Chapter 3
KROSS
I’ve killed a lot of people.
Like… a lot.
But not one of them has ever fucking laughed at me.
Not when they’re bleeding out, choking on apologies and last-minute promises they suddenly think have value. Not with our glowing heart-eyes burned into their goddamn retinas like some warped Valentine nightmare, right as it finally sinks in that this is the end.
And sure as fuck not after turning around and running, laughing, like this just became the highlight of their night.
I stand there longer than I should, staring at the alley where she vanished back into the rave, switchblade already snapped shut and back in my pocket.
My heart’s going a mile a minute, and for once, it’s got nothing to do with the chase.
It’s interest.
What the actual fuck.
Behind me, Kade exhales, slow and controlled. The kind of breath that means someone’s about to have a real bad night.
“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters.
I can't help it, I smirk under the mask. “Bro, she laughed at us. Like, actually fucking laughed.”
“No shit,” he snaps. “And instead of moving, you stood there eye-fucking her like some high school virgin while she bolted straight back into the exact shitshow we just dragged ourselves out of.”
He jerks his chin down the alley.
“I fucking hate hunting in crowds,” he continues. “You know that. And now this is the second time tonight.”
I glance back over my shoulder at the body we left behind—the first girl. The one who thought a warehouse full of drunk and doped-up idiots would somehow save her.
Of course it didn’t. We’re not fucking amateurs.
Shit, it took Kade less than ten minutes to spot her again. Screaming and shouting for help while she pushed through the crowd. Ranting about Cupid Killers while everyone around her stayed glued to the beat, too fucked up to notice anything but themselves.
I won’t lie, unlike my brother, I kind of loved it. It was messy, loud, but it was over too quickly. Shit, even with a whole fucking playground full of hiding spots, the bitch was easy prey.
Once we caught her and dragged her back out here, she changed her tune. Little track star shut up real fast once her eyes caught the glint of the blades in our hands. Once the cool metal kissed her sweat-coated skin, she went back to begging.
Again.
There’s nothing I fucking hate more than begging.
It’s boring as shit. Predictable. Like a bad re-run you didn’t even like the first time.
They all do it. Every single one.
They cry. They plead, and swear they’ll do anything. Then comes the bargaining—throwing out whatever pathetic little offerings they think might buy them mercy. Mouth. Body. Promises they can’t keep. Like sucking a dick or spreading their legs is some kind of universal currency.
Because, you know, that’s all a couple of guys like us could possibly want, right?
Fuck no.
It’s not the fucking. It never was.
It’s the moment before.
That sweet, microscopic second when it finally clicks. When their eyes flicker and you can see the exact instant they realize this is it. No loopholes or miracles. No last-minute save. Just the understanding that they’re already dead and their body just hasn’t caught up yet.
That’s the shit we crave.
That’s the shit that makes my pulse jump, makes my hands itch, and my cock hard.
I don’t want to fuck them. I want to fuck myself, replaying that look in my head over and over until it’s burned in permanently. That look never lies. That look is honest.
After enough bodies, the begging turns into background noise. Static. Same words, different mouths. Nothing new or exciting. Just meat filling space.
And then there was her.
No begging or tears.
Not even a fucking tremble.
She laughed.
Stood there staring us down with that cocky, sarcastic little smirk, like she was in on the joke. Like this was all just some twisted show and she’d grabbed popcorn. Like we were entertainment.
And that?
That fucked me up.
She looked like she was having the time of her goddamn life.
“Oh, come on,” I say, grinning like this isn’t already my favorite part of the night.
“Why you gotta be such a negative fucking Nancy about everything? Shit, tonight is our lucky night. She’s the second one who’s actually made tonight interesting.
” I tilt my head, amused. “Don’t you ever get bored of the routine bullshit?
Same basic chicks, same pathetic endings. ”
Kade’s shoulders tense beneath his jacket. I can practically feel his patience cracking, one frayed nerve at a time.
“Since you’re so fucking fascinated,” he says flatly, “and since it’s your fault we’re still standing here, you’re the one who’s going to find her.
Now. We already dropped one body, and it’s only a matter of time before some drunk asshole stumbles over it.
The longer we stay inside, the higher the risk. ”
My grin only widens.
“Oh, I will gladly hunt her down,” I say, rolling my shoulders as the wings shift across my back, feathers dragging over sweat-slick skin.
Ink stretches across my chest, catching the spill of red light bleeding out through the open door.
“She’s the first bitch who’s made my dick twitch without needing that last breath first.” I huff a laugh.
“Shit, at this point, I can’t tell if I wanna Kill her or Kiss her when I catch her. ”
Kade turns on me, heart-eyes glowing steady and pissed, like he’s measuring how far gone I already am.
“You’re enjoying this.”
I snort. “Abso-fucking-lutely. And don’t even start pretending you didn’t clock her too.”
“That doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “It never matters. She’s not worth getting caught over.”
I bark out a laugh. “Getting caught? That’s adorable. I don’t plan on getting caught.”
He steps closer, voice low and lethal. “You’re sloppy when you get like this.”
“You call it sloppy,” I say easily, still smiling, “I call it motivated.”
His jaw tightens. “She’s not running scared. She’s playing with us. Girls don’t pull shit like that in places like this unless they know exactly what they’re doing. Games like this, in crowds like that, get people killed. Or in our case—caught.”
I laugh again and shrug, the wings shifting on my back. “Well, no shit.” My eyes flick back toward the club, pulse kicking up. “That’s why she’s got my attention.”
“She’s not fucking special, Kross.”
I grin wider. “That so? Then why are you so goddamn twisted up about her?”
That shuts him up for half a second.
Not long, but long enough to matter.
“I do the catching,” I shoot back, unfazed. “You do the cleanup. Same system it’s always fucking been. Try to keep up.”
He just stares at me through the mask, quiet, calculating. I can practically hear him running through every worst-case scenario while I’m already three steps ahead and enjoying the hell out of it.
The pause stretches. Long enough to be irritating.
Finally…
“Fuck this,” Kade mutters. Then, louder, “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
I grin and adjust my hard on through my jeans, subtle but intentional. Gotta be comfortable for a hunt. “Yeah? And?”
His jaw tightens. “I’m not letting you turn this into a game.”
“Oh, relax, bro—”
“No,” he cuts in. “I’m coming with you. I’ll help track her down and make sure the job actually gets done. Properly.” His eyes lock on mine through the mask. “Because when you get like this, you stop thinking and start playing.”
I snort. “Aw. Are you worried about me now?”
“I’m worried about the mess,” he snaps. “And about you thinking with the wrong fucking head.”
I laugh, low and pleased. “Relax. I’m not losing her. I’m just giving her a head start.”
“And I’m making sure that head start doesn’t turn into a fucking problem,” he says.
I clap his shoulder as we turn toward the door. “See? Teamwork. You babysit, and I have fun.”
He doesn’t laugh.
That just makes it better.
We step inside and the noise punches through the air. The bass is loud as fuck, teeth-rattling, bodies smashed together whether they want to be or not. It’s hot. Sticky. Smells like sweat, booze, and terrible decisions. The warehouse is a disaster. Glitter in the air. Skin everywhere.
Just a giant room full of bad ideas doing coke off worse ones.
Red lights flash over masks and wings and cheap plastic weapons. Nothing looks real. Everything looks unhinged.
I melt right into it like I was born here.
Which is honestly kind of funny.
A shirtless guy with angel wings and a bow doesn’t stand out in Cupid’s Killhouse. That’s the whole point—everyone’s dressed like a bad decision.
I let the crowd shove me along while I scan. No rush. Just moving with it.
People grinding like the music owes them money. Couples making out wherever there’s a flat surface. A girl in heart pasties and fishnets passing shots down a line of hands like it’s communion. Phones up, lights flashing, everyone smiling too hard.
Red strobes, bass in my chest, bodies pressed in close enough that personal space stopped existing an hour ago.
Someone palms my chest, laughs, then freezes when they clock the mask and the knife at my hip. They mumble an apology and disappear back into the mess.
I keep moving.
Sweat runs down my sides, the wings stick to my back, and the stupid bow keeps knocking my shoulder. This place is a fucking accident waiting to happen.
Kade’s somewhere nearby. No doubt doing his usual responsible bullshit like checking exits, tracking movement, and making sure we don’t end up on the fucking news. I don’t bother keeping tabs on him. I’m not here for that.
I’m here for her.
I circle the dance floor once. Then again.
Nothing.
No red outfit or sharp mouth. No eyes catching mine like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
I’m just starting to get pissed. Annoyed like someone moved my shit on purpose, when I spot her.
Right in the middle of the floor.