Epilogue
EPILOGUE
GHOST
This is the most embarrassing shit of my life. It’s pissing me off to sit here, watching him pick the scabs on his knuckles and grinning like he doesn’t give a single shit about any of it, while I feel my cheeks flush so harshly that my neck even feels hot.
My medical file is thick, but his is thicker, and it’s yet another region of our dynamic that makes it seem like he’s winning. Like, oh, look at poor Riot who has to overcome so many more mental blockades just to be with you.
Pathetic.
“Why the fuck are we here?” I bark, my patience dwindling to nothing. “We don’t need this. I don’t need this.”
Director lifts a brow at my outburst, leaning against the treatment room wall with his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “No?”
“Fuck no. I know what I’m doing.”
Killian snorts at that, and I’m so on edge I can’t hold back my punch. My fist flies at his gut, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me close, lips against my ear. “You never know when to shut your mouth.”
I shove him back and try to leave the room, but Director stops me with a look. The only thing keeping me in this pleasant as fuck therapy room is the fact that he told me I need to be open about it if I want to stay in Vile House.
“Two of my masked members are together. Do you see how this is a risk for all of Vile House?” Director asks, nodding at the relaxing little couch I’m supposed to be sitting on. “Have a seat, Ghost.” Looking at Killian, he adds, “You, too.”
Reluctantly, we squeeze onto the tiny couch with all its plush cushions and fuzzy blankets. This feels like couple’s therapy, and to be honest, the best couple’s therapy I can think of is a bloody fight that ends with his cock in my ass and a few new battle scars.
Director stays standing, but Psych, the doctor who manages all our mental issues, sits in the bucket chair across from us. She’s around Director’s age, might even be his cousin or something, if I recall that introduction, and is too pretty for my current mood. Not yet haggard and worn down by our twisted town. Probably because she spends most of her time in the asylum, letting her crazy out in the comfort of these stone walls.
“This isn’t a study,” she starts, since we both refused to take part in some learning experience about why our personality traits decided to attempt a relationship together. Apparently, we’re so alike that it’s basically unheard of for people like us to choose to be a couple. “But we want to understand what a relationship means to the two of you. Mostly so we can support you, but also to ensure the safety and continuation of Vile House.”
My turn to snort. “Really? We’ve been trying to kill each other for years, and now that we actually half-ass like each other, you wanna talk about safety?” I stand up, done with this.
Killian pulls me back down. “The fuck you mean by half-ass, sweetheart?” His arm wraps around my lower back, squeezing my hip. “You’re full-ass in love with me.”
I glare at Psych. “Get on with it then. There’s a fucking town-wide manhunt for me, and we’re sitting here doing this bullshit?”
“Yes,” Director says, all blunt. “You’re both prone to defying orders because of your self-absorbed tendencies, and now that you’re in it together, I want to know where your society ranks on your priority list. Can I still trust you both as leading members of Vile House?”
Oh, the rage. We both bristle at that. Because fuck anyone who questions our authority.
“Fuck you, Director!” Killian snarls. “You like to focus on our fuck ups and blame it on whatever iffy diagnosis we have, but you never give us credit where it’s fucking due. We got through the Reaper City job together, didn’t we? And what about the night Death Row was bombed? You think I wasn’t losing my shit that he was at Misfit Hall? I didn’t abandon the other guys and go running to him, did I? I fucking stayed where I was supposed to stay and let him almost die. So fuck off with all your accusations.”
I’m about to cut in and remind him that I didn’t almost die and had a lot of fun killing that Draco guy, but Director’s grin stops me.
“You did. And Ghost, I’m proud of you for getting Riot out of there before he killed someone last night. You two work together really well when you drop the attitude and stop competing.”
“No, we don’t. We only work together well because we’re competing.” I lean back, crushing Killian’s arm.
“Oh? Like the night you blatantly defied your job orders and killed a guy because you thought he was part of your sex games?”
Fuck. I won that night, so I’m not even mad.
Director comes over to sit beside Psych. She leans back, letting him lead this ‘appointment’ or whatever the hell it is.
“You have sociopathic tendencies, so how can you love him?” he asks Killian.
“He feeds my ego and gets me exactly what I want.”
I hate him, but Director moves on. “And you? You have narcissistic tendencies, so what makes you love him above yourself?”
“Never said shit about ‘above myself,’” I scoff.
“Say it,” Director tells us. “You claim to love one another, so say it.”
“We don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
Because my pride can’t form the words and Killian’s confusion about it won’t let him either. But maybe that’s not it. Maybe it’s terrifying to say those words because no one else gets what they mean. What if they mean something different to me than they do to him, and what if that means Director is going to kick us out of Vile House?
Killian leans forward, knuckles bleeding again. “You want us to be like everyone else. That’s your problem. Not ours.”
Director nods like he agrees. “For years, I’ve watched you two war with one another. I’ll admit, this isn’t how I saw it concluding, but I’m happy for you if this is what you want. But we have to come to some sort of an agreement. I need to be able to trust you together, mostly on jobs and while we’re gearing up for this war. Can I?”
“Yes,” we both snap.
“Then tell me what it means to love each other.”
“Why?”
“He wants to know you aren’t going to kill each other with your love. He’s worried about you,” Psych says. “Especially if you consider how your relationship started. You chased death, didn’t you? You’re… harsh together.”
I glance at Killian to find him already looking at me. Because yeah, we did chase death. More accurately, I did, and he helped me get there. But as much as it pains me to admit, he gave me a gift I’ll never forget. Killian granted me that one-or-two-second precipice between life and death, and when I was there, staring Death straight in her evil eyes, he didn’t pull me back. He let me do that on my own, and that’s all I’ve ever craved.
Looking at Killian, I say, “I’m not chasing death anymore.”
“Because he ended the Sauder curse by murdering your cousin?” Director asks.
My fists clench, not liking that he gets all the credit for that. Killian grins, but he keeps watching me. “Because I’m chasing him instead.”
The moment is charged with a million ways Killian can turn this on me, but he doesn’t. He leans forward, embarrassing me more by pressing his lips to mine with an audience, and asks, “Still a yes, sweetheart?”
I think it’ll always be a yes. Because I live by the ‘just in case’ mentality now. He trained me to, but I’ll never admit it. I kiss him because I own him. My kiss is my version of yes.
Director is smiling when I look at him, my cheeks red because this is so awkward. “There. Was that so hard?”
We both look at him, confused.
“That’s your love. Volatile. Vulnerable. And trust me, I don’t want you to be like everyone else. This is your thing, your way of acting on it and feeling it, so don’t let anyone tell you it’s wrong.” He leans forward. “As long as you’re both still Vile Boys.”
Well, if I’ve learned anything about possession, it’s that I feel it strongly. Killian might be mine, but Vile House has been mine longer. I grin at Director, all warped and sick, and he smirks back. “Fucking try and take my mask from me, I dare you.”
Director’s grin widens, enjoying my twisted mind. He looks at Killian next. “Riot?”
“Only mask I need, Director. You ain’t getting it back.”
Turning his smirk into a proud smile, he stands. “That’s all I needed to know. And boys?” He looks at us as he starts to leave. “I’m proud of you.”
* * *
Volatile and vulnerable. I feel both inside me. The turbulence of feeling so offended by the town turning on me is soothed only by how good it feels to be vulnerable for Killian.
“Don’t hide from me,” Killian says, busted knuckles under my jaw to lift my eyes to his. “Don’t fucking hide from me. I can’t take it right now.”
Because something big is coming, putting all our lives at risk, and for the first time, the risk is hitting me differently than it normally does. I don’t want to lose this, whatever it is. I don’t want to be taken from him or have him taken from me. I don’t want this budding relationship to be stomped on by Reaper Corp and whatever they have planned as retaliation.
For right now, I want to hide away with Killian in my room at Vile House. I want to forget that the town lost their trust in me, that my mom is in a patient room at the asylum, and that Moros is in danger.
I look into his grey eyes and see the storms I build within them. Admiring the way I turn him into something he never thought he could be—maskless. I did that. I brought him this comfort level. I stripped him bare and made him expose himself to me.
His other hand slides down my spine, tilting my body as I rock on his cock. I’m mixed up somewhere between slow-building pleasure and a fear I won’t admit to. Because his eyes are as vulnerable as I feel, and I’m picturing them swollen shut, his mouth missing teeth, and his body burned and bloody in that torture chamber in Reaper City.
I’m afraid. Of something ripping him away from me. And maybe he is, too. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want me to hide from him.
Staring straight into his eyes, grey on blue, I lift onto my knees and feel my lips part at the drag of his cock. I moan when I slide back down, Killian’s fingers digging into my hips. It’s all so slow and intimate, and I’ve never had sex like this before. It’s as hot as that night we fucked over Brady’s body, and it’s hotter than the night we fucked with masks on. He’s fucking my ass, but I’m on top, and whatever skewed logic our brains work on lets this be a level playing field. He’s not dominating me and I’m not dominating him. No one is inferior because we’re both superior when we work together.
I press my forehead to his, riding him as his hands hold onto me tighter than anyone or anything ever has. Tilting my hips is the only way he attempts to control me, and a part of me craves more. I want him to take control so I don’t have to think so hard or put forth any effort.
“I got you, sweetheart.” He smirks against my lips, kissing me swiftly before he flips me onto my back and settles between my legs.
I sink into the bed and wrap my calves around his hips, digging my heels into his ass. I run my hands down the marred flesh of his back burns, panting through each thrust and swivel of his hips.
“You know,” he starts, voice authoritative yet more playful than usual, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to try.”
“Finally gonna let me fuck your ass?” I tease.
He grins, eyes glinting. “You haven’t earned that yet.” He pulls out and kisses me at the same time. My fingers end up in his hair and then move down with his head as he kisses my jaw where the carved words heal, my neck where he’s choked me so many times, and my chest where my heart beats out of tune for him.
“What have I earned?” I look down at him, so sexy and dark as he looks up at me. Fucking hell, he’s sinister and hot, and I like not knowing what he’s going to do at any given moment. Killian doesn’t need masks because he only needs to wear the Riot mask with me. “Wasn’t there a time when you jerked off with my blood on your cock? Hmm? Didn’t you say you were gonna coat yourself in my blood?”
He nips my hip then licks the tip of my cock, making me shiver. “I did say that.” He sucks the head into his mouth and I shiver harder. When he pops off, licking down the side of my shaft, I breathe so hard my cheeks flush down to my jaw. “I also said I hated when you blush. Rather fond of it now.”
“Rather?” I laugh, fingers raking through his dark waves.
“Rather,” he repeats. “Because you do it for me. You’re so collected and poised for everyone else, and I’m the only one who gets to see you fall apart.”
“Blushing isn’t falling apart. It’s just my skin tone.”
So fast I don’t see it coming, he slaps my thigh. I jolt upright, but I’m stopped when he sucks my cock into his mouth again, rubbing where he slapped. “This skin tone?” he asks, tongue still lapping. “This perfect handprint on your sexy thigh? That I caused.”
I groan when he slaps me over the same place, the red bloom perfectly showing two different layers of his fingerprints. I settle back, propped up on pillows so I can watch him be fun and playful, but obviously still cocky.
He swallows my cock, and I hold my breath, watching him hold himself there. Fuck him because his face doesn’t even get red. But when he pulls off, he lets his teeth graze me slowly as his eyes meet mine and he starts to grin. The scrape of it feels fucking amazing, a slight bite of pain, but more so the anticipation of him tightening his jaw.
“Should we add teeth marks to your dick, sweetheart?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on. I tattooed your bite on my jaw. The least you could do is tattoo mine on your cock.” He licks.
Tempting, only because he says it as a dare, but no part of me wants to get a cock tattoo. I’m not as insane as Kyd. “Sure. And Menace can strap you to the chair while you have to watch him basically give me a handjob to do it.”
Killian growls, nipping the tip of my dick.
I laugh. “What’s this thing you’ve been wanting to try?”
“Who are we right now?” he asks, gripping the base of my cock.
So insecure while trying to be cocky. “I think you know the answer to that.”
“Well,” he says, kissing his way back up my body. “It’s this super rare kink. Basically, you lay there and take it while looking into my eyes, and we don’t fucking talk. It’s all kissing and bodies grinding and panting. No dares or challenges or death chasing or anything. Not even breath play or a blood buzz.”
What a dick. I pull him flush against me, spreading my legs to encourage him to thrust inside me. When he does, it’s slow and purposeful, deep and settling. “Never heard of it,” I whisper, my lips against his. “Does it have a name?”
Killian’s fingers wrap around the side of my neck and his thumb pushes up on my chin. He kisses me and our bodies rock together, a slow build of pure bliss turning us sweaty and needy.
“I think it’s called sex,” he says against my lips. “And if we’re getting really specific with it, I think it’s called missionary sex.”
“You’re sick, you kinky bastard.”
“You love it.”
Fuck, I do. “You sure that’s what it’s called?”
“No,” he whispers, but neither of us will call it what it really is.
There’s no making love in Vile House, so I sure as fuck won’t be the one to say it. Regardless, our bodies grind together, and we start to sweat, just like he said we would. When our mouths latch together in messy kisses full of panting breaths and hitched groans, I know that’s what we’re doing. Making some sort of love.
I’m disgusted with myself, but not enough to stop. Because the euphoria of it comes from the process, not the finish line. It’s complete trust and a connection that comes from an emotional level, amplified by a physical level. It’s him and me, us together, chasing something so much healthier than death.
When I’m rasping against his lips and he’s groaning against mine, our bodies hit their musical crescendo, and everything pauses to give respect to the moment. I don’t even have to touch my cock. I come from him in my ass and his body all over mine, and when he thickens, releasing his pleasure deep inside me, I open my eyes to look at my reality.
This isn’t Hell.
It’s not Death’s doorstep.
It’s volatile and vulnerable love with the devil I picked and won to stand by my side.
I. Fucking. Won.
“You love me?” I ask.
“Yes,” he breathes against my neck. “And now I’m gonna fuck you bloody.”