Page 92 of Soulless Deeds

“Let him meet his fate!”Smash.“I won’t be fucking saving him!”Crash.“Cause I promise you, Ava.”Bang.“If the games don’t kill him,I WILL!”

It looked so fun, I went to join him. Giggling with mirth, I grasped one of the tall, thin vases when Echo screamed a command. “STOP!”

We both flinched, looking around with the classic expressions of guilty toddlers. I let the vase slip through my fingers to smash all over the floor. Aster released a heavy sigh.

Micah approached Psycho with confidence, her palms gliding up his flexing arms to rest upon his rigid shoulders. “You know you’ll regret this if you don’t go to him.”

Ava’s cries filtered back into the fold, her begging grating against my ears.

Psycho clenched his jaw, teeth grinding. “Put Ace on the phone.”

We heard a light shuffle, then Cookie answered. “Yeah?”

“Go with Ava to Hangman’s Block. We will meet you there.” Cookie confirmed. “Oh, and Ace. Don’t let her out of your fucking sight. Keep her there. Whatever means necessary.” His tone was psychopathic.

Then he hung up, cutting off Ava’s sobs in the background. I’d never heard him speak to her like that—so harsh and reprimanding—and I was revelling in it.

Although it was funny, I was still pissed.How many people are going to keep secrets from us?Powerful secrets.

With Ava, Aster and their combined skeletons in the mix, we practically had a full graveyard of fucking treacherous land mines, inevitably proving why we kept our circle so tight for so long. The only people we could truly rely on and trust had the name King. Everyone else was cannon fodder at that point. Psycho and Echo shoved back to the outskirts purely based on their loved ones’ actions.

Micah must have come to the same conclusion, turning to Psycho. “Deal with her, August.”Otherwise, we will.Her directive was clear as fucking glass. He paused from her order, awareness sparking as he took in each of us in turn.

“I’ve got it, baby. I’ll sort it out.”

We all let that placate us with varying amounts of acceptance, ready to have it over and done with.Tonight, the Ludus Maximus are finished.

We didn’t have time to travel back to the Temple and suit up. Lucky for us, Aster had a whole arsenal in her prissy apartment.

I was impressed by her lack of retaliation for the damage Psycho had wrought. Sure, she constantly bitched and cussed us out for destroying her things, but that’s the least she could provide for recompense.

I sensed Echo saddle up behind me, only just realising that we were alone in the weapons room. I peeked over my shoulder, and my breath caught at the magnificence of him. He wore adeep green suit jacket with matching pants, cut and tailored perfectly to his frame. Forfeiting any shirt beneath, his pecs, multiple injuries and tan abs were begging for my tongue to trace the cursive lines, utterly biteable.

We hadn’t had a moment alone to hash out everything since our mind-blowing intimacy the night before. Or address the three words that he had so reverently spoken into existence.

My entire world felt as if it was spinning out of sync. I was a hypocrite, demanding him to be brave yet not returning the sentiment.

So much had happened between us—so much—that our past had me subconsciously second guessing his actions, his very words.

Taking advantage of my distraction, Echo turned and lifted me to sit on top of the counter. I’d stolen a new designer gown and shoes from Aster’s closet—a skintight black dress with two slits sitting high over each leg.

Echo scanned the knife holster I held. Stepping between my legs, he caught the strap in one hand whilst the other tracked up the back of my calf, raising to my knee, then ever higher.

He did it without a word, his sunburst hazel eyes boring into mine as he attached the holster to my thigh. His gaze conveyed a hidden message, his touch worshipful and specific. He wrote a whole letter in those moments, accompanied with his actions—all devotion, all adoration.

Can I believe this? Him?

My fingers pushed the collar of his jacket aside, tracing over the horrendous bruise and bite mark I’d inflicted the night before. “It’s going to leave a scar,” I said absentmindedly.

“I’ll ensure it does,” he said with pride. “To have your permanent mark, your ownership on my skin. Ghost,bite me again.” He was practically humming with energy, the current infectious and overwhelming.

Instead of answering, my hand drifted down to the cuff of his sleeve, the fabric thick and expensive against my skin. The choice was extravagant and entirely my style, although, I was caught on the colour.

As if reading my mind, Echo whispered my answer. “To suit your eyes.”

My eyelids fluttered closed to escape the intensity of him. I wanted to believe in his newfound narrative—that he was there for me, that he cared for me, that helovedme.

I’d always had trust issues. My upbringing wouldn’t account for anything else. Even then I tried, for him, for us.

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