12. Ghost of the Tunnels
12
GHOST OF THE TUNNELS
GHOST
No part of me gives a single fuck about being injured. I’ve come closer to death in my sleep, so a few stab wounds and a night in the medical wing aren’t going to be what slows me down. I hurt, but I won’t admit it. Riot is the only one looking close enough to see through my cracks and witness the pain festering within me anyway, but fuck him.
At this point, I don’t even know if it’s physical pain or mental pain. Emotional pain? It doesn’t matter because I refuse to grant it the ability to rise to my exterior. My facade always stays in place, no matter how fragile it is.
Remi’s fussing over me like a little nurse, trying to force me to focus on changing my bandages and cleaning my wounds. They’re mostly stitched up, and thankfully, nothing serious got damaged.
Stronger than the pain is pride. Because I fought that Reaper Corp prick and won. He tried to tempt me into the afterlife with him by granting me a few seconds’ glimpse into that hanging moment between life and death, but I was stronger than him. I was stronger than them all. I killed at least ten men, took down the final one, kept Misfit Hall from falling into the clutches of Reaper Corp, and helped prove what a useless coward Yates is. Because of me, Lockan Tate gets to have his crew back, and I know he’ll be a better leader than anyone else there.
Everyone should be fucking bowing to me.
“Stop,” Remi says, smacking my hand away so he can apply the final strip of medical tape to the bandage on my thigh.
“Thought you weren’t allowed to touch me?” I shake my head at him.
“Krypt isn’t here. Just make sure you keep it clean, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I pull my sweatpants on, cringing just a little at the way it stings to move my leg. “It’ll stay clean. Don’t have time for an infection.” I leave my shirt off and let my brother look. He’s seen my Misfit tats, but up until he started ‘dating’ Krypt, he’s never been allowed to see my Vile House tats, so this is the first time he’s getting a look at them up close and personal. The skull on my back, Vile House at the top, my name at the bottom—every inked needle of it earned. “How’s the shop?”
He stares at my sides, ribs, back, and arms, taking the whole picture of me in. Yeah, I’m such a well-constructed piece of art that even my brother can’t see through the dark ink to what simmers just below my surface. He sees a thrill-seeker, not a broken bastard with a need to prove I am stronger than the only sure thing in life—death.
“The windows are boarded up, and I’m staying closed for a few days, but otherwise, no major damage. Cain is there making sure everything is in good shape, and I guess the window repair people will be there tomorrow.”
“Director had to bribe them to come,” I say, laughing. “No one wants to come here right now.”
“Don’t blame them. Moros is a mess.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “A beautiful mess, and that’ll still draw in the right people.”
“Hopefully not Reaper Corp.” Remi looks at me, wide-eyed and showing all his fear. “The hell are we going to do if they take over, Soren?”
“Ghost.”
“Sorry. But what happens if they win?”
“We won’t fucking let them. And if, somehow, they do, we’ll die trying to defend our town. Like fuck I’m gonna become a pawn in a game as big as theirs. Death can’t have me, neither can they.”
Remi narrows his eyes at me, trying to crack the code of my words. “Death can’t have you? Did you break the curse?”
I’m not even sure I believe in the curse the same way he does. Remi has always been afraid of it, and I don’t blame him. He’s watched the men in our family fall like flies, one right after the other, feeling the curse creeping up on him next. It broke me when our dad died, and it fucking killed me when our brothers died because it made me feel inferior, like I’m not strong enough to stop this curse. We’re all that’s left, so I have to believe there’s a way to end it. To prevent it. Remi has Krypt now, and he’s taking the medication Axel suggested he try, and he’s doing it all under the professional supervision of Psych, so I trust that he’s in good hands.
But me? Yeah, I see the allure of a curse and believe that our bloodline is somehow tempted by the idea of suicide and choosing our own death, but I don’t know if I’m tempted by it the same way they are. My brothers fought it and eventually succumbed to it, Remi’s been trying to outrun it for as long as I can remember, but I seem to be running for it rather than away from it, and it has nothing to do with wanting to die. I just want to be the fucking best, the strongest, the smartest. Imagine the ego boost I’d get if I defied death on numerous occasions?
Riot thinks he can chase me there faster, but it only adds more fun to my game. I’m dragging him along with me, and when I finally knock on Death’s door, I’ll shove him through the threshold and slam it in both their faces. That brings a smile to my lips.
“I don’t believe in the curse.”
Remi scoffs. “Sure. You just tried to protect me from it all this time by stalking me.”
Sure did. Gregory Malone stalked Remi, and I stalked Gregory Malone. I pushed Remi to Vile House that night, and I don’t regret it, because look at him now. He’s stronger, darker, better equipped, and has a whole powerful society at his back. He has a team of medical professionals overseeing his care, and he has a possessive as fuck boyfriend who won’t let him hold his breath long enough to die. It’s not the way I foresaw it going, but it worked out regardless. I did that. Me.
“Someone had to chase you here.”
“What?!” He gapes at me. “I knew it! I thought you were there that night… I—fuck, Soren. Why?”
“You needed protection, and I got it for you. So, you’re welcome. For Krypt.” I grab him by the scruff of his shirt. “And for the hundredth time, while we’re here, it’s Ghost.”
“Ghost,” he corrects, smiling at me. “Thank you. For… well, for leading me here, for always stalking Gregory Malone, and for having my back even while I thought you hated me. I honestly thought you were going to kill me just to end the curse. Turns out you were just lying to me. About everything.”
“Not by choice, but it gave me a little kick to sneak around behind your back.” I smirk.
“Of course it did.” He throws a shirt at me. “Come on. Let’s go eat before this town meeting.”
* * *
After eating and leaving my brother to get to the town meeting on his own, I’m silent while I walk through the tunnels. I drop back without anyone noticing, content to be concealed in the shadows with my thoughts. My mind still isn’t a safe place, but ever since my murder spree, it’s been mostly peaceful.
Except for when I think about Riot. His damn mouth, three finger streaks of my blood across his lips, and the way his tongue tasted me. The power that came alive in me when he kissed me, savage and raw and fucking finite, is addicting. There was nothing timid about the way he crushed his mouth to mine, and even if the whole thing is confusing, I don’t regret it, but I don’t want it to happen again. Because I can’t feel alive while pressed to him. I can’t accept power from him. I need it on my own, to be able to create it and thrive in it. An external power source isn’t enough for me, and it sure as fuck isn’t acceptable coming from him.
I need him to push me so I can create my own power, strengthen myself, prove to myself that I’m all it takes to get through this thrilling life. I’m the powerhouse of my own life, and there isn’t a chance in hell I’ll let him take that role.
The water at the base of the tunnel ripples, alerting me to someone’s presence. It’s dark along the edges, but my eyes are adjusted to it, so when the steps come closer, the water shifting ever so slightly, I hold my breath and give myself a moment to simply sense the approach.
Riot. He thinks he knows where I am, so I slow down again, moving backwards instead of forwards, throwing him off my trail. His feet stop, and the echo of everyone’s voices changes to something duller, farther away. His breathing is loud in this chamber, and I swear to fuck I can hear his heart beating as he tries to listen for my whereabouts. The guy has no idea how to be quiet.
He won’t hear me. I won’t let him. He’s already drowned me in a pond, paralyzed me in my grave, and kissed me while in the throes of a blood high—I won’t allow him to get another one over on me. He’s made my head even less of a safe space, and I can’t stand him having that sort of control over me.
But… the way it felt to cut his inner bicep. I took that control and he let me have it, and the way his blood trickled down his skin has been on my mind since.
My eyes adjust more, my ears pick up everything, and my body relaxes to a point where my wounds don’t even hurt. Anticipation swells inside me, my fingers all flexing at my side as he comes to a complete stop, trying to be silent to listen for my movement. Here in the dark, I don’t have to hide the cracks in my illusion or the over-glued pieces of my jigsaw puzzle front. I use the darkness as a mask, but it’s a different kind of mask from what he wears. He tries to please, to accommodate, to manipulate those around him, but I’m only trying to manipulate myself into believing I’m not as broken as the voice inside my head tells me I am.
He walks closer to where I am, water rippling against the soles of my boots. I feel it like it’s a caress, a subtle warning, and I use it to aid my silence. While he disrupts the water, I step backwards, pressing my shoulder blades to the tunnel wall. He’s right in front of me now, but he doesn’t know it. He’s looking back the way we came instead of looking to his side, and I love the way I deceive him. The way he thinks he’s smarter than me, but moments like this prove that he’s not.
“Hiding from me, sweetheart?” he asks the long tunnel. His voice is dark-tinged yet gleeful, which pisses me off because he isn’t aware that he’s losing this round yet.
I grin, but I bristle, too. I want the ability to hide from him because he’s too stupid to know where to look, but I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I’m cowardly for hiding. I almost react, which is exactly what he wants, but I flex my fingers again and force myself to be still.
“When I was in the shower last night, your blood was all over me,” he says, turning his back to me to peer against the opposite wall. “Fucking dripped down my body, and guess what I did?”
Pressing my lips together to force a silent breath through my nose, I flex my fingers once more. This time, against my cock. It better not get hard. Because I’m imagining it. His busted knuckles turning white as his bloody hand wraps around his thick cock, stroking my blood to mix with his precum…
“Fuck, my dick looked good coated in your blood.” He turns more, and if he steps a little closer, his adjusted eyes will see me. “The water diluted it, but I can’t wait to make you bleed all over me and try not to get hard at the sight of it.”
My palm presses to my dick, willing it to stay down.
“We gonna talk about it?” Riot asks, almost facing me now. “That kiss you forced on me?”
Fuck. Him . When he spins to face my spot, I move with him, keeping my body behind him without making a sound. He looks at the tunnel wall, his shoulders tensing when he doesn’t find me where he thinks I am.
“Couldn’t get enough, could you?” he asks, acting calm when we both know he’s pissed he can’t find me. “Fuck, you were a desperate little blood whore. All broken and bleeding and using me to get your strength?—”
From behind, I wrap my forearm around his neck and use my other hand to tighten the hold. Riot wheezes, his body fighting to get free, but fuck him. Fuck all of this. Fuck the bargain with my brother and the way Riot thinks he can push me to an early death. Fuck him for everything he’s done since he came into my life as my best challenger.
“ I forced on you ?” I growl in his ear. “I’m the whore?” I squeeze tighter. “You called Lock and made him come check on me.”
His breath rattles and his voice is forced. “Keeping… my end of the… bargain.”
“You came at me like you fucking owned me.” My laugh is pure evil. “You demanded I only bleed for you. You fucking kissed me. You’re the whore, Riot. You’re the one who turned this sexual.”
He coughs, and I feel his throat spasm against my arm. He tries to say something while his fingers grasp my wrist, but I don’t loosen my hold. This shit ends now. He can push me all he wants as long as the destination is Hell and not his bed. He’s the desperate one who can’t fuck the same person twice because he never remembers what mask he wore with them to win them in the first place. I won’t be his easy way out just because he doesn’t have to wear a mask for me.
Riot struggles in my grip, making all my wounds ache fiercely. Holding him tighter and pressing my lips to the shell of his ear, I exhale slowly. “You don’t fucking own me, Riot. I bleed for no one but myself. You think you’re the one chasing me to my death?” I pause, gathering the strength of the dark tunnels and the sinister things that’ve happened down here. “Stop acting like you have any control here. We both know I’m the one dragging you to Hell, and like the little puppy you are, you’re following along eagerly.”
With one more blown breath against his nape, I shove him forward and disappear before he ever turns around. Our games have always been rooted in challenge, but whatever new sexual energy he’s bringing to our dynamic isn’t going to fly with me. Because I don’t like the way he makes me feel unglued, ripped open, my pieces scattered around the board for him to put back together the way he sees fit.