32. Only Mask You Need
32
ONLY MASK YOU NEED
GHOST
Townwide training is underway in Janie’s Woods, and now that I’m seeing them all here, I’m realizing it’s the first time so many Sauders have been in the same place at the same time. My dad’s side of the family is vast, most of them still living in Moros, but a few of them have moved to a smaller town not too far away—an escape from the darkness of Moros in order to save themselves from the curse. But here they all are, cousins and uncles, even some aunts, training to prepare themselves for the Reaper Corp war.
And I’m looking at them like they’re weak, obviously. They’re still alive, but how long until they succumb to the curse? Will this war be what tips them over the edge, or will they take training seriously and survive through it, only to be left with PTSD and an inclination to off themselves afterwards?
I want to roll my eyes at all of it, but who am I to judge when I’ve been battling the same curse as them? I see myself as better than them because I taunt my curse, but what the fuck are they doing about it? Just getting through it? What kind of life is that? Why is no one stronger? Why don’t they fight harder? Why was moving to another town their main way of upping their chances?
Do I believe in the Sauder curse?
I thought I only believed in it when it came to them. Not myself. They’d always been inferior to me, so I assumed the rest of them died and I lived because I was stronger than them. But then Remi got his mind mapped, started medication, and is doing better, and I don’t understand if that’s because of the meds or because of Krypt. I don’t overly want to know the answer because if both are the true reasons, then it means I need Killian and medication. It means my mind has slow connectivity or blood flow or whatever, just like my brother’s. And wouldn’t that just be the worst stab to my pride? To know I’m on the same level as them.
I’ve always been superior, and I’ll remain superior. Fuck the brain map.
“Quicker on your feet, woman!” Menace shouts right before he lashes out and knocks Sadie to the ground. “I’m going slow, and if you don’t work on your footwork, you’ll be dead in three minutes.”
Cain kneels to help his girlfriend to her feet, glaring at Menace for being a ruthless combat trainer. Menace’s blue mask stays trained on Cain, and the two of them compete in a stare-down that Sadie is oblivious to. Then again, so is Cain because he has no idea who Menace is. Well, other than being the madman who put him through an unforgettable night during the last Initiation.
Menace is running a sparring and hand-to-hand combat training session while Ransom and Seven have a group of trainees set up at the gun range, teaching them to work a pistol. Riot and Kyd are handing out security supplies to people who have come to fortify their houses, and Monster is prowling between it all, judging people for their weaknesses. He’s always been sensitive to the vulnerability of others. He’s smaller than everyone in Vile House, short and petite, but his dark hair clashes nicely with his bright yellow mask, and his energy is worse than a twister. He’s constantly churned up, and when he gets manic, he’s every deadly part of the tornado, never once being the eye of the storm.
“What do you wanna do with your mom’s place?” Glitch asks, stepping up beside me to watch the training. “We can secure it and put up video surveillance if you want.”
Honestly, I wouldn’t care if it burned to the ground like Remi’s house did. Mom has apparently been burning bridges for years, so even though she’s locked up in the asylum for now and no one is missing her, they’ll notice if her house is empty.
“Selena is gonna stay there, so talk to her about it.” I look at my family members as they struggle through arming and disarming guns. “You’re still close with your family, right? Like, all of them?” I ask him.
“My parents and Lockan, yeah.”
Glitch’s birth name is Makoa Kamaka. He spent the first ten years of his life living in Hawaii until his mom’s best friend, Lockan’s mom, talked them into moving to Moros. We’re the same age, so even as a kid, I remember Makoa and his long dark hair coming to town. I thought he was a pussy, but one day out in the woods by the cemetery, I saw him shoot an arrow and pin an asshole kid to a tree for fucking with Lock. And when the time came for the beating, he let Lock do it and never tried to take any of the credit for himself. I liked them both right after that. I felt challenged by them both… and I enjoyed the sensation.
“You ever feel like they’re a burden to you?” I ask.
Glitch snorts out a laugh. “Fuck, you’re a dick.”
Not arguing that.
“If anything, I’m the burden to them. They barely know shit about me anymore because I have to keep Vile House a secret. I go missing for weeks at a time and they don’t know what I’m doing. Pretty sure they think I have a drug addiction or something. Having things open to Lockan makes it easier now. We’re closer, so we’ve been going to visit my parents more.”
Lock’s parents are both dead, so Glitch’s parents took him in as a pre-teen, and they basically grew up as brothers. They didn’t like that Lock joined The Misfits, but they’re perfectly fine with it now.
“Why?” Glitch asks.
I nod at the Sauder group, shaking my head at how pitiful and frail they are. “How the fuck did I come from that bloodline?”
“You think you’re better than them?”
I glare at Glitch from behind my mask. “I know I am.”
“Your ego tells you that you are,” he agrees, pissing me off. “But you started like them.”
“Yeah, when I was a kid. I haven’t been that pathetic since I was eleven.”
“Whatever,” he snorts again. “What’re you asking me?”
“If it’d be easier to just kill them all now so I don’t have to protect them in the war.”
“Fucking hell, Ghost. You’re twisted as fuck.” He steps in front of me to block my view of my family. “If you don’t care if they’re alive or dead, why bother killing them to save them from the war?”
“To end the curse.”
“Oh.” He nods, dropping his hands from my shoulders. “Why not get all their brains mapped and have Medic, Psych, and Axel start them on meds like Remi?”
Because that’ll mean I need the same meds as those tragic losers. Riot won’t tell me what my scans showed, and I’m too much of a hypocrite to ask. If I believe my mind is superior, then it is, and I won’t have to deal with the utter disappointment of being the same as all these other idiots.
“Where’s Lock?” I ask instead.
Glitch nods his head to Lock and The Misfits, going through their own training while also rebuilding their reputation with the townsfolk. I don’t say goodbye, just walk over to Lock and tug him aside.
“You find your traitor?”
Lock turns his back on his crew to speak to me. “No, but out of everyone here, only three of them joined about two years ago. If that lady in Reaper City is to be believed, then those are the only ones it could be because everyone else comes from a known family in town.”
“Director wants to test them. Feed them information that is different from what the other members know and see if any of it makes it back to Reaper Corp. Glitch has spyware all over that place now, so he can listen for trigger words.”
“Glitch,” Lock says with a laugh. “That’s gonna take me a bit to get used to. But okay, what’s the info I’m leaking?”
“Ransom will tell you.” I nod at his red mask and strong body. “Let me know if you need help.”
Unable to be near my extended family any longer, I disappear into the fog of Janie’s Woods and end up at the pond on Carnival Hill—the one Riot drowned me in. I fucking hate myself for being here, getting nostalgic over something so ruinous. But I’m a puzzle, and I sense that one of my pieces got left behind here. Something chipped away from the foundation of who I am when he pushed me under the water and made a new deal with me, and I can’t decide if I hate him or appreciate him for it.
Because I’m different now, and different isn’t always good. Bending to look at my face, I lift my mask and study the murky water. I try to wrap my head around the way my illusion shifts, morphing my familiar reflection with these new parts of me, exposed only because old parts are missing. I think the piece I miss the most is the one that pushed my biggest button—the button that triggered me into becoming a madman who sought out Death like she was a dance partner.
Am I still looking for her? Am I obnoxiously flirting, screaming at her to pay attention to me so I can slam that door in her face, or am I tongue-tied, unsure what I’ll say to her if I ever wind up on her doorstep again?
Uncertainty isn’t my friend, and introspection is worse. I’m still the same person, and Riot—Killian—has gotten too many tricks over me. As I smile at the wobbly mirror reflecting my insanity back at me, I know exactly how to make myself feel better.
I’ll use Riot.
* * *
He’s not in his room, but I’m being patient. Facts told me he’s with Medic, and that’s all I needed to know. While I wait, I write out more calling cards, getting my vulnerable bits out onto paper to rid my physical body of them. I can’t say it to his face, but I can write down the things that scare me and the softer things I enjoy and hide them around his room for him to find if he’s ever inclined to look. I hope he never finds them.
It's another way to express emotion without having to verbally admit to this shit.
By the time he finally unlocks and opens his bedroom door at Vile House, I’m jittering with impatience and a need to expel everything morbid about myself straight onto him. I have a plan, and I’m ready to enact it, but when I step out of the shadowed corner and see his head hang, I pause. I don’t even breathe.
Riot whips his shirt across the room, sighing in a way that sounds painful. With his back to me, I barely swallow my gasp. His back…
His Vile House tattoo…
It's burned and broken, the skull a grotesque mess and his name almost entirely gone. As the burns heal, peeling away skin to build new skin, the design changes into something deformed and nearly unrecognizable. For a man like Killian, who only found himself once he joined Vile House, I can understand how devastating this must be for him.
His dark wavy hair hits his shoulders now, hanging over his nape in rambunctious waves. When his shoulders slump and he braces his arms on his dresser, head hung, it falls to cover his side profile, blocking my view of his anguished face. He’s hurting. Emotionally.
I don’t know how to deal with that.
Especially because Riot is the kind of person who needs visual reminders of who he is, and his tattoo has always been his anchor. Now it’s his downfall, and a part of me wants to make him feel better without knowing how to achieve that. I won’t admit that I’m broken, but… he’s fixed me before, and it’s time I do more than bring him a fucking smoothie.
I pull my mask over my face and grab his off the hook by the bathroom door. Silently, I stand right behind him, barely emitting a signal as he keeps his head low, shoulders and back heaving while he self-regulates horribly. I look at myself in the mirror over the dresser. The glow-in-the-dark parts of my mask are lit up teal, and Killian’s dark head of hair and tanned, scarred shoulders block my body. We’re a sight together. An ominous one with a soft side I’m not yet ready to admit to.
I care about him in some sort of way that left me half dead while he was captured, and breaking on his behalf now that he’s suffering. What does it all mean? I don’t know, but the fight in me isn’t against it. It’s for it.
When his back rises with a deep breath, I spook him. “Unmasked and broken. That’s your base layer, yeah?”
Killian whips around, hand on my throat, face right in front of mine. He’s seething, pissed off about being spied on while he was letting himself crack in solitude. He looks at my mask, wondering why I’m wearing it inside the house, but he doesn’t ask because he’s too busy trying to come up with excuses for what he was doing. To talk it away and pretend it doesn’t exist. To put up a front that shows him as nothing but corrupted perfection. To manipulate the situation to his benefit.
His eyes are roiling with storms instead of Krypt’s monsters, and in the grey of them, I see it buried under all his power. Weakness and fear. A lack of understanding. A need to prove himself to himself . “Get out.”
“No.”
“Soren, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t back off right now, I can’t be responsible for?—”
“This is you? The real you without the masks?”
He falters for words but holds my throat tighter. I watch him try to reinforce every bit of charm and deception he’s mastered over the years. Those masks don’t come, though. He can’t grasp one, which makes him try to hide even more. When he drops his hand and looks down to avoid my gaze, I tilt his chin and force him to look at me.
My knuckles brush his stubble, and his eyes narrow in another attempt to disappear. “You don’t need them. Not with me.”
His nostrils flare and his cheek muscles feather. “I need them. With myself.”
I shake my head at him, holding up his Vile House mask. “This is Riot. You. Killian fucking Hallows.” I show him the white and black, the opposing shades that mark him as who he is. “It’s the only mask you need.”
He looks at it, trying to accept my truthful words, but his eyes dip downward and he shakes his head in my grip. “I… fuck, I need the ninety seconds.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Don’t fucking look at me right now.”
“Fine.” I grab his wrist and twist, locking his arm behind his back and spinning him to face the mirror. “Then look at your fucking self. Look, Killian! Look at who you fucking are.” I shove his face forward, almost nose to nose with the mirror. “Ruthless Vile Boy who wears the white mask and goes by Riot. The master manipulator. A protector of Moros because of the power you hold and the authority you demand. Killian Hallows, the man who helped his brother kill his parents to protect him.” I lean in, lips brushing his hair. “The one and only man to ever fuck me.”
He growls. The sound starts as a rumble that builds into a scream of freedom. He looks in the mirror, trying to see himself as I see him. He blinks and yells even more, choking fire straight from the depths of his throat, struggling in my grip.
“And when you need the visual reminder, you put this on.” I release his arm but pin him with my body as I strap his mask over his face, securing it at the back of his head. “Because this is who you are. Doesn’t fucking matter what your skin looks like. I. Fucking. See you.”
He’s trembling, but he doesn’t stop me from grabbing the razor and slicing one fine line down his inner bicep. He needs a purging, and I’m the only one strong enough to handle the demons that leave him.
He pauses, time stopping as he lets the force of everything he is sink into his bones. I think all he’s ever wanted was to be seen without all his masks. The moment is full, pregnant with purpose and painful because of it. And when it ends, Killian explodes.
His eruption is gorgeous.
His teeth snap beneath the mask, audibly setting us off the starting blocks. He spins, both hands coming out to pound against my chest. With the force of his shove, I fly backwards, slamming into his bed, and he keeps coming at me.
Ah, fuck yeah. Here he is. I grin beneath my mask and revel in the force he projects. When his hands slam against my chest again, I brace myself on the edge of his bed and kick out with my legs, making him buckle forward. I laugh loudly as he falls, head tilted back and throat bared, ready to go mad with him.
Killian screams louder when his sore back hits the hard floor, and I take the chance to kneel at his feet. When he kicks out, I grab his foot and rip his boots off, tossing them aside. Before I can tear his pants away, he tries to sit up and throw me onto my back. I don’t let him. Pressing on his chest, I lean over him and push him back down. My hips open his legs, and my groin rubs against his.
“Who are you?” I ask, voice muffled behind my mask.
“Me,” he says. “In fucking charge. Stronger than you.”
Good story. I laugh, grinding against him to draw a groan from his lips. “Feel that?”
“Your cock? Yeah, always fucking ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“Your back,” I correct. “Burned and broken against the floor. Feel it, Riot. Feel those burns and stop letting them control you.”
He snarls, gaining strength. He sits up, making me fall backwards to my ass. When he stands, he grabs the back of my head and forces my face against the hardness in his pants. “Oh, I fucking feel it. Nothing controls me but myself.”
I suffocate in his groin, not even mad about it because he’s coming back to life. His shoulders are tense and straight, not slumped and sad, and his authority over absolutely every situation is rising to the surface. He’s a master manipulator, and this time, I’m going to let him manipulate me for my own personal gain—him at his best.
I bite down on my lip, groaning against him. He smacks me, twisting my mask sideways with the force of it. When I reach up to straighten it, he grabs my wrists and pins them to the bed behind me, making my back press into the frame. Killian kneels, shirtless and masculine, empowered because of himself. He rights my mask and squeezes my wrists.
“Admit you want me. Fucking blink, Soren.”
I do blink, but only because he can’t see it. “There you are, you egotistical prick. Knew you’d rely on me to bring you back.”
“I never fucking went anywhere.” He unzips my hoodie, letting it hang open. “Admit I’m winning.”
“Are you stalling?”
He groans, hauling me to my feet. Killian rips my clothes off angrily until I’m wearing nothing but my mask and a pair of black socks. On my own, I sit on the edge of his bed, stroking my cock to entice him. I track his nimble, still-bandaged fingers as they undo his pants and push them down his thighs. His boxers go next, and then I zero in on his hand wrapped around his cock, precum already pearling on the tip. This is a dick-measuring contest if I’ve ever seen one, but instead of it being about size, it’s about who’s going to reign as the dominant one.
Simply because he’s having a shitty day, and I admittedly enjoyed his dick in my ass, I push back onto his bed and bring my feet flat to the mattress as an invitation to goddamn take what he wants. Look at me being selfless. And still dominant, because I’m the one in control of this.
His throat rolls with a swallow as he prowls towards me, grabbing lube from the bedside table on his way. The white face of his mask is glowing, so stark against the black, and I’ve never seen something fit him so well. He’s every shade of grey there is, and between white and black is where he thrives.
Instead of popping the top, he drops the lube and pushes on my knees, folding me back to expose my ass to him. He pushes his mask up to free his mouth, and I gasp, ready to fight him off…
But then my asshole vibrates as he growls against it, his tongue pressing inside me. “Oh, holy fuck.” I grip the sheets to avoid touching him, but I don’t last. When he licks all around my hole, I go wild with a level of pleasure I’ve never experienced before. My hands end up on his shoulders, and I can’t even look at him because it’s too much.
I’m the one on my back, but he’s the one servicing me, and I’ve never felt more conflicted about our power dynamic.
The inside of my mask dampens with my laboured breaths, and I sink into his bed without a clear thought. I’m not fighting for or against anything, and I’m not proving a point to shine in the spotlight. I’m just rendered useless because of pleasure. My cock is so hard that I reach for it, but Killian bats my hand away and lifts his mouth from my ass to glare at me.
I don’t know where it comes from, and I hate that I say it, but I whisper, “Don’t stop.”
And he doesn’t.
I hold one of my knees and he holds the other, the two of us spiralling into new territory. Worship and praise, a place that comes with pleasure without despair, and a level of trust-building that scares me because it’s so natural. I lift my mask slightly so I can breathe easier, pressing my head to the mattress and barely refraining from moaning. His tongue delves into my hole, his stubble brushing against my skin, and the combination of rough and soft is so goddamn good I squeeze my eyes tighter.
“I knew you’d be needy, sweetheart. So fucking repressed.”
I pull him up my body, wrapping my legs around his waist. I’m tempted to kiss him, but I can’t. I can’t start craving kisses now when I’m already so fucking pliable beneath him. He grins at me, seeing the hesitation. He pulls my mask down for me, settling it over my face before doing the same to his.
“Who are we right now?” He grabs the lube and reaches between our bodies to lube his dick and my ass. “Riot and Ghost or Killian and Soren?”
I want to say Killian and Soren because it feels more sentimental, but I’m not a sentimental person and I need some barrier between him and my sensitive feelings. I touch his mask to give him my answer.
“Thought so,” he says, nudging my hole with his thick cock. “Ghost and Riot can fuck, but when you’re ready to admit how needy you are, Soren and Killian can have sex.”
I start to argue. He fucks me instead. Abruptly and without enough prep. The stretch and pressure feel good because it’s harsh amid gentleness, and I like the opposition.
Because we’re masked and need this, the ability to remind ourselves of who we are and give in to something that feels so good is humiliating.
There’s not much of a burn when he stretches me open this time, only a fullness that glues me back together and pulls me apart simultaneously. Every swivel of his hips sends a spark of fire through me, making me sweat and demand more. My fingers dig into his biceps, controlling him with a tight grip but wanting to give him free rein because, holy shit, he knows how to fuck.
Riot’s abs rub my dick between our bodies, sliding me up and down the bed with each thrust. I hate how close I already am, especially when I ignite in passion when he tilts himself to hit me at the exact right angle.
“Jesus,” I groan, eyes rolling.
“Riot,” he corrects. “Killian, if you’re honest.”
I am honest… in my head. “Shut up and fuck me.”
“Anything for you, sweetheart.”
He’s such a prick that I enjoy it. His sweaty body glides with mine, his wounds forgotten as bliss and darkness take over. I don’t know what he’s thinking or if he’s remembering who he is, but I know I’m not thinking about anything other than taking everything he gives me. The absence of thought is almost peaceful.
I’m so close it’s discomforting, but I want to erupt right now. Letting my hand fall down his arm, I grab his wrist and bring his hand to my throat. I don’t want him to choke me or give me a head buzz by cutting off my blood flow, and somehow, he knows it because he doesn’t squeeze. I just want to feel his hand on me, letting my pulse beat out of control against his fingertips. Needing him closer, I wrap my legs around him tightly, dragging him in. His cock hits deep inside me, and he holds himself there, rocking without pulling out.
Somehow, it gets hotter and harder to hold off. “Fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna…” I almost wish our masks weren’t on so I could kiss him.
“Soren,” he says as he pulls out. “I fucking see you, too.” He thrusts back in.
I combust, grabbing my cock to jerk off as I come all over us. I moan louder than I ever have, unable to keep the music inside, releasing what feels like years of repression because… I finally found him. The person who is my match, like Remi said.
Killian Hallows.
Our masks clack together when he bows his head, grunting through his orgasm as his hips stutter and he fills me full. The old me would have felt defiled by his cum in my ass, but the new me feels cleansed. Of what, I don’t know. I’m too high to understand. All I know is that we’re wearing masks, but we aren’t Ghost and Riot.
“Holy fuck, sweetheart,” he gasps as he catches his breath.
Fuck my own rules. I rip his mask off and kiss him, but he laughs against mine. Goddammit. I push mine off, grab the back of his neck, and kiss him like I mean it. Mean… it .
“We gonna cuddle now?” he asks, pressing one more kiss to my lips.
A bite of embarrassment creeps up, but I don’t even know what I’m embarrassed about. “I made you a fucking smoothie. What more do you want? Jesus.”
Killian laughs as he rolls onto his back, his hand falling into mine and the world seeming alright.