17. Game of Chicken
17
GAME OF CHICKEN
RIOT
This guy Auggie brought to our attention, Brady, is a fucking douche. Not the frat bro kind of douche he tries to appear as, but the fake, pretending to be a tourist kind of douche who can’t hide the creep in his eyes. He’s smug and obvious about it, which makes him stupid, and I already want to kill him. I’m not sure if he’s Reaper Corp, but he’s up to something. Maybe someone they trained and sent in. We’ve been following him around Moros for two hours now. He’s done nothing except tour the city and take pictures of random shit, plotting out the lay of our land. He’s been with a friend, but not even the friend seems to understand why they’re just walking around.
Now it’s almost midnight, and instead of heading back to the Umbra Inn for the night, he stops for a change of clothes, fancies himself up a bit, ditches his buddy, and heads straight for Neon Demon.
… Because Ghost left him a calling card, inviting him out, and he was dumb enough to take the offer. Which means he either knows what Vile House calling cards are or he’s just an idiot.
We walk in unmasked. Tonight, we’re just three local boys out to have some fun with the tourists who came to town early for next weekend’s music festival. We were going to cancel it, but Director thinks it’s a good idea to keep it going because he wants to see who tries to sneak into town under the ruse of music. Remi and Cain help run the festival, and we’ll be around to keep an eye on everything. Plus, the entirety of Moros knows to be alert now, so our bases are covered.
Monster points up, indicating that he’s going to the balcony to watch from above. I head straight for the bar to order a drink because fuck, I’ve earned one.
Soren looks good tonight. Dark outfit in case his wounds bleed, top buttons of his shirt undone, tattooed chest hinted at, and a wild head of hair that sticks up in all directions like he purposefully commanded it to. He pairs the look with slip-on matte black boots and rolled-up sleeves, showing off the veins in his forearms that bulge through his tattoos—tattoos he’s already asked Menace to cover because some are associated with The Misfits. His blue eyes strobe with the lights, and I know because he’s looking at me. He never gives me his back, not trusting what I’ll do if he turns away from me for a second.
But he’s Ghost. He never gives his back to anyone.
“Gotta say,” I shout over the thumping electric music, “your necklace is the best part of your outfit.”
“What neck—” He rubs the red skin created by my noose and glares at me. “You look like a fucking wannabe biker.”
Dark jeans over black boots with a band t-shirt and a thin leather jacket, sure, I can see it. My hand is bandaged, and I’ve been trying to grow my hair out long enough to tie it back, too, but it’s not there yet. “Thanks.”
“Wasn’t a compliment.”
“Sure.” I grin, giving my attention to the redhead behind the bar. “Hey, pretty. Whiskey, please.” My charming smile works wonders because she smiles back, and Soren rolls his eyes. “Make that two.” I wonder if she’d smile back if my true self showed. Would she recognize me, or am I too disfigured from all these masks I’ve perfected?
Soren slaps a few bills on the counter and takes both drinks, leaving me with nothing. The bartender laughs, whipping up a double in a glass, winking at me as I hand her the money. With my back to the bar, I scan the club. Since it’s the pre-music festival, tonight’s theme is instrumental dubstep or something. I can make out the instruments, but there’s a thick distortion, a lot of bass, and heavy drops layered in with them, all matched with a horror vibe. Horror dubstep, maybe. Haunted EDM. I don’t hate it.
Monster is stoically watching from above, looking miserable about it, but Soren is in the middle of the dance floor, both whiskey shots already gone. He grins at me and starts dancing, and I’m so transfixed by it that I forget I’m supposed to be keeping tabs on this Brady guy until I see him bump and grind against Soren’s body.
Oh, fuck no. That ghostly fuck is mine.
I don’t hate the way rage feels, so I keep watching, letting myself become consumed by jealousy and anger. They swirl within me, morphing into something that turns me impious but also boosts my ego. Because I’m fucking hotter than that guy. That prick can’t read Soren like I can. He can’t give him what he needs, push his buttons the right way, or goad him into reactions his reasonable self would never make. Soren has one red button, and I’m the only one capable of pushing it.
He looks at me, eyes on fire, tempting me from across the club. His smirk is so subtle that I almost miss it, but I see it. I see it when he grabs Brady and pulls him against his chest. I see that smirk widen when he drapes his arms over Brady’s shoulders, grinding his hips in time with the music. He winces slightly when his injured shoulder moves painfully, but he won’t let something like pain stop him from starting this game.
And now I’m smirking for my own reason. This is the first time he’s initiated anything. My training is already paying off. I’ve got him right where I want him, and the best part about it is that he thinks it’s all his idea. Gaslighting is usually his forte, but fuck, I’ve got it in the bag.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. The thing never rings because no one ever calls people in Moros. You wanna talk, you go find the person you wanna say something to. That’s how it works. But I pull it from my pocket and see Monster’s name flash across the screen. I look up at him as I answer it.
“You gonna speak?” I say, surprised he didn’t just text me or walk down here.
He simply glares at me, breathing through the static to convey his message before hanging up.
Laughing, I nod at him. Yeah, yeah, I know. We’re here on a mission, and that mission is to keep tabs on Brady and take him back to Axel once we’ve gotten everything we can out of him. Alive. Director’s orders.
Soren’s way ahead of the game because Brady, that city fuckboy, is whispering sweet nothings in his ear, and my sweetheart is playing along. Well, two’s company but three’s a party. I slam my drink, toss my jacket over the bar, and head to the dance floor.
The haunted dance music is pounding in my chest, amping me up, filling my blood with adrenaline that promises no good outcomes for the clubgoers. The bodies on the dance floor are jumping up and down, the club turning into a rave as the lights strobe in time with the bass. Faces morph into nightmares and inhibitions are left on the floor as the magic of the music takes effect.
It’s the start of a horror story in here, and I’m fucking brimming with the need to be the villain. Soren’s eyes are on mine as I make my way through the sea of nobodies, heading straight for him with one goal: Look. At. Me.
My eyes shift with his hands as they weave into Brady’s hair, giving the guy’s head a little tug. Brady throws his head back, clearly into it, revelling in how it feels to be a pawn in a game that makes him feel so deceitfully powerful. He’s the prey tonight. The bait in a game of chicken. He just doesn’t know it yet. His toned body is shorter than both of us, so it’s not hard to look over his head and mock the hell out of Soren for being so predictable.
The crowd barely gets in my way, knowing I’m stronger and more dangerous than they are. They bounce, jump, bump, and grind, but they do it in a way that leaves a path straight to Soren, like they just fucking know that’s where I’m headed.
I come up behind Brady, the idiot having no idea he’s a sheep between two wolves. Soren’s body might be bumping against his, but his attention is all mine. His eyes dare me to try, and my grin meets his dare with a challenge of my own. I’ve never been afraid of a game of chicken.
I grab the back of Brady’s neck and spin him around. His face is drunk and shocked, but as soon as he sees me, he licks his lips and runs his hands down my chest. He says something to me, but I don’t hear it and don’t care enough to ask. Especially because Soren’s hand comes in from behind, forcefully removing his palms from my chest. He pulls Brady’s hands above his head, hips moving, grinding into the guy’s ass in beat with the music. I sway with the vibe of the club, the dance floor one big wave of movement. Dragging Brady with me, I grab his hips and press against him, firm enough to feel how hard he is in his pants.
Is he Reaper Corp or just another drunk asshole? Is he aware Soren wears the teal mask and left him the calling card? How much do they know about us?
The music changes from fast to slow with a heavy undertone of sex, and with it, the atmosphere morphs from jumping rave-goers to horny sex-drunk dancers who only want to rub against one another. Someone bumps into me from behind, trying to grab me, but Soren’s hand fists in my shirt to keep me where I am.
So predictable, sweetheart.
With his eyes on mine, he leans down, lips landing on the side of Brady’s neck. I watch the guy’s eyes roll back in pleasure, his hands coming down to snake into Soren’s hair. I rip them free and wrap them around my shoulders, leaning in to bite the other side of his neck, hating the game but wanting the prize. My head bumps Soren’s as we wedge Brady between us, using him to hide the truth he’s still not ready to act on.
Brady moans loud enough to hear over the music, and he’s wedged between us so tightly that when Soren grinds against his ass, I feel the motion of it when Brady’s hips grind against mine. Soren leans back, drunk on lust and sexy because of it. He looks at me, not even a smirk left on his face. No, he’s lost to need and turning hostile because of it, and this is right where I want him.
He spins Brady to face him, pressing his ass back against my cock and leaning in to grind our bodies together. All three of us groan, and Soren’s lips meet my ear, panting so deeply the sound travels down my neck and spine, making my fists tighten on Brady’s hips. Soren’s fingers dig into mine, his forehead rolling against my temple. Fuck, my hard cock digs into Brady’s ass, wishing it was Soren’s.
But then he shifts the game. He takes his attention away from me and gives it all to Brady. As blood red as my vision goes, I’m up for the challenge. Because I’m ready and fucking willing to call his bluff. He might be a sneaky ghost in his day to day, but his intentions don’t lie, and his eyes can’t hide secrets from me.
He grabs Brady by his hips, grinding their bodies together and pressing their foreheads tight. Every speck of his interest appears to be on Brady, but I know. I know what he’s really doing. He’s goading me, just like I’ve been goading him. He’s received my not-so-subtle messages, and now he’s attempting to take control of it, to flip the script and be the one to tease me. Fuck, I’ve trained him so well. He’s the perfect little pup, calling out to his master in such a desperate way.
The song morphs into something creepy and deep. Armageddon by 13 fills the club, and Soren’s body knows exactly how to move to it. It’s not exactly dance music, but his hips roll, then bump, grinding against Brady, who is greedy for this. Whether it’s a show or real, it doesn’t matter, because he’s in my way, nothing more than a prop for Soren to play with, to dangle in front of me like a carrot. But I don’t want to bite this carrot; I want to fucking annihilate it.
I watch.
I watch Soren .
I watch the way he takes control of Brady, morphs his body into whatever position he wants it in, and teases the kid like I tease him. I watch the way Brady becomes putty in his hands, pliable to every motion and reactive to every touch. While I watch, I drop my masks. I drop the charm, replacing it with sex appeal. I drop hesitation and replace it with anticipation. I drop the concept of being the nice guy, letting the darkest parts of me rise to my surface until they’re right there, within reach, ready to do my bidding.
My vibrations change with the switch in music. The people near me back away, but I draw the attention of other dark souls. Like Soren. His blue eyes hit mine, and with a grin that holds nothing beautiful or charming, I snatch Brady away from him and spin my back to him like he doesn’t fucking matter. Dismissal.
Soren’s body bristles behind me, but Brady gasps. “Oh, God,” he moans, looking up at me. He’s shorter and smaller, his big eyes wide with fear he finds arousing. He bites his lip between his teeth, and I rub my thumb over it to free it, making him tremble just to piss Soren off. “Please,” he begs.
I tilt my head. Please, what?
Brady puts his hands on my chest hesitantly, like I’m going to snap his wrists for touching me. Slowly, he drags them down my torso, over my pecs and intercostals, feeling every ridge of my abs, until he gets to the bottom of my t-shirt. Innocently, he looks up at me as his fingers hook into my pants, knuckles brushing my skin. Our bodies sway with the depth of the song, his touch not near enough for me.
Come on, you ghostly fuck, make your move.
Underneath my shirt, Brady’s fingers start moving, tracing my lower abs, the light trail of hair coming from my pants, up to my?—
“Ah, ah, ah.” Soren’s hands land on Brady’s, his eyes on mine as he chastises the blond for touching what he thinks is his. “You don’t get to touch him unless I say you can.”
Brady looks between us, but our eyes are caught in a war we both think we’re winning. “Are you two together?” he asks.
I keep my mouth shut, tilting my head at Soren this time. Well? Are we, you possessive liar? He thinks I don’t know what he’s doing, but I do. He’ll brush it off as a game, but I know it’s obsession—possession.
Soren’s fingertips graze my abs, bringing me to fucking life. “Want us to be?” Soren speaks into Brady’s ear, starting to dance with him again as their hands stay on my abs. “Think you can handle us both?”
Brady’s ass presses back, making Soren’s eyes snap to mine again. He grins, grinding against him and touching me, controlling this guy’s hands on my body. Brady nods too eagerly, rubbing his cock over my leg. “Yes,” he moans. “Yes, fuck yes.”
“Where are you staying?” Soren asks him.
“Umbra.”
“Do you know anyone in town?” I ask.
He shakes his head, lying since he had a friend earlier. “I’m here for work. Let’s get out of here.”
Work. “What work?”
“T-the music festival. Please, take me somewhere.” He digs his fingers into my abs, and Soren tugs his hands away. “I can handle you both.”
He’s lying. I know he is because he’s too drunk to hide his tells. His answers are too quick, rehearsed, and he’s either too horny and really does want to get out of here, or he’s using it as an excuse to change the subject. With my eyes on Soren, my hands roam all over Brady. Soren’s teeth grind and his jaw clenches, but when I search the guy, he has no weapons on him. Soren bends to check his ankles, distracting him with lips against his inner wrist.
We’re luring him away from the club, but if he’s Reaper Corp, he might have the same goal.
He's clear. Looking up at Monster, I nod at the exit so he knows we’re leaving with the guy. Honestly, I want nothing to do with this preppy fuck, but he’s the ticket to getting Soren to snap, so playing along is in my best interest, and nothing is more important to me than my best interest. Monster shakes his head at me like I’m exhausting him, and then he slips out of my sight and my mind.
As we leave the Neon Demon, Death Row greets us, dark and mostly empty, but that doesn’t mean we’re alone. It’d be smart to take this guy to Vile House so he’s where we want him come morning, but I’m not ready to share this game of sex-chicken with my Vile House brethren. I want somewhere more private. Glancing at Soren, whose eyes are already on me, I nod towards the street my parents’ house sits on, and he tilts his head at me in answer. It’s a challenge, though I don’t know what it means, so I grab Brady just to piss Soren off and wrap my arm around his neck.
“You have no idea what you’re in for, little lamb. You sure you wanna disappear in Moros with two strangers?” I grab his ass to give my warning a playful tone, and Brady can’t fight the urge any longer. He wraps his arms around my neck, grabs my hair, and tries to steer my mouth to his for a kiss.
Soren gets there first. He rips Brady’s head away from mine, picks him up, and throws him over his shoulder. “Don’t tempt me, tourist. I told you not to touch him without my permission.” He ignores Brady’s whining and takes off towards my house. I walk behind and grin the entire way.
Fucking checkmate.