The next morning.
Iam standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee in my hand that I haven’t touched.
Its contents are growing cold while I try to process all the information from last night.
The last few hours have been insane. A reasonable human would mourn their dead mother, but the two idiots I live with are doing the opposite.
One of them is using sex to distract me from what his brother does every twenty minutes.
And the other one is probably still at the house of the woman I saw him sneak into yesterday. Exactly where he shouldn’t be.
Don’t get me wrong, I feel for the guy. He has been alone all his life.
No woman keeps him company for more than a day or two.
He never had the option to date with our lifestyle, and it must be killing him.
But finding a random woman in a random town where we have already overstayed—and been reckless more than once—isn’t a good idea.
It’s not like Liam to act like this. He usually thinks through all the details; he plans ahead.
He is the fucking reason we have never been caught, and here he is, trying to prove a point by getting us caught. I swear this is a rebellion.
I am ready to say something, but Mike speaks first. “Sneaking in, are we?”
We both know where he was, but Liam doesn’t need to know that we know. Still, it feels like he had it coming. I wonder if more happened last night between those two after Mike decided to go rogue and bury Mary in our temporary home’s backyard.
“Killed any mothers lately?” Liam responds.
Oh, he is pissed about Mommy. It makes sense. Liam wears his emotions on his face even when he is suppressing them. It’s weird—he will act all cold and unbothered, but one look at him and you know he is absolutely ready to break.
“Nope, just the bitch that gave us away,” Mike responds, in all honesty, not holding his words back even a little.
Right now, I’m thinking I should really reconsider my friendships.
“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you are sad about it. We both knew I would kill her,” Mike adds.
Well, he isn’t wrong. We all knew he would kill her.
That’s not a shock. Liam and I have talked about it.
Liam wished to be involved this time; he thought it was his right as much as Mike’s.
He didn’t believe he could save her, even though a part of him was sad about her upcoming demise.
I know that same feeling is eating him alive now.
But that isn’t a reason to sneak into random women’s houses.
Like, be fucking serious, Liam. You’re supposed to be the sane one.
What happened to the guy who watched our backs and made sure his brother wouldn’t get us caught?
Maybe it’s in the blood. Maybe insanity runs in it. That would certainly explain a lot.
“I am not sad. However, I am pissed. Yes, I knew she would die, but I was hoping you would let me be a part of it this time. Her actions caused me just as much pain.”
Okay, I will give him that—he does have a point.
“Well, you would have done nothing about it even if I had let you. You love the chase, but spilling blood is not your thing, Liam.”
Mike is not wrong, either.
“You are probably right,” Liam finally admits.
I agree. He is right.
Mike is rarely wrong when he speaks up. This man might be insane, but he has one thing down: he is observant. He doesn’t bite his tongue. He tells the truth as it is, and that has always been something I like about him.
“I am sorry I acted without you,” Mike apologizes, even though we all know he doesn’t mean it. Look at my man, trying to play nice. He almost sounds sincere, which is kind of terrifying if you think about it. It’s how easily he is able to lie that concerns me.
“I forgive you,” Liam accepts in return.
We all know that he doesn’t mean it either, but it’s a good sign.
It means Liam is willing to let this go, and Mike is willing to make sure his brother feels a little better.
When it comes to those two, this is the best outcome a man can ask for, because they are drawn to extremes in everything—from murder, to living, to handling family affairs.
Those two will choose the least convenient solution to every problem.
It’s as if they’ve chosen to live on the hard mode of life's video game. I am stuck trying to survive it as well, purely because I fell in love with one of them as a teenager and chose the other as my best friend. Having one crazy man in my life obviously wasn’t enough.
“Friends again? Great,” I say, my cheerful voice clearly as fake as can be. I am not a cheerful guy. I am a broody asshole who chooses violence over peace. However, in comparison to those two, I am a fucking snowflake. A little angel. They should make me a saint for putting up with them.
They remain silent, each pretending not to hear the irony in my voice.
I ask, hoping Liam will agree, “Now, boys, what's next?” It’s not an unusual question.
Technically, we are done here. Liam should have been the one asking this, if we’re being honest. He is usually the one keeping track.
Take the bait, Liam. We need to move out of this town.
You know this. Killing this woman and burying her in our backyard broke a lot of rules. It’s time to go. Take the damn bait.
“I think we should stay for another week,” Liam tells us, walking out of the room.
Fuck. This isn’t good.
If Liam wants to stay, things are worse than I thought.
He is either completely obsessed with the woman he spent the night with—and probably all the days he was away from the house while we were too busy to notice—or something else is happening.
Either way, we need to know more. We can’t let this idiot fall in love and ruin everything.
I turn to Mike, who is looking at me with a familiar expression.
“We need to figure out how serious this thing between them is,” he tells me.
That settles it. If Mike is concerned, things are really bad. He usually doesn’t get concerned until everything is on fire. Literally.
I couldn’t agree more. We need to figure out how deeply Liam is attached to this woman. I couldn’t see much, but from the moans coming from that window, I can tell he broke a lot of his personal rules. I wonder how many.
Mike kisses me in a failed attempt to calm me down, and my lips part for him instantly.
I hate that it’s this easy for him to control me.
I’m supposed to be the dominant one in our relationship, but he holds all the power.
He will do everything I say, but we both know I will fall to my knees without question if he asks.
“Pretty boy, you can’t keep distracting me with sex,” I say, barely breaking the kiss to speak.
I claim his lips again, and the kiss grows possessive. It’s not gentle. It’s not the kiss of two men who are simply in love; it’s the kiss between two men who would raise hell for each other.
He smirks. “Why not? It’s clearly working. You’re hard already!” His fingertips brush against my cock through my pants.
The cheeky little bastard is right. I am hard. I am almost always hard around him; it’s painful. I get turned on just by him breathing in my direction.
“That is unrelated,” I try to argue. It’s a failed point as his grip tightens against my cock. He strokes me over my clothes, making me lose my mind before I even get undressed.
“You need to stop worrying so much,” he whispers, kissing my neck.
This constant shift between cold and warm, gentle and rough—it messes with my thoughts. He knows exactly what he is doing. This is what he wants: me, distracted. His goal is to keep me from fixating on his brother’s behavior, and he is hitting the bullseye.
I finally give in. There’s no point in denying him. I know he will get what he wants, and maybe being distracted a little bit isn’t much of a crime. I’m sure Liam can’t cause too much trouble between here and his bedroom.
“Turn around,” I order him, and he obeys like the good boy I know he is. Always willing to obey. “Remove your pants and boxers,” I say, unzipping my fly and pulling my cock out. I spit on my hand and coat myself with saliva. “Part your legs for me and bend over the counter.”
I slowly stroke my dick while watching Mike bend over the kitchen counter.
“Yes, Sir,” he replies, doing as he’s told.
I open a cabinet where we stock extra essentials and grab a new bottle of lube. I peel off the seal, squirt some onto my fingers, and push two inside his ass, working the lube in to prep him. Low moans escape him as my fingers slide in and out of his tight hole.
“Fuck, keep going,” he begs.
That’s exactly what I do. I speed up my fingers, curling them slightly as I keep fucking him with them. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking himself to the same rhythm as his eyes close shut. He lets himself get lost in the moment—the only time he ever drops his guard. Only with me.
I grab the lube again, pour a generous amount onto my cock, and stroke it until I’m fully covered.
I withdraw my fingers and replace them with my dick, slowly pushing inside him.
I hold still for a moment, letting him settle before I start moving.
After years together, this has never stopped being the best feeling in the world.
Being with him is the only reason I breathe.
He pushes back against me to take me deeper, matching my thrusts as I fuck him harder. The sight of him stroking himself while moving his body against mine is enough to make me lose my mind.
“Be a good boy and come for me,” I order.
Like a good boy, he picks up his pace, and it isn’t long before he coats his hand in cum.
“Good boy,” I praise. “On your knees.”
It’s another order as I pull out of him. He gets on his knees and turns to face me.
“Open your mouth, pretty boy,” I demand, stroking myself as I reach my edge.
He opens his mouth, his hand wrapping around my cock to replace mine.
He strokes me, using his own cum as lube.
I move my hips to meet his movements, fucking his hand while his eyes lock onto mine just as my release spills over his tongue and face.
It’s the best fucking feeling having him like this, reserved only for me.
The tough serial killer feared by every woman he’s ever met, right here on his knees for me to use as I please. Isn’t life great sometimes?
“Fuck, you look so pretty on your knees with my cum all over your face, pretty boy,” I say, reaching for a towel and handing it to him to clean up.
I lean down and kiss his lips; the saltiness of my own release invades my mouth. I would give up anything to make sure this never ends.