26. Sicker Together
26
SICKER TOGETHER
KRYPT
Gregory Malone is a rare breed. He has no specific skills, isn’t particularly powerful, and doesn’t instill fear in the residents of Moros. Mostly, he’s just a creepy guy who slinks through the streets and people ignore him because he’s not overly worth noticing. Being known as the creepy guy in Moros says something since we’re all a bit creepy, but Malone takes it to a new level.
The one area he excels… evasion. Since getting my calling card in the cemetery that night, he’s been even more elusive. He’s good at going unnoticed, skirting capture, and avoiding the wrong places at the wrong times.
He won’t escape me tonight.
Sitting in the passenger seat of my SUV, Remiel rubs his palms together, eyes alert as he watches the street. “About what you said at the funeral…”
“Which part?” My eyes stay locked on the Neon Demon nightclub. There are only two exits to the building. We’re at the front, and Ghost and Menace are at the back.
“Uh, about the ra… sex over his dead body.”
“What about it?” My dick twitches.
“Did you mean it?”
I meant it. He was the one who asked for it. But it won’t be tonight. Because I made Remiel a promise before that. I guaranteed that Gregory Malone wouldn’t know a moment of peace until he died a long time from now. “We aren’t killing him tonight.”
“Oh.”
I look at him quickly, not wanting to take my eyes off the door too long. “Disappointed?”
“He deserves to die,” Remiel says, watching his rubbing palms.
“Does he?”
“Yes!”
“Hmm.” I get comfortable and watch the door. “I think he deserves worse. He’s stalked you, taunted you, made you scared enough to come to Vile House, pushed your brother over the edge, and made it his personal life’s mission to keep the Sauder curse alive. Death is too easy for him. Too finite.”
Remiel says nothing, but the air around him darkens. There’s a saying in Moros about death being a blessing because there is always something worse, and now the gears of his mind are grinding, considering all the things that could be worse. I already have a plan for Gregory Malone, and Director approved it because he needs a lab rat. The Vile Boys approved it because they like having a punching bag. Remiel is going to approve it because he’s sinister and not as innocent as he pretends to be. He wants Malone to suffer, and I’ve become someone who enjoys granting his wishes.
My phone vibrates on the centre console. Pressing the speaker button, I say nothing.
“He’s taking too long,” Ghost says. “I say we go in there.”
“Give the Neon Demon a few demons to celebrate,” Menace adds.
I look at Remiel. I have a mask for him, but if we do this publicly, the town will know that Vile House has Malone. It’s a risk because someone could nark on us, which won’t do anything but cause unnecessary headaches, but this is Moros… the town is loyal to Vile House. We protect them, worship them as much as they worship us, and create a consequence in a part of the world that needs one. No one is going to miss Gregory Malone, not even his wife, so I trust that they’ll spread gossip to one another but not to outside authorities.
“Want to go in?” I ask Remiel.
Staring at the door, his palms stop rubbing and he nods.
“Masks on,” I tell Ghost and Menace.
Ghost whoops and I can imagine Menace’s predatory smile. The Vile Boys do love a hunt. I hang up and grab the masks from between my legs.
“You wear this, don’t leave my side, and don’t speak. No one needs to hear your voice. The club owner will leave the music on, and the flashing lights and dark space will provide cover, but you still aren’t to engage with anyone. Not even Malone. When we get him, then you can have your shot at him. Understand?”
“What if someone attacks us?”
“They won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve been Vile for many years, Remiel. Moros gives us room to work.”
He takes the black mask. “Yeah, but there are a lot of outsiders in that club. They don’t all know about Vile House.”
“When has a Moros resident ever let an outsider dictate what they do? If anyone steps in, the locals will shield us. Put it on and keep your mouth shut.” Before he can, I do something impulsive. I grab the back of his neck, press my forehead to the stitches in his, and breathe him in. “I only just got you back, Remiel. Don’t tempt my control again so soon. Obey.”
“I will,” he promises.
Even more impulsively, I press my lips to his and inhale the soft gasp that leaves him. I savour him. Slowly. Too quickly. Then I pull away and don my mask.
Guns aren’t my favourite weapon, but one is holstered inside my jacket. In my hands, I have twin blades, longer than throwing knives, but short enough to be intimate. I give Remiel a matching one and push him ahead of me through the front door of Neon Demon. He’s at my chest, but the bouncer looks past him at me, granting us access with a deviant grin and a nod of respect, fisting his hand over his heart. The music turns up.
The club is crowded, the dance floor full, and the tables occupied. Across the sea of writhing bodies, I spot Ghost and Menace in their masks. They flank the outskirts of the dance floor, whereas I part it like the sea with Remiel at my chest. Locals notice us and manoeuvre into a position that keeps them safe while the out-of-towners look on with piqued interest but not a fucking clue.
Gregory Malone isn’t the dancing type. He’s the lookie-loo type. Which means he’ll either be at the bar, watching from eye level, or up above, gazing over the mezzanine. I keep one hand on Remiel as we walk, letting my eyes scan the balcony for Malone’s face.
“There,” Remiel says, breaking my fucking rule not to speak. He points at the bar where Malone is standing with his back to us, ordering a drink with no idea he’s finally the one being haunted.
“Silence,” I whisper in Remiel’s ear.
I tilt my head toward the bar, and Ghost and Menace head that way. The music thumps in my chest, and the strobe lights pulse with its beat, the combination both illuminating us and hiding our trajectory.
The bartender, a woman with a scar slashed through her face and a head of wild red hair, notices us. She pours herself a shot, gives a warped smile, and steps back to let us work.
“Hey!” Malone slaps the bar. “Are you going to hand me that?” He points at the drink she made him, sitting on the other side of the counter out of reach.
“Oh, hun,” she shouts at him. “You won’t get the chance to drink it.”
“What?”
We surround him like four dark illusions, shadowing him. Ghost and I face his back while Menace faces the crowd to protect our backs. Remiel is shaking in front of me, but I think his jitters are from adrenaline instead of fear.
The bartender picks up Malone’s glass, raises it in toast, and then takes a long drink. When her eyes look beyond him, he finally gets the hint that something is wrong. For how often he stalks, he sure isn’t familiar with being on the opposite side of the deal.
He spins, coming face to face with a teal and a purple Vile mask and Remiel’s black one. Fear lights up his eyes, and his face pales. Remiel shakes harder. Malone is a survivor. He’s an escape artist. He’s a fucking cockroach. But there’s no escaping this. He glances around, eyes darting to find an exit route that won’t end in his capture, but when his shoulders droop and he looks at us again, he realizes he’s trapped.
“Figured it’d catch up with me eventually,” he says, barely heard over the music.
He succumbs too easily. But that’s what makes it fun. Subtly, I holster my knives and draw throwing daggers from within my jacket. He’s going to run as soon as he gets the chance, and it’s been a while—since the Krampus—since I had moving target practice.
We step back as a unit, giving him space to walk. He falls into the middle of our group, Menace at the front and Ghost and me flanking his back and sides. Remiel stays at my chest, not needing to be told what to do. I see Ghost’s fingers move, dipping into his pockets to pull free throwing daggers.
Menace walks us through the crowd, a straight line to the exit. Locals dip their heads and keep dancing, their eyes on the outsiders, ready to step in if needed. The ones unfamiliar with Moros and Vile House watch with fascination, but so far, no hero complexes.
I dip my head when we get to the middle of the dance floor, mask brushing the side of Remiel’s head. “He’s going to run. Stay right where you are, hero.”
Ghost and I drop back, giving Malone a bit of breathing room. That’s when he takes his shot. He cuts to the right, trying to disappear into the crowd. Locals shove dancers aside, granting us an unobstructed view of Malone’s fleeing body. Ghost looks at me, his eyes flashing through his mask, and together, we both throw a dagger.
Mine lands in Malone’s left shoulder blade. Ghost’s embeds in his right. Malone drops to the floor, but he scrambles, trying to get back to his feet. Menace throws the third knife, a bigger, longer one that buries itself in Malone’s ass cheek. He goes back down.
Without any more fanfare, we haul him to his feet, touch our fists to our hearts to thank our locals, and haul him out the front door.
“His house?” Menace asks, tying his wrists in a knot only a bondage expert would know.
“Yep.”
Gregory Malone ends up in the trunk of my SUV, bound, gagged, and bleeding.
Remiel reaches for his mask, but I stop his hand. “Leave it on. We’re being watched.”
“That was… that was… fuck! I can’t believe we got him!”
I grab his wrist and haul him to my chest. “What part of ‘keep your fucking mouth shut’ didn’t you understand? We’re in public, hero. People know your voice.”
He shrinks, nodding. I open the passenger door for him and tilt my head at it. When Ghost pulls their vehicle around, I follow them down Death Row.
“Whose house?” Remiel asks now that we’re in private.
“Gregory Malone’s.”
“Why?”
“Because his wife gets a say.”
“Why?”
So many questions. “Because she’s a Moros resident, and we don’t disrespect our own.” I glance at him. “Why’re you shaking?” I ask Remiel.
“I don’t know. Shock, maybe. Adrenaline. It’s… the man trying to get me to kill myself is finally…” He sighs, pressing his hands flat to his thighs to stop rubbing them together. “It’s heavy. In a good way.”
“Cock hard, Remiel?”
His hands shift upward to check. “A little,” he admits. “Is yours?”
“Mhm.” I turn the corner and follow Ghost’s tail lights. “But not because of that. Because of you. Because you’re shaking.”
“You like when I shake?”
“I like when you react.”
“Is that why you… over Ophelia’s body? Because you liked how I reacted?” he asks, brave now.
I nod behind my mask.
“Explain it.”
“When I first saw you notice her, I thought you’d freak out. But you didn’t. You just stood there, and it intrigued me. It excited me when you paid more attention to her wheezing breaths than the fact she was dying. I don’t know, it… fascinated me, so I tried to see if I could jar you out of it.”
“You did,” he admits.
“And you pissed yourself.”
He groans.
“Which was hot. Reactions to fear are… fuck, Remiel. I’ve never loved someone’s fear as much as I love yours.”
“Love,” he whispers. “Obsession.”
I ignore that.
“I lost my mind and… yeah, you know what happened after that. I know you hated it.” That’s about as close to an apology as I’m going to get. I don’t think I’m sorry, but I understand that maybe I should be.
“So, it’s not a pissing kink? It’s a fear kink?” he asks.
“You can piss yourself anytime and I’ll get hard over it,” I say, grinning behind my mask. “But mostly, I just enjoy the way you get scared. It brings you to life. It feeds a need I never knew I had.” I turn onto Malone’s street while he cries in the back. “You’re the one with the fear kink, Remiel.”
“No, I’m—” His palms rub again. “Yeah, I guess I am. I never knew. Until you.”
Backing into the Malone’s driveway, I admit, “I never knew a lot of things until you either.” I tug on his mask to make sure it stays on, and then get out and walk to the back. I open the hatch and wait for Remiel.
“Are we taking him out?” he asks.
“No,” Ghost answers, standing next to his brother. “He stays there.”
“You love this shit, don’t you?” Remiel asks Ghost. “That you can walk into a club wearing a mask that earns you respect and walk out with a man’s life in your hands.”
Ghost has a sinister mind and a need to be superior to everyone else, so I know he’s smiling behind his mask. “Fucking right, I do. But that respect was earned, not demanded. Don’t mistake the two, Remi.”
Menace walks down the porch steps with Gregory Malone’s wife. She knows, but she’s not crying. She wraps her housecoat around her, holding it tight, and keeps her chin up as she approaches us. She nods in respect, and we part to let her see her husband.
Malone gets himself into a sitting position, two daggers still sticking out of him, but the one in his ass is gone. He’s bleeding all over, but it’s his eyes bleeding lies that are the worst. He wants to promise his wife all sorts of things, but she doesn’t look willing to listen.
“What’ll you do with him?” she asks us while Gregory pleads for her mercy.
“He’s going to disappear,” Menace says, voice modulated. “Forever. Do you want access to him? We can grant you that.”
“You’re keeping him alive?” she asks.
“Yes. For now.” I hand her his wallet and keys. “Do you want a say in when he dies?”
Her eyes scan our masks, taking extra long on Remiel’s. Our masks have voice modulators, but his doesn’t, so he better keep his mouth shut. “If you wait until he turns fifty-five and actually give me a body, I can collect his pension.” She shows us his ID. “That’s in two years.”
Wow, he’s older than I thought he was. He looks young for his age, and Remiel must not believe it because he reaches out to take the ID from her. “You realize you’re agreeing to two years of his torture, right?” he asks her.
Ghost shakes his head, Menace looks at me, and I squeeze his defiant fucking ass for speaking again.
But Marnie Malone is attentive and discreet. “He tortured you for way longer,” she says to Remiel. “Tortured me even longer than that. I don’t need his pension, just thought it’d be a perk to come out of all this… madness. I don’t want a say.”
“Two years and a body,” I state. “Hero?”
Remiel nods. “Two years and a body. You’ll get his pension.”
Marnie nods, tossing his wallet into the trunk with him. “You don’t even deserve a goodbye. This is on you, husband.” She slams the door, and Malone barely gets his legs inside before it comes down. “You don’t need to warn me about discretion,” she says to us. “Guilt kept me away, but I’d love to drop off my harp.”
Remiel tenses, but he gives her a nod. Obviously, she knows who he is, so naturally, I will come back to threaten her if she so much as breathes his name. But truthfully, she looks relieved, like an era is ending and she can finally live without her husband’s stench surrounding her. Why she never did anything about him isn’t my business. A person trapped in a dangerous marriage isn’t my place to judge. She’s free now.
We don’t drive to Vile House. We head to the asylum, and Remiel gets nervous the closer we get.
“Why here?” he asks. “Don’t put me back in there…”
“You wanted to know how we come and go from Vile House. This is my act of trust, Remiel.”
“What? I don’t get it. What’s the asylum have to do with Vile House, other than Dr. Cooper working here?”
“Get ready for a long, dark walk underground. Moros is multilayered, and the tunnels are how we get around.” I pull into the lot closest to the ward Remiel was kept in. I won’t make him go back to that chamber room, but someday, I’d love for him to face it and get comfortable in its history.
“Tunnels,” he whispers to himself, thinking it all over. “But Vile House is in the middle of town.”
“Long and dark walk, like I said. First, we’re dropping Malone off in his new cell. He’s gonna be a patient here. In the ward I chased you through.”
Menace and Ghost get the back of the SUV open, and once Malone is out, I pull into a parking spot. One of the initiates will clean the back and put the vehicle somewhere to sit for a while, so I leave the keys under the visor.
“What is it? The ward?” he asks. When we walk inside and head through hallways to get to the secluded, locked-up ward, I pull our masks off.
“It’s our ward. If we ever get hurt, we come here. It’s fully functional, but only in a few areas. The rest of it is like a prison, housing people who have been put in here over the years. Just like we’re putting Malone here. Director has a use for some of them, but mostly, we’re just completing bargains and… getting a kick out of it.”
Remiel scoffs. “Your own personal playpen of pathetic little beasts to hunt.” I smile at that, and Remiel notices. “You look nice when you smile.”
“Jesus, Remi,” Ghost scoffs at him. “He fucking raped you, and now you’re gonna tell him he looks nice. You need your head checked.”
I look nice when I smile? Most people cringe when I smile. I’ve never been called nice before.
“My head’s never been fine, but neither is yours, so fuck off,” Remiel barks back at his brother.
Menace is having way too much fun dragging Malone by the ropes he tied. Menace is into restraints and bondage, pain play, and finding limits, but he’s not going to give Malone a chance to voice his limits. Whatever happens to Gregory Malone from here on out, Vile House members who need an outlet will do it. He’s ours now, thanks to my hero.
“Want first crack at him, Rem?” Ghost asks as we stand in the doorway to Malone’s new room.
But Remiel is looking down the hall, recognizing the doors he ran through and the path back to the hospital room he stayed in for seventy-two hours. Director’s team were the doctors who visited him there, and the therapist he’ll be seeing is a woman who belongs to Vile House. We call her Psych, and nothing else.
“Come on, hero. Let me show you.” I take his hand instead of his wrist, and I tell myself it’s because his wrists are wounded. “We’ll be back,” I tell Ghost and Menace.
The room he stayed in is dark, so I flick on the light to let him get a better look at it now that he’s… levelheaded. It looks like any hospital room, up to date and modern, but Remiel isn’t noticing the equipment. He’s remembering his short trip to death, the suffering he survived, and what happened when I eventually came to him afterwards.
“Kyd,” he says softly. “Came and spent a lot of time here with me.”
I grit my teeth and drop his hand as he roams the room. Love Kyd, but I beat his ass when I saw the footage of him cuddling up to my Remiel. I haven’t even cuddled Remiel, but shit, it looked nice, and I’m envious of it.
Remiel looks at me from in front of the monitors that shouted his pulse. “He said you and my brother got locked up.”
I don’t want to talk about that time. I’d never been more scared. More defeated. “What’re we doing in here? Don’t you want your shot at Malone?”
“No. His fate is sealed, and that’s all I care about. Gone, just like I said.” He sits on the edge of the patient bed. “I want to know what happened to get you locked up.”
“Why?”
“Krypt.”
“Talking isn’t my forte, hero. Stop trying.” I turn to face the hallway, ready to leave him here on his own if he wants to risk running through these halls again.
“Krypt, please.”
Please. Please. Please. The word has never penetrated me before, but it does now. Because Remiel isn’t begging for torture to stop. He’s not pleading for his life, his sanity, or his safety. He’s asking me a question and hoping that I’ll please answer it.
Fuck. Only for him.
“I lost my shit, like I told you the night I put that word on your throat. I shattered, Remiel.”
“But why?”
I spin to see what’s hiding in his eyes. Is this another signal I’m missing? Does he need me to tell him he’s important again? Is his life at risk if I don’t?
“I’m just asking,” he says, sighing and giving up. “Nothing more. Let’s just go.”
I look at the floor instead of him. “I told you that love feels like obsession to me, and then in the next breath, I told you I’m obsessed with you. I admitted I shattered when you tried to fucking die on me because it goddamn broke me, Remiel. I put my marks everywhere on your body so you hopefully never do it again, which means that I give a shit about you. I got locked up in a cell while you were dying because I thought you were dead, and since I no longer had you, I no longer had any fucking reason to keep going. I spent the whole time being electrocuted and broken because… because I broke you . What else do you want from me? Jesus.”
Remiel laughs, and my blood turns to lava.
“I’m not mocking you,” he assures me. He stands, approaching me. Slowly, so that I know he’s going to touch me, he lifts his hand and places it right on my chest. My heart. The burn that matches his. “You know what regrets went through my mind when I was in my moment of death?”
“Your brother.”
He nods. “And you. I’m sick for wanting you, but you’re sick for taking me. We’re sick, Krypt.”
I look into his eyes. The blue pulses, bringing the monsters within mine to the surface while his demons wake up. We are sick. Sick individuals who are sicker together.
“And?” I ask, liking the heat of his hand on my chest.
His grin is shy but sinister. “I like it.” He leans in, lips brushing my jaw. “Might even say I’m fucking obsessed with it.”