Chapter 4 #2
I add another finger, and he swears under his breath.
As he pushes back against my hand, I stare at the line of his throat when he tips his head back, the way his shoulders pull tight against the wall.
He is mesmerizing. I have been beside Vero in every state there is, yet I will never get used to this one, when everything slows down and all his manic, restless energy finally has somewhere to go.
When I’m satisfied, I remove my fingers and line myself up and push inside him slowly, one hand gripping his hip, the other flat against the wall beside his head. He exhales, and I give him a second to adjust.
Then I move, and the slow gives way fast. I set a rough pace, and he takes every bit, pushing back to meet each thrust, his erotic sounds bouncing off the narrow walls.
My fingers dig deeper into his hip, and tomorrow the shape of my hand will be branded on him, but something about that knowledge makes me grip harder.
I slide my hand from the wall to around his throat, pulling his back flush against my chest, and his head falls back onto my shoulder, his pulse hammering against my palm.
“This is mine,” I say into the side of his head.
“Yes,” he gasps.
“Say it,” I demand.
“Yours,” his voice cracks.
I tighten my grip around his throat and fuck him harder, his whole body shuddering against mine.
One of his hands comes back and grabs my thigh, his nails digging in and drawing blood.
I don’t care; I would let him tear me apart.
His orgasm hits before mine, and he tightens around me.
Vero’s breathing cuts off completely for a second, and his legs nearly buckle, but I hold him up and keep moving until I follow him over.
Then I bury myself deep and stay there, my teeth finding the curve of his shoulder again.
We remain like that for a moment, both breathing hard, the flicker of the single bulb the only other movement in the room.
I release his throat, and as he turns his head, I catch his mouth with mine. His hand comes up to grip the back of my neck, pulling me closer.
When I shift back, he looks up at me, his eyes now back to something closer to normal. They’re still bright but not blown out and manic anymore. I press my forehead to his temple for exactly three seconds, then I straighten up.
“When your little paper-cut princess comes to the island, I want you to fuck her while Clay watches. I will watch him lick his wounds and remind him how he lost.”
“If she comes.”
He’s always full of self-doubt. “She will come, even if I have to drag her here by her hair. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
“You would do that for me?” he asks, voice uncertain.
“I would do anything for you, Vero. Except watch another man take what’s mine.”
“Would you bury a body for me?”
I rasp out a laugh. “I would kill that person and bury them for you, all so you didn’t have to get your hands dirty. Now get your costume back on—it’s time for you to shine. I will see you in a few hours.”
He pulls on his jumpsuit, grabs the Hannibal mask, and slips his hands through the handcuffs attached to the belt around his waist. The chains are extra long, so they don’t restrict his movement, but they complete the look.
Screams pierce the air, and it’s my cue to leave. Since we don’t have anyone to chase tonight, I know he likely won’t leave the room; he is more there for the jump scare.
I’m walking toward the front entrance when a girl runs inside and screams when she notices me. I don’t stick around to see who is chasing her; instead, I head to the bar, where I find Nixie talking to Ares.
He thinks he has fooled everyone, but I see the fucker for who he is.
Ares leans on the bar, listening intently to whatever Nixie is saying.
This is a safe space for the broken; it’s bullshit, but not in a way most people would think.
He isn’t cold like Clay, or manic like Vero, or even a slave to violence like me—he is something worse.
Ares is a puppet master who has convinced everyone he is holding the strings for their own good.
He leans in close to Nixie, his large body easily fitting across the bar. Whatever it is he says, she is eating up. She always does; everyone does. That’s the thing about Ares—he knows exactly what you need to hear.
Truth is, he doesn’t actually give a fuck about anyone; he cares about control, about being the person everyone runs to for help.
Vero trusts him, Clay respects him, even Nixie goes to him for advice.
Fuck, so do I. He has made us all need him.
Ares needs to be needed. He loves it—not with any genuine emotion, because I don’t think he feels all that much, but it feeds him in a way.
He is the one holding us all together, in a design of his making, so that we would fall apart without him.
The difference between him and me is that I know what I am. I’m a violent motherfucker who is obsessed with Vero, and I don’t pretend to be anything else. Ares hides his loneliness behind his understanding persona. But someone who is normal and lonely seeks connection, whereas he seeks power.
“Brawley,” Ares says when he notices me, his voice warm and welcoming, like he is genuinely happy to see me. That right there is what makes him the most dangerous of us all. He is so good at pretending that sometimes I almost believe it.
“Ares, Nix,” I reply, taking a seat beside Nixie.
“Still covered in blood. It was a good fight.”
I snort—it really wasn’t. Clay barely even tried because he wanted to feel physical pain. “Now he knows not to mess with what’s mine.”
Nixie elbows me in the ribs; it’s no secret Clay is her favorite.
Ares nods, as if he understands what it’s like to love someone so much you would beat a man.
But he doesn’t; he can’t. That would require him to feel something, and I know he feels nothing except the need to be in control of everyone else’s feelings.
That is why he will never be like me—I’m honest, even if what I am is fucked up.
Ares will die never knowing who he really is, all because he is too busy worrying about what everyone thinks.
And that makes him more dangerous than all of us combined.
“So, this girl,” Nixie says, knowing damn well any black wristband that goes on a woman for Vero will need to be run past me, or she may end up at the bottom of the ocean.
“Get her here. And before you start, I do not give a shit what Clay wants. He can get his panties in a bunch over something else.”
Ares and Nixie laugh, then she surprises me by saying, “Oh, Clay also has a wristband for her, and I’m throwing Ares in the mix to make sure you all stay alive.”
I turn and my eyes find his; now I know exactly what he was talking to Nixie about when I walked in. He is up to something, and it’s only a matter of time before I find out what. But as long as he leaves Vero out of it, he won’t die by my hands.