Chapter 5
ARCHIE
I don’t always sleep in my bed, but I like having one. I like being able to create a nest of silk sheets and pillows, pressed up against the wall to hold me in when it feels like all my edges have frayed and are coming apart.
I feel like that now.
I wish it were nighttime so I could wander the streets without the annoying glare of the sun and without people staring at me. When I was little, I used to wish the entire world were blind so no one would be able to perceive me.
But I have the comfort of my own space now. Percy allowed me to pick my room first when we bought the house out in the middle of nowhere. It’s sunken, three steps down, with windows near the ceiling. Milo calls it my dungeon, and it’s a very apt name.
It’s cooler than all the rooms in the house, darker, and quieter, though living out here without a lot of road noise is helpful. The worst is the neighbor whose property touches ours. He has chickens and quail, which are deceptively loud, though when they’re quiet, I kind of like them.
His chickens are silkies with little feathered pom-poms on top of their heads, and there’s always one—a black one with a very yellow beak that is always wandering onto our property.
I’m a little scared one of the cats is going to kill it, but so far, they don’t seem interested in doing more than licking their buttholes and sunning themselves.
I’ve been keeping an eye on it though. I can’t help but wonder if that chicken is unwanted amongst her flock.
Maybe that’s why she keeps trying to find sanctuary on our property.
I’m not really a bird person though. I’m not much of an anything person if I’m being honest with myself. Unless my coffins, books, and research on death rituals count, but Percy says it doesn’t, and he’s usually right about most things.
But I’m starting to wonder if maybe he was wrong, because I was wrong. There is someone who I’ve been more obsessed with than I really have words for lately, which is a new feeling for me. He gets my blood going hotter than anyone ever has before, and I’m not quite sure what to do with that.
I’m not a virgin. I’ve scratched the orgasm itch over the years with random strangers who mean nothing to me. But Denver is not nothing.
No. He’s damn near everything, and I want him more fiercely than I’ve ever wanted anyone before. It’s a hyperfixation—a hunger I can’t sate.
An obsession, and I don’t ever want it to go away.
Taking a breath, I roll onto my stomach and rock my hips into my mattress. I’ve been half hard since the cemetery, and right now, I can’t stop thinking about my pretty, panty-wearing little rabbit.
He was different when he stalked me to that little church. He wasn’t like the performer onstage that I’d been quietly watching. No, he was terrified but also wanting, and his desire for me was starting to win.
Until I went and fucked it all to hell.
But I’m not giving up. It’s not just my need for him.
It’s also the fact that Denver was and has been in danger for a while.
I’d seen Denver’s stalker the same night I saw him perform for the first time.
I’d happened upon the bar by accident and went in for a drink without realizing what kind of show was going on.
I nearly left, but then Denver took the stage as Glimmer Dear, and my entire world was rearranged. But I didn’t get the chance to talk to him that night. I noticed he was being watched, and not the same way I was watching him. Not the same way the rest of the audience was.
It was easy to spot a stalker, especially since he wasn’t very good at what he was trying to do. He wore all black with his hood up, which made him more conspicuous, and after the show, he hovered near the side door almost like he wanted to get caught.
He didn’t, though, so I followed him and realized that he was tracing Denver’s steps. He hovered at the edge of the parking lot at the college, then followed Denver and waited around the corner at the supermarket, then the bank, and then he followed him home.
I waited, ready to step in if he tried anything, but all the man did was sit behind the wheel of his car and watch.
I couldn’t be sure if he was dangerous or not, so I decided that Denver was my next project.
I just hadn’t realized that in the weeks I hovered around, ready to step between him and the man after him, I was going to fall so hard.
That I was going to want him so much. And I had no idea how I was going to bridge the gap between us because Denver had no idea I existed, but then the hooded asshole made his move, and that gave me the chance to finally put myself in Denver’s line of sight.
Keeping on the hooded man’s heels as he followed Denver into the alley had been easy work. So had hitting him so hard that blood spilled like artwork over Denver’s face.
And fuck, the way Denver had shuddered and leaned in when I put my hand to his cheek…
How soft he felt against my palm.
My dick throbs at the memory, so I slip my hand under the waistband of my jogging pants and grip my shaft. I don’t normally jerk off. It’s more like an itch I need to scratch every now and again, and usually, I use another faceless person in a dingy bar somewhere to do it.
But right now, the itch is all-consuming.
I close my eyes and see those panties—see the look of desperation and want on his face. I see him stalking me to the church, speaking to me in the only language that has ever been kind to me, and fuck. If I ever had a chance to defend myself against falling for another man, I’ve lost it.
I lift my knees to give myself room, and I begin to jerk myself hard and fast. It’s too dry and too hard, but I want to get this over with. I need to take the edge off before I see him again—and I will see him again.
I finally have a plan.
He has a show tonight, and I will be there. I will watch as he sees my gift, and I know he’ll understand it for what it means. That I’m sorry. That I’ll fix it. That there’s a thing between us that can’t be ignored, and as much as I want it, I know he does too.
“Denver,” I whisper into a pillow. I piston my hips back and forth, fucking my fist like I would if I were fucking into him. And then I feel the familiar hot, tight pulse in my balls. I spread my legs a little more, each thrust sending the head of my cock into the mattress.
I imagine it’s him—the crack of his ass, the space between his cock and his tight hole, waiting for me. I can all but feel the scratchy sensation of his lace panties against my skin as I suck in a breath, tighten my fist…
And come.
I cry out against the silk pillowcase, letting it collect my moans as I make a mess beneath me. My legs give out, and I collapse into the wet spill, hating every single second of that sensation.
I find the strength to roll over a moment later, and with wobbly legs, I get off the bed.
Tearing off the sheets, I drop my pants into the fabric pile, and I redress before grabbing new bedding from the heavy armoire.
It used to belong to my mother, and it’s the only thing in the house that reminds me of her.
It’s cherrywood and imposing. Looming and a little unforgiving.
Just like she was.
I throw the folded sheets on the naked mattress just as I hear a knock at the door. It’s easy to recognize the pattern as Milo’s, and I’m surprised he’s here. He’s not usually home during the day, which is probably not a good sign.
I don’t bother telling him to come in because he’s just going to do it anyway.
“What are you—” he starts, strolling past the door and coming to a skidding halt. “Oh, fuck. Did you just jerk off?”
“Yes,” I tell him. There’s no point in lying now. He can see the evidence all over, and in all honesty, I’ve never seen the point in not being truthful unless it’s to avoid a murder charge.
Glancing over, I see he’s got Hexe, one of his favorite cats, wrapped around the back of his neck like a scarf. She’s a diluted calico, all grays, whites, and peaches mottled on her fur.
She yawns, looks at me, then closes her eyes again and stretches her claws, sinking them into his neck. He must be used to it because he doesn’t react.
“What do you want?” I ask since he’s still staring at my bedding.
He blinks and turns away from my laundry. “Why did I just get a call from a vet about a half-dead cat?”
“Found one,” I tell him as I move into my bathroom to wash my dick and balls. Thank god he doesn’t follow. “Graveyard,” I add.
I can hear him sigh and start pacing the room as I dry off with a hand towel, then throw that into the bin and step back into the room.
“It was sick?” He’s got Hexe in his arms now, and she’s wrapped around his elbow, biting him like it’s her job to draw blood.
I shrug as I begin to unfold the new sheets and make the bed. “It was fine when I caught it, but I put it in the crate, and it started breathing funny.”
Milo looks sad as he shifts Hexe and scratches her chin. He’s always had a softer heart for animals than for people. I don’t know if he’s a virgin, but he’s never been with anyone longer than a single night.
All three of us are pretty fucked-up, but Milo keeps his trauma a lot quieter.
He was hurt worse than Percy or I have ever been, and he never talks about it.
I don’t know if he thinks he can’t, or if it’s just too much, but the last person who pushed him got a nasty black eye to show for it, so it’s better to let it go.
“Is she okay?” I ask, turning toward him. I’m not really worried about the vet. He’s not someone I care about, but I do wonder if he might be in trouble.
Milo’s staring at Hexe, who’s starting to fall asleep. “He said she’s going to be fine. She was dehydrated and had low blood sugar. Diabetic. But he’s got her on insulin now and an IV.”
“Good. I told him he needed to make sure she stayed alive.”
Milo groans. “Did you threaten him?”
“Yes.”
“Percy is going to kill you. We need to be more subtle here, Arch.”
I shrug. Subtlety isn’t my strong suit. There are plenty of people with autism who can be subtle. Who can mask. Who can lie and be actors.
I am not one of them.
“I was just doing what you’d do.”
Milo sighs, but it’s obvious he knows it’s the truth. “Whatever, it’s fine.” He goes quiet for a second, then steals a look at me. “He’s going to bring her by tomorrow after her IV treatment.” He pauses, then, “Did you like him?”
I look over my shoulder as I rearrange my pillows and blankets the way I like them. “I don’t like anyone.”
“You like some people,” he points out.
That’s a stretch. Besides my brothers, and they don’t always count, I like Nico. He’s the only person I’d call a friend.
“Will I like him?”
I frown. “I don’t know what that means?”
“I’m looking for a vet,” he says, and there’s a funny pink flush in his cheeks, which means I’m missing something, but I don’t care enough to dig around for it. “For the café. I need someone I can trust.”
I hum as I stare at my work. When I’m satisfied, I sit. “He didn’t piss his pants when he and I were in a closed room together.” That has happened more than once. “I think he can handle you.”
“I’ll have Percy do a background check on him and give me the okay. I mean,” he says, pacing again as he pets his cat, “I guess I don’t have to worry about it too much. Once Perce finds his mark and takes care of him, we’ll be done with everything.”
Done with everything.
It’s a strange concept for me. It means a lot of change, which I hate. But it also means peace, which I want. The adjustment will be hard, but I can do it.
I need this.
I need to sleep soundly for once.
“Did you get Percy’s text about the arsonist?” he asks just before I tell him to get out. I’m done talking for now.
I nod my fist. ‘Yes.’
He sighs, then sets the cat down at the open door, and she runs off like this is the last place she’s ever wanted to be. “Be ready to draw a little blood. Whatever he found out about it, he was fucking pissed.”
My mouth waters. It’s the one thing I’ll miss when this is all over. The blood. It’s life. It’s death. It’s a stark contrast to everything it touches. I like the way it feels when it’s warm and fresh beneath my fingers.
“I’m always ready,” I tell him, which is also true.
Maybe in a few years, I won’t be. After our lives settle into something other people would consider normal, maybe I’ll forget what it was like to grow up the way we did.
To lose my mother young, to have a father who cared more about shaping us into what he wanted instead of letting us figure it out on our own.
But for now, I’m still the person our father raised me to be. Careful. Calculating. And ready to kill if I have to.
And sometimes when I don’t.
“I have somewhere to go tonight,” I tell him. “I’ll be there…when…when…” I breathe out slowly. “When it’s time.”
I suddenly hate that he’s in my space. The feeling rises in me almost out of nowhere, and I take a deep breath, trying not to whine as I exhale. Words are getting harder. He needs to get out before I slip into a meltdown.
He reads the room and moves toward the door. “Call me if you need me.”
I wave him off, and the moment he’s gone, I flop down onto the bed and bury my face in the silk. It’s not as nice as coffin lining, but for now, it’ll do.
I let it comfort me as I drift, thinking about tonight and the look on Denver’s face when he finds my gift. I can’t wait to see it.
And then, when I get the chance, I will taste him the way I’ve been desperate to.