16. To share an awkward laugh
16
TO SHARE AN AWKWARD LAUGH
GHOST
Gregory Malone is screaming because Axel Graves is making him relive the day we threw him in his cell at the asylum. He flinches, remembering the daggers and throwing knives that embedded in his body as we caught him in Neon Demon, and then he’s verbally begging his wife to reconsider his punishment. He’s telling her his pension isn’t worth letting him rot for two years, and then he’s crying when she makes that choice anyway.
“Isn’t he a sexy thing?” Kyd asks.
“He’s a piece of shit stalker who is nothing more than Axel’s plaything and Remiel’s punching bag,” Krypt answers, not great at picking up social cues.
“Not him, Krypty. My boyfriend.” Kyd’s eyes scan the length of Axel’s impeccably dressed body. Who the hell wears a suit by choice? Especially in a place as dark and dank as this? Who sees him for him to want to look good?
I’ve been watching the doctor long enough now to realize his eye isn’t lazy. It’s focused and alert, the same as his other eye. It’s just his eyelid that flutters sometimes, especially when he tries to make eye contact. When he’s watching his research, looking through scans or scopes, it’s as sturdy as anyone else’s. Maybe he’s just awkward and used to being alone with his brain-dead patients instead of interacting with rational-ish people.
“What’s the plan for Malone?” I ask.
“Better be death in two years,” Krypt says, never taking his eyes off Malone.
Remi is in front of him, back to his chest, with Krypt’s arms wrapped around him, but not in a loving way. More a possessive, don’t fucking move, kind of way.
“He’s practice,” Kyd answers. “Dr. Hottie gets to test new techniques on him, and then he throws him back in his cell to try those techniques on the Reaper Corp captives. Fun on fun on fun!”
“Your idea of fun impresses me, Kyd.”
We all turn when Riot walks up. Dressed in black tactical pants, an open black jacket, and a white t-shirt, he slips into his casual, sexy persona—the one that draws him all sorts of wanted attention, gets him invites, and charms the pants of anyone he sets his sights on. His hair isn’t as long as Krypt’s, but it’s just as unruly, slightly wavy, and hangs haphazardly over his forehead, framing his steely eyes and masking them when he needs it to. His lips, pulled into his trademark grin, draw my eyes. Because fuck, those lips have been wrapped around my cock and coated in my cum…
Riot’s grin widens when he catches me looking. I look away… because I won, right? Whatever sick fucking game that was last night, I won. I got the blowjob. I got free. I took power. That means I won. Though the smugness flowing from him doesn’t come across as defeat.
“What happened?” Remi asks, nodding at Riot’s bandaged hand and the slight cut on his neck.
Riot’s eyes shift to mine, and something weird happens. A pause. A temporary truce that feels a lot like an inside joke. A lightness from the memory of the way he swallowed around my cock while his hand stayed fastened to the countertop.
“Someone pinned me exactly where they wanted me,” Riot answers.
Now my blood burns. Fuck him. That’s not where I wanted him, but it was the only place to put him when I needed to win the round. Krypt and Remi look between the two of us, but Kyd keeps his eyes on Axel’s ass. I sense their attention, but I don’t look. I’m too busy having a malevolent stare-down with Riot. He’s challenging me to dispute what he said, and a part of me wants to, but… I still fucking won, and maybe that’s enough to make me match his grin. As soon as I do, his widens into something genuine, and the two of us laugh.
“The fuck?” Krypt asks.
I stop laughing right away because it feels weird. I don’t have jokes with Riot. I don’t have anything but dares, challenges, and twisted games with him. This is just another one of those games, but lately, instead of them being exciting and dangerous, they’re thrilling and sexy. Like, who the fuck paralyzes a guy in his future gravesite and then uses his dead hand to jerk off? Riot, that’s who, and I’m a little impressed by his creativity for the dead arm handy.
Gregory Malone screams, shattering the moment. Well, their moment. Riot is still looking at me, and for whatever reason, I’m still looking at him.
You had a knife this whole time and never cut yourself down.
Fuck, does that mean he won?
“Hey, sweetheart,” he purrs, stepping closer. The definition of his chest and abs is obvious through his white t-shirt, and because the fabric is so light, I can see the outlines of his tattoos through the material. “How’s your neck?”
“How’s your throat?”
“Barely raw.” He tilts my chin, looking at the red, abrasive line under my jaw from his noose. “Can’t say the same for yours.”
I smack his hand away but butt my chest up to his. His masks fall away, and the real, mostly raw Killian comes out to play. “True or false, Riot?” I whisper. “You spit whatever was left of my cum on your cock and jerked off with it as soon as you left, didn’t you?”
“True. True or false, Ghost? You jerked off again when you got back.”
My grin is wicked and it makes me feel more alive than I was a second ago. “True.” I reach up and pull down on his bottom lip, watching the corners of his mouth open. It pleases me to see they’re a bit bloody and cracked, like I forced my cock down his throat so hard his lips split in the corners. I smile about it before I drag my thumb over his lip and let it go. “Maybe you’ll be the one who begs.”
“Maybe,” he agrees. “But I have a feeling whatever front you’re putting on right now is gonna crack in half soon.”
“Guess we’ll see.”
“Guess we will.”
He grins. I grin. The atmosphere changes and the game becomes darker.
“Vile House!” Menace shouts down the corridor. “Director wants a meeting. Lock got voted in!”
* * *
Today, we aren’t in rank. We’re in the theatre room, spread out through the seats with the lower-ranking members behind us. We’re unmasked, at ease, and Director stands at the podium. Axel isn’t here with him. Neither is Psych, Medic, or Media, and Lock hasn’t been allowed in yet.
“Few things,” Director starts, his exhaustion showing. He’s gotta be in his mid-fifties—I’ve never cared to ask—but he looks younger. He’s well-kept, well-dressed most of the time, and has good genes because his hair is barely salting and his skin only wrinkles on the rare occasion that he smiles. But this threat is real, and I can tell he carries the burden of it heavily on his shoulders. “First thing, Death Row maintenance.”
We all groan, but he goes on.
“Shifts. I want at least two of you there at all times to help out. Kyd, you’re going first because you need to get the hell out of the asylum and let Axel work.”
“But he likes being distracted by me. Look how fun I am!”
“You’re going to Death Row. Facts and Glitch, you go with him. Krypt and Menace, I need you two to head out to Carnival Hill.”
Menace groans. “Ah, man! Come on, Director. You know The Harpy hates me!”
I snort. “More than hates you. Actively tried to kill you.”
“Failed.” Menace grins like he’s King Shit. “Let the old hag try again.”
“That old hag is twice the person you are, so keep your shit together and don’t piss her off,” Director says, dishing out more tasks.
The Harpy is an old woman who lives in a rotting cabin in Janie’s Woods. It’s close to Carnival Hill, and it’s said that she haunts the forest—Janie was her granddaughter, so the name is fairly new, but the locals have taken to it. She’s a crusty old bitch who never comes to town, instead sending her son-in-law to run her errands for her. She’s alone out there, but she’s probably the most lethal resident in Moros. I’ve been afraid of her since I was a kid, and she’s the only level of death I haven’t tempted. Her dark skill? Poisons. And she’ll poison whoever the fuck she wants if they disrespect her, Carnival Hill, or Janie’s Woods. She’s like a witch, haggard and weathered, strong and wise, feared because of lore that terrifies children, but powered by gossip that is true. She really did try to kill Menace a few years ago because he walked into Janie’s Woods and shouted her name seven times.
That’s a no-no. The only person who can evoke Janie’s spirit is The Harpy herself. She showed up out of thin air, spoke a weird language to Menace, and then blew a powder in his face. He passed out right then and there and got trapped in a nightmare for almost a whole week until Director brokered a bargain with The Harpy to get the antidote. He wasn’t allowed to know what it was, so instead of giving him the antidote, she made us bring Menace to her. We dropped him on the decaying wooden floorboards of her cabin and watched as she covered him in some potion, blew something up his nose, and smacked him across the face.
Menace had sprung up, terrified, but he looked right at The Harpy and smiled. “Touché,” he had said to her, and she gave him a single-tooth smile. It’s been touch and go ever since.
“Ghost!” Seven smacks my thigh, dragging my attention out of that fun memory. He nods at Director, who is apparently speaking to me.
“What?”
“Anyone in The Misfits we need to be wary of?”
“Nah. Other than Yates and Tom, they’re all just a bunch of gangsters in need of a better leader. They’ll be good with Lock in charge and some structure, so no. They’re fine. Everyone hated Yates.”
“Alright. Let me know if you change your mind on that.” Director bends down and grabs his mask from his bag. Motioning at the back wall of hanging black funeral robes, he says, “Throw on your masks and put on a robe if your clothes can be recognized. Auggie is coming in.”
I haven’t been seen in this outfit today, so I don’t put on a robe, but I pull my teal mask over my face, secure it around the back of my head, and pull my hood up to hide my hair. When everyone is ready, an initiate escorts Auggie into the theatre room. She looks around, gawks a bit, fists her hand over her heart, and we do the same.
“Welcome,” Director says to her. This is new. We don’t let outsiders into Vile House, but we’re trying to secure a bit more trust with some of the locals who will be beneficial during this oncoming war. “Welcome to Vile House.”
“Thank ya,” she says. “Not much for talkin’.”
“That’s alright. You said you had a few names you wanted us to watch for?”
Auggie, who owns the Umbra Inn, pulls out a few sheets of printer paper. Holding them up one at a time, she starts telling us who checked in over the past few days.
“This one’s a twat. Frat boy but looks too old. This one’s his boyfriend. This one’s got somethin’ bad in his room ‘cause he ain’t lettin’ housekeepin’ in.” She holds photocopies of their driver’s licences up one at a time. “This one say he got family in town, but won’t say who. This one is lookin’ for his missin’ buddy.”
“What’s the buddy’s name?” Riot asks.
“Wrote it down,” Auggie says, fishing through her bag. She pulls out a small notebook, the pages all torn and tattered. “Rick Olenna.”
Riot grins. The guy he killed in the bargain hall.
“This one says he knows his uncle and cousin are here but hadn’t heard from ‘em.” Probably the kid from Mistfit Hall with the dead dad. “This one,” Auggie goes on, “got that evil in’im. I know it.” The last photo is of a guy, somewhere in his twenties, but she’s right. His eyes are his biggest tell because he looks nuts, even in his driver’s photo. Not the good kind of nuts, either. Trained to be nuts, born and bred to be morally inept and criminally insane. A sweet All-American lookalike who can’t hide his wicked bits.
“Reaper Corp,” Ransom says. “I’m sure of it.”
Auggie gives him a curt nod like she agrees and then asks, “That all. Can I go?”
Selena escorts her out, and when the door closes, we lift our masks.
“Ghost, I need you on this one.” Director holds up the last photo. “Brady Milton.”
Bullshit name, but I nod. “Now?”
“Soon. Riot, you go with him. Monster, you’re their backup. Got it?”
We all nod. I look at Monster instead of Riot, giving him a grin he returns. He still hasn’t said anything, but he’s coming back around to his wildly angry, bloodthirsty self.
“Next thing,” Director goes on. “Lockan Tate is waiting in the bargain hall. Time to brand him and reveal ourselves. We’re all going to go, but you don’t have to remove your mask if you don’t want to. I will, and Ransom will, and the rest is up to you.”
Oh, I’ve been waiting to showcase my status to Lockan Tate for years.
* * *
On the inside of Lock’s bicep, Monster takes great pride in pressing a Vile House brand. The design is basic, just a skull like our tattoos, and the words ‘Vile House’ and ‘ally’ in block lettering. Medic, Psych, and Media all have these brands instead of the tats, and when we’re initiates who make it past the first few rounds, we get a brand almost exactly like it, without the word ally at the bottom. It’s not very big, but his skin sizzles enough to make his eyes water and his jaw lock.
“You enjoyed that too much,” Lock says to Monster.
Monster tilts his yellow mask, not denying it. He steps back, and Lock holds up his burned arm so we can all see it. Monster throws some salve and gauze to Director, unwilling to touch Lock with his hands. While Director tapes him up, Ransom starts the rules.
“You understand that revealing our identities is a crime we’ll kill you for?” Ransom asks.
“Yeah,” Lock says. “I won’t. I just want Moros ours again.”
“We’ll make your execution public, boiiii,” Kyd says, but it doesn’t sound very threatening. “Just sayin’.”
Lock laughs. “I’m aware. Trust me, I don’t want to be like that nurse from a few months ago. I ain’t eating my own cock.”
“What makes you think that was us?” Seven asks.
“Well, it wasn’t The Misfits, yet his body was hung from our porch, so…”
I grin. That was my idea, and to this day, I don’t regret it. Yates had to put out a lot of fires for that body.
“Our trust starts now, Lockan Tate. Don’t betray us and we’ll be your best allies.” Director turns off the voice modulator. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
We’re in the bargain hall, the stone chamber cold and mostly dark. Lamplight gives us enough to see by but keeps the corners hidden. The ten of us are standing in a line like we do for bargains, and Director is a few steps ahead of us. He’s the first to take his gold mask off.
Lock’s eyes widen when he sees our fearless leader. “Doctor fucking Cooper?”
“Vile House has been passed down through my family for generations, and this is the first time a director has revealed himself. Welcome to our world.” He reaches out to shake Lock’s hand.
Lock takes it, nodding, looking proud. “Thank you. Thank you for trusting me.”
Director smiles. It’s small, but it shows his crow’s feet. “I’ve been watching you for years. This trust isn’t impulsive. Don’t let me down now.”
“I won’t,” Lock declares.
Ransom goes next. His hood lowers and his red mask lifts to rest on the top of his head. Seven lifts his orange mask, winking at Lock because they know each other from high school. When Kyd lifts his, his smile is so fucking big his eyes are squinted.
“Hi, Lockey! I’m Kyd!”
Lock laughs again, taking Kyd’s outstretched hands and letting the lunatic spin him in a circle. “Hey, Kid.”
“With a Y.”
“Right.”
Facts removes his copper mask, nodding at Lock with a quick hello. Krypt takes his purple mask off, almost glaring at Lock.
Lock is more and more shocked with each face. He knows all of us, except Kyd and Monster, in some form or another. Moros isn’t that big of a town, so we all have history. When Lock’s eyes get to Monster, the smallest one of us shakes his head. He’s not ready yet. Lock nods to accept that.
Glitch steps forward, chest to chest with his ‘brother.’ “Told you I’m more badass than you,” he says.
Lock barks out a laugh. “Makoa?” He rips the mask off, and Glitch is already smirking.
“Glitch here, you dick.”
“You fucking liar. How long?!”
“Long enough,” Glitch answers. They bro-hug, and then Glitch tugs Riot forward.
When Riot lifts his mask, his eyes are as riotous as his name, and his smirk is sexy.
“I fucking knew it!” Lock shouts. “No way you knew all that shit the night of the attack. You called me! Wait, you were the one Yates met with. You fucked with Sauder…”
“He fucks with me daily.” I shove Riot to the side and pull my mask off. “But I fuck with him right back.”
Lock’s smile is genuine. He tugs me into a hug, whispering in my ear, “You two totally fuck, right?”
“Hell no.”
When I pull back, there’s admiration in Lock’s eyes. That’s the exact look I’ve been waiting for since I joined The Misfits. It’s appreciation, respect, and awe, and I’m fucking drinking it in. Finally, I’m not Soren Sauder, the lame as fuck Misfits prick. I’m Ghost, the Vile Boy.
“Meet the Ghost of Moros,” Glitch tells Lock. “This fucker can move anywhere without being seen or heard.”
“Not even sensed,” Ransom adds. “Prick.”
Knew my boys would pump my tires. “Finally don’t have to fake it in your gang anymore.”
“Ah, you were never good enough anyway,” Lock jokes. “You been spying on us all this time?”
“Just since Yates.”
Director steps forward again. “That’s Ransom, Seven, Ghost, Menace, Krypt, Facts, Riot, Glitch, Kyd, and this one…” He pauses in front of Monster, waiting for permission to give his name. There’s a pause, and then…
“Monster.” His chin lifts, his voice shocking us all, but it’s none of Lock’s business, so we hide our shock and show pride instead.
Director nods at Monster. “And you can call me Director. Welcome to Vile House.”
It’s not required that he do it, but Lock fists his hand over his heart and gives us all a nod. He gives Monster an extra nod, as if to say he respects his choice.
“Thank you for letting me in. I won’t fuck up. Now, what the hell are we doing about Reaper Corp?”