Chapter 9
AERI
“What the fuck do we do with him?” Kross asks as he crouches down next to Mark.
I stare at Mark.
Then at Kross.
Then at Kade.
“Well,” I say, glancing at the body and then back at them, “he’s definitely not walking out of here, and seeing as you two are professionals at this whole murder-adjacent thing, I’m gonna say that’s firmly not my fucking department.”
Kross lets out a sharp laugh, head tipping back like I just made his whole night. “I fucking like her.”
Kade doesn’t react. He’s already shifting gears, the way someone does when they’ve flipped from instinct to procedure. His eyes sweep the bathroom—mirror shards, smeared sinks, the floor that is very much not something I want to look at too closely, and then they come back to me.
“We’ve got this,” he says calmly. “You should get out of here. With him being your ex, the last thing we need is any of this circling back to you.”
I scoff. “What? I might not know how to dispose of a body, but I can still help. I mean, you guys did this for me.”
His expression doesn’t change. “This isn’t up for debate.”
Kross steps in closer, wings rustling as he moves, feathers still ruffled and uneven. “He’s right,” he adds lightly. “Besides, your friends are probably wondering where you disappeared to, and this bathroom’s about to get real boring, valentine. Trust me, you do not want cleanup duty.”
I open my mouth to argue, because how do they expect me to just walk out of here knowing what they did for me, and just, act like none of it happened? Suddenly Kade’s hands are on my arms. Not gripping. Just firm before his thumbs press lightly like he’s checking I’m still real.
“You’re good, right?” he asks.
I consider the question.
My body still feels like it’s vibrating under my skin. My thighs ache. My nerves are fried in the best possible way. There’s blood on the tile behind me and the echo of something I absolutely cannot unpack right now.
“I mean,” I say slowly, “define good.”
Kross grins. “She’s fucking glowing, bro.”
“Eat shit,” I mutter, even though my mouth betrays me by curling at the edges anyway, which makes Kross laugh.
“There she is.” He smirks, adjusting himself like my mouthy little comment got him hard all over again.
Kade’s gaze drops to my thigh, and it takes maybe half a second for Kross to notice too.
“You motherfucker,” Kross snaps instantly.
He shoves between us before Kade can react, dropping his height just enough to get a clear look. Kade stiffens, shoulders tightening.
“Now’s not the time,” Kade warns.
Kross ignores him. His jaw clenches, eyes dark, annoyed in a way that has nothing to do with pride. “You fucking marked her,” he says flatly.
I snort. “Should I be worried?”
Kross straightens and steps into my space, grin sharp but edged now—territorial. “Nah,” he says. “Just means he got there first.”
Before I can fire back, he grabs me and kisses me hard—quick and fucking claiming—then tilts my head and bites into my neck.
It’s not playful. Not seductive. It’s possession, plain and unapologetic.
I hiss, breath catching, and when he releases me his tone flattens as he licks the blood away slowly before kissing me again.
Goosebumps ripple over my skin, that familiar heat pooling low in my stomach.
Jesus Christ, when did I become such a fucking nympho?
I kiss him back anyway, the metallic taste of my blood coating my tongue. He breaks the kiss first, resting his forehead against mine. His breath warm and steady.
“There,” he murmurs against my skin. “Now you’re mine too.”
Kade exhales through his nose nearby, jaw tight, clearly restraining himself.
My knees threaten mutiny.
“I hate you,” I say weakly.
“No, you don’t.” Kade opens the door before I can regain enough dignity to argue. “Alright,” he says, already moving, “get out of here.”
Kross guides me toward it, a hand firm at my back, and with every step closer the rave crashes into me like a fucking wave.
Bass slams into my chest. Fog curls around my ankles. Heat, bodies, and neon swallow the narrow hallway whole, like the bathroom never existed at all. The music feels louder now—heavier—vibrating straight through my bones until it settles somewhere deep and familiar.
Kade cups my face briefly, grounding, before pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Go find your friends,” he murmurs. “Stay in the building. We’ll come find you when we’re done.”
“Promise?” I ask, and the vulnerability in my voice catches me off guard.
Jesus, Aeri. You’re such a fucking simp.
He nods once. “Always.”
Kross smacks my ass as I step out. “Try not to draw any more attention, valentine,” he calls after me. “I’d really rather not drop another body tonight because some idiot thought he could touch what’s ours.”
I flip him off without looking back and let the crowd swallow me whole.
The rave feels different now. Sharper.
Like someone cranked the contrast all the way up and snapped the knob clean off.
Every bass drop punches straight through me, rattling something deep feral and fucking electric.
My body is still humming. My skin too sensitive, nerves lit like exposed wire, and whatever’s in my system has turned the world glossy at the edges.
Colors bleed, and sounds stretch. Time does that fun, floaty thing where seconds feel important and meaningless all at once.
I find Harper near the fog machines, right where the lasers slice the air into violent color—red, violet, and neon pink. The kind of lighting that makes everyone look unreal. Anonymous and fucking untouchable. Which I mean, is what they come here for, isn’t it?
Harper grabs my wrist the second she sees me. “Bitch! Where the fuck did you go?”
I blink at her, pupils probably still blown to hell, and take a drink from someone’s cup without asking. “The uh, bathroom,” I reply, which I mean, isn’t a lie. Not really.
She looks me up and down. My neck. My thigh. My face. Takes in the marks I’m definitely not hiding very well.
Her mouth curves slowly. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
Before I can fire back with something smart, she shoves a shot into my hand. “Drink.”
I don’t argue. We toss it back together, the burn hitting a second too late, like my body’s buffering. Someone whoops nearby. Someone else spills half their drink. The fog thickens around our knees and the floor feels like it’s fucking breathing under my feet.
But we dance.
Not pretty, shit we’re not even coordinated. Just bodies moving because standing still would feel wrong and quite frankly, be really fucking boring after the night I’ve had. Sweat slicks my spine, lasers strobe like the world is glitching on purpose.
Luna’s still here too, right where I left her, pressed close to the same guy from earlier.
They’re a lot more handsy now, mouths colliding between laughs, his hands low on her hips as they grind together.
She catches my eye, grins like she’s having the time of her life, and then goes right back to him like nothing else exists.
I laugh it off, shaking my head, and grind back into the music with Harper, letting the bass take over while the lights smear everything into color, motion and heat.
If tonight’s a mess, then at least it’s a fun one.
Harper leans in, shouting in my ear, “Bitch, you are so drunk, and you have so much fucking tea to spill later.”
I laugh, loud and unbothered, shaking my head. “You have no idea,” I shout back, bumping my shoulder into hers. “Like…not even a little.”
And for once, I fucking mean it. I really, really do.
Part of me can’t wait to tell them about Kross and Kade—the masks, the attitude, the way they looked at me like they couldn’t decide if they should kill me or kiss me. I’ll leave out the parts that would get me institutionalized.
Definitely skipping the murder, especially Mark’s.
A flicker of thought cuts in anyway, unwanted but persistent.
Will it hit the news? Will he just…disappear?
Have his face all over the town on a missing poster.
Concerned coworkers. A mother waiting for a phone call that never comes.
I wonder, distantly, how they’re going to handle it.
How those two clean up something like that when it wasn’t one of their planned victims.
If they’ve even killed spontaneously before. If they already have it down to a system.
Then I shake it off, hard, like snapping a rubber band against my own brain.
Not tonight, Aeri.
The music surges again, the lights smear into neon streaks, and I stop trying to track time or consequences or whatever version of myself existed before this.
I let it carry me. Let the heat, the noise, and the bad decisions stack up and blur together until all that’s left is movement, laughter, and that buzzing, electric feeling under my skin.
For once, I don’t want to think. I just want to enjoy it.
And fuck, I deserve this.
I’m not steering anymore.
I’m just riding it, and honestly? I’m fucking loving it.