Chapter 11
KILLIAN
After Logan leaves, I spend the morning in the greenhouse, among Dad’s plants.
Sometimes working in the garden quiets the pain my busy mind can plague me with. Those thoughts were quieter at the start of the morning, after having the privilege of seeing Logan torture Sik Vik, witnessing him change into something so much greater than his mortal body.
Something inhuman.
Something magnificent.
When all this began, I saw it as my duty to uphold the contract Logan was bound to by blood.
“Sometimes blood has to be pushed into doing the right thing,” Old Terror always said, and he pushed me plenty, so I pushed Logan, trapping him, as he said, wanting to possess him out of obligation to my family.
That’s not how I felt when I saw him at breakfast.
I’ve tried to convince myself it’s because he’s had my seed inside him, but that can’t be true because I’ve killed guys who’ve swallowed me before, and they meant nothing.
Seeing Logan worshipping my cock was different.
It might’ve been one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.
Still, it’s not enough to explain this irritation he’s triggered within me, gnawing at me like a feral wolf.
The morning light filters through the windowpanes along the greenhouse walls and ceiling, illuminating the vibrant green hues of my companions, as well as the red, pink, blue, and purple of the fresh, healthy blooms. The birds that inhabit the enclosed space flutter between branches and the creepy ivory cherubs.
A finch I call Willie pecks at the bird feeder, and a chickadee and wren bristle their feathers in the nearby birdbath.
They’re so peaceful, enjoying the sanctuary, no longer aware of all the dangers lurking beyond the safety of these glass walls.
It settles my heart as I come to Dad’s white roses, which I begin pruning.
These were always his favorite. I’m clipping a few to take to him, when the greenhouse door opens.
My brother Rage saunters in, in only a pair of short swimming trunks, his hair damp, his nipples perked up. As much as I want to be alone right now, I’m hoping he can distract me from my wayward thoughts.
“Chilly for a swim this morning?” I say.
“Just how I like it.”
As he approaches, he’s smirking, like he’s been up to some mischief.
“Good night?” he presses. He must already know the answer.
“I’m guessing you heard about our visitor.”
“Heard about? I saw you getting head and that Wilde tearing the other guy apart. Better than porn.”
I shoot him a glare as he settles about a foot from me. I don’t like that he watched either of those things, but with Rage…well, he’s gonna do whatever the fuck he wants. And I’ve learned you can only beat the tar out of someone so much before surrendering.
He sidles up beside me, a little too close, before draping his arm across my shoulders. “I almost went to give your future husband some company, but he seemed real tuckered out from all the killing.”
A flash of rage and ringing in my ears—I’m barely thinking as I discard the pruning shears. I turn, fists clenched, and he jumps back.
“Whoa, whoa, I’m just giving you hell, man. Can’t you take a joke?”
“Not this morning.”
He rolls his eyes as I take a swing. He dodges it, but I keep coming at him, this part of me that won’t be satisfied until I land one.
This isn’t about getting him back; it’s about quieting the discomfort in me, though I know the relief this will give me will be so brief, like getting that amazing blowjob from Logan.
No pleasure ever gives relief for very long.
While I issue a few more swings, Rage laughs, dodging until I snatch his arm, then his throat, stilling him in place. “You ever touch Logan, and I’ll tear this pretty face right off.”
“Gee, bro. You think I’m pretty?” he strains to say. “Shucks.” The word is barely audible as I crush down on his windpipe.
It’s impossible to stay mad at Rage, even when he’s unbearable, so I take a measured breath and release him.
“Was that the best you got?” he asks.
“If you want to play, just let me know.”
His amused expression shifts to panic. Even Rage knows when he’s about to take things one step too far.
“Aw, come on. Why are you in such a mood this morning? Last night seemed great. I got off twice, once more than you.”
His question tugs at that heaviness within me, weighing on me like a slab of stone, steadily compacting against my chest. I fetch my discarded shears off the ground and return to pruning. “Just grappling with the idea of becoming a married man.”
“Frustrated that this is the only man you’ll be fucking from now on?” he asks, and at my look, he says, “Kidding. I assume you’ll both be fucking plenty of other people.”
Evidence that he hasn’t reinstalled any audio devices around the house.
“No,” I say.
He flinches. “Excuse me?”
“If we’re married, then we’re just each other’s. I made that clear to Logan.”
“No wonder you guys haven’t sealed the deal. Why would you do that?”
“It’s in the agreement.”
“For when it was about Mom and Dad. No one cares about fidelity anymore. Plenty of people are married and having polyamorous relationships. It’s not a big deal.”
“This is why I can’t talk to you about these things.
” Unlike Logan, Rage will never understand what it means to be the firstborn, what it means to carry on your shoulders the crushing weight of responsibility.
But it’s something I’m happy about because I would rather take this burden than pass it along to him.
He should never know what it truly means to stand at this place in the family.
“He better be a real good lay, then,” Rage says.
“He will be.” After what he did to my cock last night, there’s no doubt in my mind. It’s more than that, though. There’s a connection beyond what he can do with that mouth or even what a sexy motherfucker he is. But now, that connection scares me, so I try to shake it off.
“You could always teach him, if it wasn’t good,” Rage says, offering me reprieve from my thoughts.
“You’re really testing me this morning.”
“I didn’t even know he was into dudes, but the way he was working your dick, there’s no question there.”
I wish I could let that go, but as is his way, he’s struck at something. “What do you mean?”
“You clearly weren’t the only one enjoying it.”
I won’t reveal the circumstances under which Logan gave me that blowjob, but I don’t dismiss what Rage says either. Despite Logan’s insistence, even I felt a moment where his jaw relaxed and he submitted entirely to the experience.
Fuck, if he gives me all his holes like that…
Again, I try to stop these perverse thoughts, especially around my brother.
“I’ve some wheeling and dealing to manage today,” he adds.
His charm positioned him at the head of our PR front. He’s very much the salesman of the family. We each have our talent, but sales certainly wasn’t mine. Not with this personality.
He starts like he’s about to head out before noticing the roses I clipped.
“Say hey to Pops for me.”
It doesn’t surprise me that he understood why I’d cut Old Terror’s favorites. It’s been too long since I’ve paid him a visit.
Rage grabs my face, the way Dad might have. “I gave you an instruction,” he says in his best imitation, and despite how degrading the move is, it does make me miss the fuck.
Rage heads on his way, and when I finish pruning the roses, I have Jaime drive me out to St. Luke’s.
I don’t have any meetings today, and for a change, Rage isn’t in any trouble I need to get him out of, so it’s a good day for the visit.
Besides, I have some things weighing on my mind after everything that’s happened with Logan.
When I come to Dad’s headstone, I settle on my knees.
Adoring husband, loving father, his epitaph reads.
Despite what the rest of the world saw, I knew the truth of his character.
Yes, he was a psychopath, and if you were his enemy, he would crush you same as I would, but he was more than the foul deeds that gained him his reputation.
He could be good, kind, caring, though he didn’t necessarily show it the way others might expect.
I set the roses beside the headstone.
“Well, here we are. And you’re still dead.”
Even after all these years, it remains a painful blow.
Given the particulars of my personality, I don’t experience loss as others do.
I don’t miss a great man as much as a great weapon—a possession, even.
And where others might think of what their loved one is missing out on, I reflect on those benefits I had from his presence in my life.
This feeling seems reserved for Old Terror because, while I miss my mother and siblings, that loss is mixed with disdain at the inconvenience of their deaths.
There’s an echo in my ears, the sound of gunshots on the day the Folcrums descended upon us while we were securing a shipment. They slaughtered the Lordes with abandon, successfully trimming down a family of eight to a family of two, myself and Rage the only survivors.
I wait for the echo to quiet before I go on. “I had that meeting with that bastard Wilde. Honestly, I thought he might be too much of a coward to pull it off. But it seems we’re really going to follow through. I don’t know that I believe this is a good idea anymore.”
For the first time since our conversation, I let some of those thoughts I’ve resisted since breakfast creep back in…
when I mentioned our responsibilities to Logan.
Emotions bubble up—rage being one of the few I can experience with any intensity—before becoming a hurricane in my mind, terrorizing me as I see the moment when he was in the heat of killing Sik Vik.
That was the real Logan. The version of himself he doesn’t show the world, can’t show the world, just like I could never show the world my true self, the character flaws my siblings and I inherited.
Old Terror demanded we each harness the power of our true characters since he knew it was the only way we would survive in this world.
And he was right, but of all my siblings, I spent the most time grappling with my diagnosis in my teens—between various mixes of medications and therapy to find a way to manage the darkness.
There was plenty of disagreement on the precise genetic and environmental mix of my mental cocktail, but several phrases were repeated among specialists—antisocial personality disorder, co-occurring factor 1 and 2 psychopathy, obsessive behaviors, narcissism, Machiavellian, borderline traits.
And while I appreciate the observations made by experts, I consider myself utterly unique, which unfortunately, might make all the things suspected about me one hundred percent accurate.
Despite the years I’ve spent learning to harness the darker part of my nature, Logan makes me want to cave to the sickest impulses within me.
When I first summoned him, I wanted to possess him because of the agreement, out of duty.
But now that I’ve seen what he is, I want to possess him still, but out of selfishness.
It’s something I haven’t wanted to admit to myself, something that’s still hard because I know what that means.
“I’m not the kind of man who should be marrying anyone,” I tell Dad, “but at least I’ve seen enough of him to know that if there’s a man who can understand my black heart, it’s him.
Yet I see something beautiful and powerful in him, something more honorable than me, and it makes me want to possess him even more.
I wish I could be scared for him. Scared what this wickedness in me will do to him.
Because it doesn’t know how to love, only command and destroy. ”
I side-eye the headstone, imagining what Dad might say to that.
“I don’t want to hear any of this.”
“Get a backbone before I tear out the one you have.”
“I’ll shoot you in the foot if you keep acting this pathetic.”
Oh, Dad… It’s moments like those I miss.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I won’t betray you. I’ll do as you wished and marry him. I will protect the Wildes like they’re Lordes, ignoring my own happiness. And whether either of us likes it or not, I will make sure he submits to me. Even if that means I have to break him.”
I sit with the words for a moment before a realization hits me. “Maybe because I need to break him.”