24. Playing Reaper
24
PLAYING REAPER
REMIEL
I waded through life numb, thinking it was living. I got comfortable being distant, protected myself and those around me by being indifferent, and quit everything I tried because there was no point. I was going to die by my own hand eventually, so I never put forth much effort. I quit school. Didn’t make more than one friend. Kept space between me and my family. Focused on music and the shop because they were the only guarantees before I died.
Krypt has brought me back to life by making me hurt. Numbness isn’t living; being battered and bruised is. It’s a feeling, and in my new mind, it means I’m fighting. There isn’t a part of my body that doesn’t ache. Muscles I didn’t know I had protest my every movement. My eyes burn from crying, and my throat is coated in fiery ice from screaming, raw and ravaged.
But I bleed from everywhere else. My wrists are coated in a healing balm and wrapped in gauze, the same as my chest. The brands still burn, but the cream helps. The slice on my lower stomach now holds stitches, and sometime after I passed out, Krypt must have cut me more because I have stitches near the femoral arteries in my thighs, next to the pulse point under my jawbone, and on my forehead where my hairline sits. Just little lines that tug at my skin. He’s marking all the areas of my body that could shut me off, giving me a chance to second-guess my actions before I do something dire.
It’s sick and twisted… but I think it might help. If I ever get suicidal thoughts, I’ll have to go through his marks to accomplish the task, and as disgusting as that makes me, it gives me a level of comfort and relief I’ve never experienced before. A layer of protection in the form of unwanted scars.
But it’s the word trailing down my throat that shocks me most. Because it’s personal. For him. The S starts under my chin and the R ends at the hollow of my throat. The word ‘shatter’ in bold, mismatched letters, the R accidentally marked over with a sliced X.
This part of your body is forever tainted. Every time I look at the way you swallow or the bob of your throat, I’ll shatter. Because it broke me, Remiel.
He’s admitting that he cares about me enough to shatter at my death, and seeing it now, reflected in the mirror of his bathroom in Vile House, a new wave of tears leak down my cheeks. I’m important to him. It doesn’t matter that it’s ownership and possession. Apparently, I don’t need more than that. I just need someone to fucking care. Someone who isn’t my brother, suffering from the same curse. Someone who isn’t my sister, who is trying to save me. Someone who sees the parts of me I keep hidden and lures them to my surface, enjoying them instead of fearing them.
Until Krypt claimed my bargain, I’d never been seen before.
It’s heavy and terrifying, but it’s welcome anyway. It’s proof that I have a role, a purpose, and a life worth living. We’re twisted together in such an unhealthy way, but I think it’s saving our lives. My life, anyway.
Even my teeth hurt when I brush them, crying into the sink because I’m emotional without understanding why. My gums are tender and my jaw aches with the rest of my body.
“Remiel,” Krypt’s abrasive voice isn’t jittery today. I turn to look at him standing in the doorway, his face a mask without wearing one. Even though I’m only wearing boxers, he never looks away from my eyes, and right now, I don’t fear the monsters in his.
“My mom called this morning,” I tell him. “She’s acting weird again. She told me some doctor is waiting to meet me.” Which confused me because my mom doesn’t know I spent a few days in the asylum.
Krypt’s brows pinch. “What doctor?”
“Dr. Grave… Grey, maybe,” I say, looking at the burn on his chest. It matches mine. We really are both sick.
Recognition of the name crosses his face before he wipes it away. “Come. I need to check your wounds.”
He’s showered, my blood no longer coating his face. I don’t know how long it’s been since he chained me to that gate. Maybe it’s the next day, or maybe many days have passed. I’m unsure, but I know he hasn’t left my side. I slept for a very long time.
I sit on his bed while he puts new salves and wrappings on all my wounds. But it feels strange to call them wounds when they did so much healing. “You don’t have to watch me if you have things to do,” I tell him.
“You’re the only thing I have to do right now,” he says, focused on his task. “And we have the next name on your list to deal with.”
Gregory Malone. My creepy stalker who wants to push me to an early grave and ignite my family curse. I almost beat him to it. “What are we doing with him?”
“We’re going to the funerals today,” he says, soft fingers coating my wrists in ointment. “For the Matter Cult members. Malone will be there.”
If I had the energy, I’d snort at the fact that Krypt is going to the funerals of all the people he killed. My perception of the world has changed since walking through the front door of Vile House. Moros has always been dark, but it’s darkly humorous now, and I don’t care what that says about me.
“And since you announced to everyone at Cauldron that I fucked you,” he pauses, eyes meeting mine, “we’re going together. As a…”
He’s afraid of the word. “As a…?”
He wraps my wrist in new gauze. “Get dressed, Remiel.”
“I don’t own funeral attire. You burned it in my house.”
He nods at a black bag hanging from the door of his closet. “Wear that. Eat this.” He picks up a bowl of fruit and yogurt from the bedside table. “Find shoes that fit in my closet.” He pauses, a sneaky expression on his face. “There are a couple of options.” He leaves his bedroom.
A couple.
Is that what we are? Not a very healthy one.
Compared to other cults, the Matter Cult was small. But twenty-one funerals at once does not seem small. The Moros Cemetery is packed full, but I’m getting the impression that most of the townsfolk are here to say ‘good riddance’ rather than to mourn.
Gregory Malone is here, watching me from the back of the crowd, but Krypt isn’t watching him as closely as I thought. He’s not Krypt today. He’s Keegan Hallows. We’re Keegan and Remiel, the new gossip couple in Moros. Soren is on my other side, but the two of them are acting weird. Because they’re watching my mom instead of Gregory Malone.
She’s here, dressed in the same black cloak as the rest of us—it’s a Moros funeral tradition. A bit on the nose, but what in Moros isn’t? Selena, my sister, is standing with her, but something has changed about my sister, too. She’s more confident, standing straighter, looking at the townsfolk like she knows their secrets. My mom is beside her, watching everyone but the cult being buried, but her eyes are strange and her movements are twitchy.
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask my brother.
Soren hasn’t seen my new Krypt-inflicted body modifications, and I hope he doesn’t until they heal. He’s been moody today, fighting with Krypt’s brother about something, but as soon as we got to the cemetery, they separated and put it to the side. He leans towards me but never takes his eyes off Mom.
“Don’t go near her,” he says.
“Why? The brain control thing?”
“Yes.” He glares at me. “Keep your voice down.”
Ever since Krypt told him I mentioned Dr. Graves, they’ve both been stuck to my side.
“Who is he? Dr. Graves?” Because I know they both recognize the name.
Soren glares again, but Krypt tightens his hold on my wrist, fingers pressing into my new burns. I wince and shut my mouth. Apparently, this isn’t the place to talk about it.
I still don’t know all the identities of the Vile Boys, but some of them are here. Killian, who is Riot, stands with Mason, the tattoo artist Cain goes to, and the blue mask of Vile House. I don’t know much about Mason, but his eyes are so alert that it makes me wonder… how long has he been Menace, a Vile Boy? And why? What drives someone to join such a society? He’s staring at Cain, who is with the Death For Life Cult, holding Sadie’s hand.
Kyd isn’t here, and when I asked Krypt about it, he said Kyd is actually a patient at the asylum, so he’s not often allowed out without being masked.
As I look around the crowd and notice the locals, I take them in under a new light. Anyone could belong to Vile House, and until I learned about Keegan, Killian, and Soren, I never truly considered the people I knew could be Vile. Now the options are endless. I should feel na?ve about everything. Instead, I feel like I’ve been let in on a Moros secret. This town is fucking deranged, but… I think I love it here. Somehow, I finally feel like I belong.
Black cloaks and a massive crowd, seeing off a cult that did this town harm. Crows and ravens cawing throughout the cemetery. The line of Sauder headstones and the forest I watched Ophelia die in. There’s something sinister about Moros. It breeds dark people, but it also creates a community of tainted loyalty. We might be twisted, but we’re twisted together , and if Moros is good at one thing, it’s protecting our town from outside influences. We need to change, but we don’t want to, and I smile in enjoyment of our defiance.
As Reeven Matterson’s wife starts to play the oboe while the caskets are lowered, violins and other string instruments join her. Soren places a hand on my chest. I wince, eyes watering at the pressure on my wounds, but I don’t pull away.
Krypt pushes him away and pulls my back against his chest. “Don’t.”
Soren shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Fucking pathetic. I’m going to talk to Mom. Don’t leave his side.”
“Don’t tell me how to protect him.”
“Fucking pathetic,” Soren repeats. He backs away, drawing the hood of his cloak up over his dark blond hair, his lithe, leanly muscled body slipping through the crowd seamlessly. He shares a look with our sister and then speaks to Mom.
She doesn’t even register his nearness. “Something is getting worse with her, right?”
“Yes.” Krypt’s voice is by my ear.
“Who is that doctor?”
In a deep timbre, Krypt whispers, “Do you remember the name Axel Graves?”
oh. That doctor? “He was a young doctor, wasn’t he? He died a few years ago.”
“Not dead,” is all Krypt says, cutting off the conversation. He draws up my hood, covering my head, and keeps me in front of him. I close my eyes and listen to the harp music that has joined, feeling every area Krypt’s body touches mine. He doesn’t react when I lean against the brand on his chest, but his hands dip into the open slits in my cloak.
Tugging on my hips, he pulls me back until the hard outline of his cock presses against my ass. My eyes open and my cheeks heat. Everyone is watching the oboe and the harp and the women mournfully playing them, but I’ve never felt more exposed. With Krypt behind me, the feel of his dick against my ass, and his body so obviously connected to mine, my eyes dart around to see if anyone has noticed.
Soren has, but he sighs and looks away.
I’ve never come out as anything other than Remiel Sauder. I’m sure the town considers me heterosexual, but I’ve never had a girlfriend either. Then I went and shouted about Krypt fucking me while in a restaurant, and this is Moros, so gossip travels fast.
Everyone knows. Everyone will know. They’ll know I’m being fucked by Keegan Hallows, but they have no idea he’s the man behind the purple mask. For some reason, I get a thrill out of being deceptive and sneaky. My body heats more, the flush spreading from my cheeks down my neck and chest, making my brands burn hotter.
Krypt digs his fingers into my hips again, bruising and controlling. I suddenly wish I wasn’t wearing a cloak, but I’m also desperate for the blanketing cover of it.
“Hmm,” he hums next to my hood, fingers slinking forward to brush the hard outline of my cock. The material of my pants brushes against the cuts he left on my thighs, making them sting. “Does it make you feel powerful that you ordered all these deaths, Remiel? That you played reaper?”
My lungs pinch. I haven’t considered that. Here I am, mocking him for attending the funeral of all the people he killed, yet I’m the one who ordered the kill. Krypt is just my hitman. I watch the townsfolk greedily glare at the caskets, but then I see family members and kids who have lost their parents to a savage crime. They think it was a mass suicide, but my conscience knows it was me. Reeven Matterson’s wife plays sombre music with the others, but her eyes are dry and her expression is blank. The family members weren’t lured to Vile House for the slaughter, and now that I’m seeing their reaction to all this death, I know they’re relieved more than they’re sad.
Maybe I do feel powerful for freeing his wife from his pernicious influence. I lean back against Krypt, and his hands slide to my middle, cupping my cock in his palms. “Would it make me horrible if I said yes?”
He hums confirmation, squeezing my dick. “Horrible. Isn’t everything here horrible?”
While he rubs and works me up to a temperature that radiates blue flames, I look around again.
Mist and fog hang in the air, but it does nothing to cloud the corruption of Moros. It adds to our appeal. There are gangs and societies, murderers and stalkers, adrenaline junkies and thrill seekers. There are those who believe in removing the veil between here and the afterlife, and there are others who create unsolved crimes just to watch the reporters come to investigate. We’re warped and twisted, and yeah, maybe horrible, but not to each other. With the Matter Cult gone, Moros is even more aligned, and that doesn’t feel so horrible.
“Not all of it.” My eyes shift to Gregory Malone, only to find him already watching me. Maybe Krypt’s vile influence is getting to me, but I grin at him, and I know it’s a disgusting expression. But he deserves it. “I want to do more horrible things.”
“Like what?” he asks, hands inside the slits in my cloak, undoing my pants and forcing his way inside. My cloak covers me, but if anyone cared to look, they’d know what was going on. Thankfully, Gregory can only see my head through the crowd. “Like get off on the fact that we killed these people?”
My hips buck forward, my cock sliding through both his fists. He twists them down my shaft and rests his chin on my shoulder. “Yes.”
“Want me to fuck you for real over their corpses this time? No throat assault, but an actual fuck, Remiel.”
I imagine it. My palms pressed flat to the wooden coffin, fingertips digging in while Krypt plows into me from behind.
“I could make you cum on Reeven Matterson’s casket,” he whispers. His voice is gaining that jittery edge again, making me aware that he’s trying hard to hold back. “Would you like that?”
“Fuck,” I hiss when he pinches the tip of my cock hard enough to hurt. “Gregory Malone,” I whisper.
Krypt stops his hands and butts his nose up to the side of my hood. “What have I told you about speaking another man’s name, Remiel?”
Not to do it while naked. But I’m not naked. I turn my face and meet his eyes with one of mine, the other blocked by the hood. “When we kill him. I want to…” Shyness takes over at what I’m about to suggest.
Crows caw, and the harp music changes to something everyone else sings along to. I know the lyrics and have sung them at my brothers’ and father’s funerals, but right now, I’m too busy panting and sweating, trying not to moan when Krypt’s hands move again.
“Say it,” he dares.
I turn my head forward to avoid looking at him. “I want you to rape me over his body.” I hate myself. I hate that I want it. I hate that I used the word rape instead of sex. I hate what it implies and what I’ve turned into.
I’m so messed up. By my family curse. By my upbringing. By Moros. But mostly, by what Krypt has awoken in me. Unfortunately, that thing he’s awoken is my will to live, so I’m either stuck suppressing it forever, or I can fucking own it and not be ashamed. Because Krypt says I’m important to him, and I know he means my sinister bits, too.
Precum coats my dick, his hands spreading it down to the base of my length. My balls are heavy and my asshole twitches, craving the fullness of him barrelling inside me. My knees shake, and my hands latch onto his forearms with the fabric of the cloak between us. Tingles spread in my gut and around my lower back, causing my breath to shudder. Waiting. Anticipating. Nervous about what he’ll say.
“When we kill him, I’ll bend you over his coffin and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stop crying.”
My teeth chatter and my eyes roll.
“And when my cock is buried deep inside you, and your whole body is shaking in restraint and need, I’ll push you forward and make you come all over his closed casket because not even his dead eyes are allowed to see you in pleasure.”
Oh my god.
A lady walks up beside us. I register her but can’t look. I try to angle away to prevent her from seeing what is about to happen.
“And since I’m way too possessive to let him take your cum to Hell with him, I’ll fucking burn his casket, body and all, and fuck you again until he’s nothing but ashes in the wind.”
I choke back a moan and fall back against his chest. My cock thrusts through his fists, and a surge of dark adrenaline pulses hard in my temples. I coat the inside of my pants and boxers in cum, breathing way too hard and only staying upright because he forces me to.
The orgasm consumes me, muffles my hearing, splotches my vision, and makes my head light. Krypt doesn’t stop. When oversensitivity makes his touch almost hurt, I dig my fingers into his arm and try to stop him. But I’m no match for him. He jerks me hard, the movement so obvious to the woman next to us that she scoffs and walks away. Pain builds with pleasure, mingling together until I bite into the fabric of my cloak and come again. I cry out loud enough that a bunch of people look our way, so Krypt turns me around and buries my face in his neck.
I’m still shaking when he reaches between us and opens both of our cloaks, his cum-coated hand sinking into his pants. He pulls his dick free, jacking it frantically. I can’t see it, but I feel the head of his cock press against the base of mine, and with a hitch of breath and a stilled fist, he adds his cum to my boxers and coats me in his mess.
I don’t expect it, but he bites back a groan at the same time his free hand grips my chin and pulls my face to his. He crashes his mouth to mine in an all-consuming kiss that kills me and brings me back to life simultaneously. It’s all saliva and warm breath, and fuck, I can’t get enough of it. It’s the first time he’s kissed me with something like absolute desperation, and if he doesn’t stop, I’ll start to expect it. The slow kiss at the asylum was everything, but this one is everything else .
“You will wear our cum for the rest of the day, Remiel,” he says against my mouth. “And tomorrow night, when we get Gregory Malone, you’ll do so with my cum in your ass.”
“Yes,” I whisper for no reason. “Krypt.”
He tucks us away, making the wetness of my pants more palpable against my skin. With a quick look, he spins me around and makes me walk through the funeral procession to watch all the caskets get lowered.