33. Winner Takes Rank
33
WINNER TAKES RANK
RIOT
It chaps my ass to stand at the end of the rank line. It chaps even more that everyone is laughing at us about it.
“Come on, Lil Baby Ghosty!” Kyd begs from further up the line. Any rank below Kyd is a fucking tragedy, and here I am. “Like this? About a nine?” Kyd holds his hands out, measuring fourteen again.
Just to be a dick, Ghost moves Kyd’s hands apart more. “This kind of nine.”
Kyd’s smile is so wide I can see the red stains from his cherry slushie on his teeth. He leans forward, looking down the line at me, and gives me the world’s most exaggerated wink. “Atta boy, smiles. I always knew you’d be blessed.” He kisses his fingers and lifts them to the sky.
“Wait,” Seven butts in.
“Yeah, fucking wait,” Krypt butts in on him. “You two fucked?”
“Like you get a say, you hypocritical fuck,” Ghost snorts.
I look at Director, who has the bridge of his nose pinched between his finger and thumb. “Remind me why I’m at the end of rank when these children can’t even focus?” I quirk a brow.
He sighs, but I can tell he’s happy to see me on my feet again. “Because you put your ego ahead of a job and fucked us over.”
Ugh. Dick.
“Let’s sit,” he says to all of us.
Kyd races everyone even though no one is competing, and the rest of us take our time. Ghost lingers, so I drop back to brush my fingers against his, teasing a hand he secretly wants held but won’t admit to in front of everyone else. He snaps his narrowed blue eyes at me and shakes his head, taking a seat next to the one I sit in.
Director sits at the head of the table, his tablet open in front of him. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he starts, looking up at us, “but I’m proud of you all.”
“Even me?!” Kyd stands, hand on his chest.
“Have you found the lion yet?”
“Maybe.”
“Then less proud.” Director hides a small smile as Kyd sits back down. “You’ve helped to bring Moros together. Death Row is mostly repaired after the explosions, training is going well, and more than half the locals have come to us for assistance. The alliance with The Misfits is working out well, and the locals are accepting it. It’s a good sign, and I’m grateful to all of you for doing your part to unify the town. Thank you.”
He doesn’t thank us often, so it hits deep. We all nod or ignore him like he never said it, but I know we’re all pleased.
“And, despite why they got the job, let’s all recognize what Riot and Ghost accomplished in Reaper City.”
We’re praised, as we should be, and I drink it in, flashing a cocky smile at my boys. My knee nudges Soren’s, and he raises his arms to accept the praise. He’s finally getting recognition, and instead of mocking him for it, I’m praising him, too.
Director laughs. “Maybe a reward is deserved, yeah?” he asks, his grin growing. “I’m proposing a challenge. Yates is still in town. We’ve had at least four sighting reports in the last ten hours. So, whichever one of you finds Yates and brings him in will move to the head of rank.”
Monster leans forward and Menace stands, itching to hunt. Ransom grins at the table, concocting a silent plan, and Seven and Glitch glance at one another, forming an alliance. Facts jitters, fingers tapping together, and Krypt barely reacts, but I know he’s been craving something vicious. Ghost doesn’t move, not even a twitch, but I can feel his mind working from here.
“Oh,” Kyd pouts.
“Problem?” Director asks him.
“Nooo,” he sighs dramatically. “I’m just working on a slow burn with my smarty-pants boyfriend. This puts a kink in my plan.”
“Come on, Kyd. You love a hunt, and distance makes the heart grow darker.” Menace laughs, and Kyd’s grin turns playfully sinister.
“Fonder, dipshit.” Krypt stands, eager to go. “When does this challenge start?”
Director meets all our eyes before grinning again. “Right now.”
Everyone gets up, scrambling for the door. But not so fucking fast . I block everyone’s way by pulling Soren against me, his chin between my fingers. When I press my lips to his and whisper, “Just in case,” his cheeks turn red, he rolls his eyes, and he shoves me away to be the first one out the door as everyone else mocks the absolute fuck out of us.
Me, mostly. But I don’t care. Sooner or later, Soren will admit he likes the gentle moments, too.
“Awwwww!” Kyd squeals.
“Fucking pathetic,” Krypt snaps.
“I knew that tension would eventually snap.” Seven laughs.
I look back at Director to see what he has to say about it, but he’s just watching me with relief and some sort of fondness in his eyes. I don’t like it, so I push my way out.
My smile is all charm as I leave the con room, but it turns to a feral smirk with bad intentions towards Yates when I grab my mask from my room.
* * *
Turns out we have more competition in finding Yates than just each other. The Misfits are also on the hunt, and it seems as if half of Moros is out for him, too. The town is unified, everyone working together for one greater purpose: to catch the traitor who let the enemy into our home.
I’m still sore and injured, but I’m ready to get back to my roots. Fuck my ruined Vile House tattoo, and fuck my insecurity over my masks. Tonight, I’ll prove to myself that the only thing that matters is the power within me. Because I’m a hunter at heart. A sinister mind with an even more sinister need, and Yates is about to become the dopamine hit I need.
Bonfires are lit all across town. The cemetery is flickering with torches and small fires, and the streets glow orange from lampposts. The vibe of the entire town is ominous and predatory, and fucking hell, it’s building up inside me. Even the ravens refuse to slumber, sitting on tree branches and power lines to be our eyes and ears. I love it when every part of Moros comes together for one despicable purpose.
On this chilly, damp night, I’m prowling down Crucifix Street with a new blade in my grip. It’s never met blood until I used it an hour ago to slice my inner bicep, bleeding all my second thoughts from my body to leave me with nothing but confidence and a capable mind. I spin it in my palm, the hilt warm from my hand and the sharp edge eager to meet flesh. The ravens caw above me, and two figures dressed in black slink up the street between parked cars and front yard bushes. It’s not Tom and Yates. It’s a husband and wife, close friends of Yates’, and the reason I know where they are is because of that neck I snapped in the bargain hall.
Willow Olenna’s cousin died by my hands, and the price she paid me was agreed upon a few days ago when I paid her a visit. Information. She’s a shifty, smart woman who knows everyone’s business and is wise enough to make her skills transactional. The first bit of information she gave me isn’t up for grabs yet. I’ll share it when I’m ready, but earlier, when I left her a calling card to call me, she delivered exactly what I needed.
Yates and Tom have been house-hopping between a few different sets of friends who are willing to protect them from the townsfolk. No surprise that none of them are members of The Misfits. This husband and wife are guilty of hiding those filthy traitors, and now they’re on the run, smart enough not to take a car out of town because they know the road will be blocked.
Well, their footpath is also blocked, and when they meet Krypt up ahead, they’ll turn back towards me, falling perfectly into our trap. I’m trembling with anticipation for it.
Our masks aren’t battery-powered, but they are glow-in-the-dark. So when the husband and wife step out of cover, ready to sneak into the next yard to escape Crucifix Street, Krypt’s glowing purple mask greets them. Their shrieks are audible from back here as they scramble over one another, grasping at each other’s clothes to quickly turn around. Where they’re met with my glowing white mask. If only they could see my smile. It’s one of my best, only coming out on rare occasions when I know for absolute certainty that I’ll get to lord my power over someone.
I don’t stop walking as they scramble. Krypt is closing in on them from behind, and they’re whimpering such beautiful sobs. Their fear leaches into the night, and if I don’t get hard over this, I’ll consider myself broken. I love scaring people!
“We didn’t do anything!” the husband shouts, grasping at his wife’s jacket. “I swear! We don’t know nothing.”
I tilt my head at them, a silent question, because they sure do know something, and we’re going to get it out of them. The wife looks behind her and screams when she sees two knives glinting in the moonlight from between my brother’s fingers. I don’t care about their fear beyond enjoying it for myself, and I have no empathy for their situation. They chose to become friends with Yates, and they chose to hide him after he fucked Moros over. Whatever happens to them, they have it coming, and honestly, I take pride in being their deliverance.
“Please,” she cries, clutching her husband’s arm. “Just let us leave town. We won’t come back. We don’t know where he is.”
The vein in my neck pounds with the drum of my heart. Adrenaline spikes as anticipation builds. This is where I’m most comfortable; behind my Vile House mask, armed with a weapon that feels natural in my hand, wielding power over those beneath me, and delivering justice to pathetic liars who believe themselves to be stronger than the full force of an unhinged town. In Moros, power is checked at the door, and if you don’t have what it takes to hold onto it, you fucking lose it. Quick.
“Yates,” is all I say, my voice projecting authority.
“We don’t know!”
“Yates,” I say again, this time letting the force of my manipulative instincts infiltrate the name.
“I swear!”
Stepping forward, I spin my new blade, letting it catch in the light. “Last time.”
Krypt makes a sound behind them and they both jolt, damn near pissing themselves. They’re past middle age, on the shitty side of life I hope I never make it to, and finally realizing they’re worthless.
“Yates?” It’s the third and final time I’ll ask.
The question is punctuated by Krypt’s knives. One for each throat. I laugh behind my mask, appalled at how easy this is. He doesn’t even have to hold them in place because his blades do it for him. Mr. and Mrs. Newton are pin straight, afraid to even blink, all because they know, somewhere deep down in their souls, that we’re the brothers who killed our own parents.
The ravens caw like they’re cheering us on, amplifying my grin. In the middle of the rainy season, the night sits calmly as a backdrop, the moon unhindered by clouds. It spotlights me, shining down to give me centre stage, and I’m not one to turn down attention. Time to play a ‘this or that’ game.
“Lie to me and your husband loses his ability to see,” I tell the wife. “Have Yates and Tom been staying with you?”
She trembles, crying hard enough for Krypt’s sharp edge to dig into her pulse point. Without turning her head, her eyes shift to look at her husband, wanting his opinion on the question. I hate these types of couples. Why the fuck would you willingly get into a marriage with such an imbalanced power dynamic? Even Remi, as a fearful cursed man, holds innate power over Krypt, and a lot of it. Dominance and submission by choice is one thing, but these two are just ridiculous.
“Why’re you looking at him?” I ask, keeping my stance casual. “You either answer with the truth and he’s fine, or you lie to me and he loses his eyes. Are you so loyal to him that you need his permission to answer? Because I’ll wager a bet that he wants you to tell the truth. Wanna know why?” I wish she could see my face and recognize me for who I am. “Because it saves his eyes, and when the next question comes his way, he’ll throw you under the damn bus to save himself.”
The husband spits, ready to weakly defend himself, but Krypt is fed up. He shoves the wife to my chest, and I hold her around the waist as Krypt buries one dagger in Mr. Newton’s eye. His right one. He screams. The wife screams louder. The ravens cheer and the moon winks.
I laugh like Soren.
“Oh my god!” she wails. “Oh my god!” She vomits down her chin, and I bend her forward so none of it gets on me.
“No time to delay, Mrs. Newton. He’s only got one eye left. Where the fuck is Yates?” I haul her up by her hair. She smells putrid and brittle, nothing more than another lamb who can’t avoid the slaughter. Her red face annoys the living fuck out of me. Learn to control your reactions, woman!
“He’s escaping!” she screams down Crucifix Street. “He betrayed us! We were all supposed to get out together, but he locked us in our cellar and took all our weapons.”
Krypt rips his knife free from the husband’s eye, and blood pours down his face in pretty streams. Because there’s time, I compliment my brother on his knife skills. Didn’t even fuck up the guy’s brain.
“Where?” Krypt asks.
She vomits again at the sight of all the blood coming from her husband’s eye socket. Mr. Newton reaches for his eye to stop the flow, but Krypt twists his arm around his back, kicks him in the thigh, and forces him to kneel. When that same blade presses to the man’s throat, he asks his question again.
“Where are they escaping?”
“Please,” Mrs. Newton begs.
Krypt cuts.
“Please!”
He pauses, looking at her for his answer. Fuck, I love him when he’s ruthless. His purple mask is the best backdrop, but if only I could see all the monsters that writhe in his eyes.
“Janie’s Woods! He’s meeting Benton Wentworth!”
“How long ago?”
“Less than an hour.” She slumps in my grip, and I shove her towards her kneeling husband. We have our answer, but it’s up to Krypt what he wants to do with these two.
Krypt shrugs his shoulders at me, not giving a shit one way or the other. Murder isn’t allowed when we don’t have a justifiable reason, but… we have one. So…
“Axel?” Krypt asks. “See if he can find out what else they know about Wentworth?”
Logical, since the billionaire has shown interest in Remi’s property, and he’s meeting with Director soon to negotiate a new alliance. Might be a way to protect Director if we know more about Wentworth and whatever ties he has to Yates, and since I’m experimenting with this whole ‘thinking of others’ bullshit…
But… murder.
I almost pout. Instead, I bloody my brand-new blade by slicing both their Achilles tendons. “Wait here. Don’t hobble too far. Someone will be by to pick you up soon.”
Krypt laughs. “You’re sick.” Remi changed that word for him, and he now has it branded on his chest. I’m not great at gratitude, but I’ll never be able to properly thank Remi for everything he’s done for my brother.
“Oh?” I look at him. “We’re cool with that word now?”
He turns his back to me, strolling down the raven-lined street, but I know he’s grinning in that twisted way he does.