us was worried that our found family might never be the same again.
No matter what anyone said, I carried the guilt on my shoulders.
It was my fault that we had fallen apart.
Holland was gone for the day, attending a conference with a speaker she was excited about.
We spent all our free time together, and I played with the idea of asking her to move in with me.
But I wasn’t sure it was right yet. Not that we didn’t share our places with each other already, but I wanted something new.
Ours. A new beginning where neither of our scars and trauma clouded the view.
I pulled up to the house with the for-sale sign on it and killed the engine, letting the quiet settle.
Tall pines stood like sentinels around the two-story gray home with black trim and a gravel drive tucked off a sleepy road in the Portland hills.
The rain had stopped long enough for the sun to cut through the clouds and bounce off the windows.
It wasn’t flashy. Wasn’t polished. But it was private. Secluded. Safe.
The place looked like it had been waiting for something—or maybe someone—to give it purpose again.
I stepped out and ran my fingers along the hood of my Mustang. My boots crunched the gravel, the air thick with cedar and wet earth. It smelled clean. Like a place that didn’t expect blood in the floorboards or secrets in the crawlspace. A place where I didn’t have to be the monster anymore.
The Realtor was already waiting by the front door, smiling like she already knew she’d nailed it. And maybe she had.
I stared up at the house again, imagining Holland standing at the top window.
Barefoot, with her coffee in hand and her beautiful red hair a mess after I made love to her first thing in the morning.
The thought caught me in the chest—too tender, too real—but I didn’t shake it off.
I let it sit. Because maybe this was what starting over really looked like.
The home had dark lines and quiet bones. It offered enough space to live without hiding.
From the pictures online, there was a room for her to work in.
An office with good light and shelves she could fill with the books she never let anyone borrow.
There was even a sunroom off the kitchen she could turn into her greenhouse.
She would want something green. Something alive.
Something that didn’t remind her of everything she’d lost.
I didn’t know what normal was, but I wanted to build whatever version of it we could find together. Even if it came cracked and crooked, like both of us.
“Ready to see it?” the Realtor asked.
I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “Let’s see what home looks like.”
The front door opened, and I stepped inside, instinctively scanning the space. Old habits, but there was nothing to fear here.
The entryway was wide and open, leading into a living room with tall windows that pulled in the light. A stone fireplace dominated the far wall, big enough to warm the whole place in winter. It wasn’t fancy—nothing polished or overpriced. Just a solid structure and good air.
I could already see Holland curled up on the couch under one of those oversized blankets she pretended not to love. Reading something too dark for her own good with her feet tucked beneath her. Safe. Warm. Mine.
“This way,” the Realtor said, gesturing toward the kitchen.
The room had dark oak cabinets with matte-black fixtures.
The kind of counters you didn’t mind getting scratched.
If she didn’t like them, I would gut the kitchen and build her anything she wanted, but I had a feeling she would love it the way it was.
Holland would have a gas stove, a deep farmhouse sink, and enough room for her to dance barefoot when she thought no one was watching.
I ran my hand over the edge of the counter and felt the thought bloom.
We could build something here. Not just survive—but live.
The Realtor and I moved toward the back, where a set of French doors opened out to a covered porch that looked out over the trees. A lake shimmered in the distance. Quiet. Unbothered. Like it didn’t know anything about blood or trauma or brokenness.
Upstairs, the primary bedroom had tall ceilings and a window seat overlooking the woods. I didn’t care much about bedrooms, but this one? I stood there for a long moment, staring at that bench. It was the kind of place she’d stare out at the world from. Think. Heal. Remember who the hell she was.
The hallway led to a second room, smaller but filled with light.
“What do you think of this for an office?” the Realtor asked.
I stepped inside.
Soft cream walls with built-in shelves. A small alcove by the window could easily fit a desk and a lamp, and there was also enough room for Dog to curl up and nap while she worked.
It wasn’t much. But it could be hers. I pictured her here—hair pulled up in a messy bun, surrounded by stacks of notes and files she’d swear she was going to organize but never would. It felt right.
“She works with people,” I said quietly. “Psych trauma. This … she’d like this.”
The Realtor smiled. “Then I think you’ve found your place.”
I walked past her without answering, heading toward the end of the hall where another door stood half open. This one hadn’t been in the listing.
It led to a small room—glass ceiling, exposed beams, and warm wood everywhere. Greenhouse, maybe. Or a sunroom waiting to be loved again.
Something in my chest twisted.
This was it.
This was the room I would make hers. Plants. Herbs. A place to breathe without looking over her shoulder. A place she could make beautiful, even if we were both still learning how.
“I’d like to bring her to see it. When can that happen?”
The Realtor tapped her phone screen. “How about tomorrow afternoon?”
“Sounds good. Text me the time, and I’ll confirm once I talk to her this evening.”
We heard the front door open, followed by footsteps. The Realtor frowned. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“No.” Every cell in my body stood on edge, ready for anything.
Black boots appeared around the corner, and my gaze landed on a pair of gray eyes.
“Nice place,” Death muttered, eyeing the realtor. “Can you give us a minute?”
She didn’t argue but scurried around him and down the stairs. He had that effect on people.
For a second, I thought this was the end. The final judgment. But Death didn’t reach for a blade. He reached for me, slapping me on the shoulder.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you. How have you been?” I shoved my hands in my pockets, unsure of what to expect with him showing up out of nowhere.
He leaned against the hallway wall. “Bored. It’s not the same without you around.”
Progress? “You mean Dope isn’t a good cleaner?”
The corner of Death’s mouth twitched slightly, indicating he was stifling his smile. “Dope is a lot of things, but he’s not a cleaner.”
Silence filled the space between us. “I’m sor—”
Death held up his hand, silencing me. “I know. It wasn’t your fault. It was just too much to process all at once. The fact that the motherfucker has infiltrated us, planned our steps, orchestrated our futures. What the hell do we do with that?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out. Holland and I are taking one step at a time.”
“Ella told me the Pied Piper is Holland’s bio father.”
Shit. Here came the other damn shoe.
“Yeah. No DNA test, but he admitted she’s his.”
Death rubbed his chin. “Maybe she thinks like him. Maybe she’ll be who we need to take the son of a bitch down once and for all.” He looked me dead in the eyes. “Together.” He extended his hand, and I reached out to shake it. “Up for some hunting?”
“Hell yeah. I just need to let Holland know I’ll be home late.”
“Take care of her and see the house tomorrow. I’ll let you know where to meet me in a few days.”
I grinned, relief flooding my system. “Sounds good.”
“Oh, one more thing.” Death reached into the inside of his jacket and removed something shiny. “Thought you would need a new one.”
I froze. For a second, I thought this was it—the final judgment, wrapped in silver.
Maybe he’d brought the old one back to remind me who I used to be.
My fingers twitched toward the knife I didn’t carry anymore.
But then. He held it out. A cross. New, shiny, unused.
I took it, feeling the weight of it in my palm.
Unlike the other crucifix, it wasn’t heavy on one end, but delicately balanced. That’s when I saw the sleek, nearly unnoticeable design. I pulled on the edge and popped the blade out, then flipped it over and popped the other out.
“I made sure it had two for you.”
“You bought this for me?”
Death cleared his throat. “No, man. I had it handcrafted. I had to make sure no one fucking put a camera in this one.”
I chuckled. “Fair.” I grinned at him. “Thanks. I can’t wait to put it to good use.”
“This weekend. Be ready.” He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing back once. “You were always one of us, Kip. That never changed.” Then he vanished.
I used to think judgment would come with sirens or a noose.
But it came wrapped in silence and in my palm.
A new cross, forged not from guilt or surveillance, but from choice.
This time, no one was watching me. No one was pulling my strings.
I didn’t wear it to repent. I wore it to remember who I really was—who I chose to be. And that? That was my final judgment.
I turned the cross over several times, noting each curve, each detail, and the intricate design embedded on the crucifix.
Death had put thought into every inch of this—each notch, each edge, a message I was finally ready to carry.
I closed my eyes briefly, elated that our friendship was still intact.
We were good. It was time to celebrate while I could.
Before the tides turned once again, and all hell broke loose.
But today. Today was good, and that’s all that I had.
I closed the blades and held the cross in one hand while I fumbled in my back pocket for my phone. Checking the time, I realized that Holland’s conference should be over. I tapped the screen, called her, and then held the phone to my ear.
“There’s my favorite person.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “Are you home? I’m ready to take your clothes off and worship my monster.”
I groaned; images of her with my new cross inside her cunt had my cock throbbing instantly. “No. But I hope it will be soon.”
Silence.
“Kip? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” I didn’t miss the thread of excitement in her tone.
“I’m standing in a house that I hope you’ll love as much as I do.”
For several seconds she didn’t say a word and then, “You’re asking me to move in with you?”
“No, baby. I’m asking you to buy a place with me. Start the next chapter of our lives.”
She sniffled, and I realized she was crying. “I want this with you so much. When can we see it? I can meet you there now.”
Chuckling, I made my way down the hall to locate the Realtor. “Do you have plans this evening? I would love for Holland to see the place tonight.”
She checked her calendar and then confirmed she could stay another hour.
“I’ll be there in thirty,” Holland said. The engine of her Mercedes purred to life. “Drop me the address.”
“Okay. Drive safe. I’ll be waiting. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Slowly, I walked back inside, sensing the possibilities of a new day. A new start. The woman I loved by my side, and my family reunited.
I tucked the phone into my pocket and looked around once more. Soon it would smell like her shampoo. There’d be coffee cups left on the counter and dog hair on the rug. A real home, finally.
I leaned against the doorframe, hands in my pockets, staring at the filtered light spilling across the floor like a promise.
Yeah. This wasn’t just a house. It was a future. Ours.
Holland and I had earned the quiet. For now. But I knew better than to believe in silence. Because somewhere in the dark … the Pied Piper still played.
And this time, we were listening.
**You thought Kip’s story was over. But monsters don’t vanish—they wait in the shadows.
In this exclusive bonus scene, Holland finds herself face-to-face with a stranger who knows far too much about her father…
and about Ella. And when the Pied Piper’s name is whispered, the game changes.
**Have you read the duet that started the series, In the Shadows and Back in the Shadows?