Chapter 24 Rory
Rory
COME ON, FIRECRACKER. GIVE ME A CHALLENGE.
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Scarecrow”
When Jude doesn’t return from the closet in the other room, Raphael sends me to check on him.
I roll my eyes. Since when am I the errand boy?
“Damn. So much for expansive,” Jude mutters while surveying the mess.
“I wouldn’t mind that glittery red sequin thing on her,” I mention, leaning against the door, arms crossed.
“There is nothing here that would suit Briella’s desires.”
He fishes through the items. I don’t bother. Most are from the girls who didn’t survive. Raphael said their clothes would not go to waste. At least he’s consistent since he never allows anything to go to waste with his kills.
My blood sizzles at the thought of how Raphael turns every kill over to me. He likes seeing the light leaving their eyes or some shit. I just like to skin the kills, strip the flesh off, and pull out the guts while they’re still warm.
I string them up by the ankles, let gravity do its thing. Slice low, just under the belly, and the heat pours out. The stink hits first—sharp, coppery, with that sour rot of the stomach splitting open.
I don’t flinch. I breathe it in.
The thought nearly has my cock twitching. But I don’t get off on the idea of the animals. For fucks sake, I’m a sociopath, not a goddamn lunatic who dabbles in bestiality. Disgusting. I just like ripping them apart with my bare hands, feeling all that nice, warm blood.
Also loved the feeling of her blood warming my dick. None of us is going to heaven, of course. But I’m pretty sure I felt nirvana when I fucked her ass.
Not that I should get my hopes up. It was a one-time thing. Only for the Initiation.
Unless she begs…
“God!” Jude groans and drops a hand to his side, posture defeated. “I shouldn’t have got her hopes up.”
Yeah. It’s not like we had any angels in our midst. Or tree-hugging, nature-loving girls.
We chose the ones who wouldn’t be missed.
Desperate girls living on the streets. Some picked up in cheap nightclubs or bars.
Jude, me, and Seth mostly. Few runaways.
And the occasional lone backpacker who wandered onto our land. I loved those most.
The skin-tight dresses, mini skirts, leather pants, or sturdy hiking clothes are not exactly Briella’s style.
“Guess a trip to the city will soon be in order,” Jude mentions with a sigh, striding past me, careless of how he subtly shoves me out of the way.
Yeah, it’s not like the cabin is delivery service enabled.
We’re off the grid for a reason. Most of us are wanted.
By the law or by the opposite. We take turns.
Not Jude and I as much. People would remember a fine redheaded specimen such as myself, especially with my brogue.
People would also remember Jude. There might be no shortage of tall, black guys in San Francisco, but the ones who look like drop-dead gorgeous models?
Not so much. Raphael lets me go in during busier seasons since I can’t stand to be cooped up here all the time.
Thank the Devil for our false identifications.
“I’m sorry, Babydoll,” Jude apologizes once we’ve returned.
I roll my eyes, finding her giggling from Seth whispering sweet nothings in her ear.
Jude shrugs. “No witchy or cottage core clothing.”
Her shoulders sink, and Jude lowers his head. Goddamn fool already falling for her.
Raphael steps toward the bed, looks her dead in the eye, and crooks one finger. “Come with me.”
Jude lifts a brow, stiffening like he suspects something. Whatever. He knows a little more about Raph than the rest of us. We know enough.
With flustered breaths, Briella scurries out of the bed with the sheets still wrapped around her. Aww, look at that, she’s curious. Love how that ripe ass bounces back and forth even through the sheets.
Too tempting. Just as she follows Raphael toward the door, I give her ass a little smack. She cringes at the undeniable sting from her fresh welts, then brandishes a feral glare at me. I step back, casually hugging my arms and giving her my best crazy grin.
“Do you wish him punished, Briella?” Raphael turns to one side while in the doorway.
Fuck.
My jaw clenches, and my chest tightens. I narrow my eyes on hers, just daring her to do something. But I don’t lose my crazy grin. If she chooses some Kinship punishment for the slightest offense, I might just poison her breakfast.
Finally, Briella shakes her head. “Maybe later.”
“Looking forward to it, Firecracker.” I wink at her. She flips me off, and I bark a laugh.
Sharp, burning, full of bite. That’s what I like to see.
“Do it again, and I’ll kick your ass,” Jude warns me, posture like a ramrod. He gestures to Vincent. “He’ll help.”
“Why does everyone leave me out of the fun?” Seth pouts, flexing like a preening peacock.
“I’ll show you some fun, Sethy boy.” I march toward him, full of wicked thoughts. His eyes widen a fraction before he bolts. Coward.
I lunge after him, but before I get more than a few steps—“Rory.”
I stop mid-stride. Look over my shoulder. Raphael watches me with that look. The one that says, I know exactly how your mind works. Do not test me right now.
I roll my shoulders, making a show. “What’s the magic word?”
His stare flattens. “Now.”
Bastard.
Cracking my knuckles, I turn toward Briella, who’s still standing there, watching, bemused. Raphael shifts his attention to her. “What do you want for breakfast?”
Her hazel eyes flick toward me. Calculating.
I lift a brow and wag my fingers, inviting her to try me. Come on, Firecracker. Give me a challenge.
She tilts her head, considering. Then her lips curl up just a little like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Belgian waffles. Loaded with strawberries. And eggs Benedict.”
Oh. I like her.
I grin, slow and sharp. “Fancy. Anything else?” I give her more than enough opportunity.
“Orange juice.”
“Fresh-squeezed?”
She lifts a hand, forming it into a hard-clutching grip. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I can’t wait to get her in the sack again.
“Naturally,” I add.
“We have a full stock from the harvest,” Raphael reminds me of our last farmer’s market haul.
I stretch my arms over my head, popping my joints. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. Hope you’re hungry, Firecracker.”
She hums, but her attention is already drifting toward Jude and Raphael. The trusted ones. I don’t follow them as they head into the guest room. Instead, I linger just outside the door.
Raphael is speaking low. Briella murmurs something, and then, she gasps.
I don’t press closer, don’t give myself away. Just listen, tracking every shift in her breath, every little noise. Raphael is giving her something. Something important.
A little jealousy pulses in my ribs. Not the deep, bitter kind, just the kind that makes my fingers itch.
I want her noises. I want her breathless.
Later.
For now, I head downstairs to the kitchen, rolling my shoulders, cracking my neck. Belgian waffles and eggs Benedict. A fun challenge, but nothing I can’t handle.
I grab ingredients from the fridge: eggs, butter, heavy cream, a fat handful of fresh strawberries. Slice them up, sugar them lightly.
The scent of warm yeast drifts through the kitchen as I prep the waffle batter from scratch, my mind half on the task, half on what’s happening upstairs.
Briella, standing in that room, clutching that sheet.
Her soft gasps. The way she holds herself—small but not weak.
I tap my fingers against the counter, rolling my tongue over my teeth.
I’m not done with you yet, Firecracker.