Page 102 of Fragile Facade
“What?” I hand the joint back. “What favour?”
“The piano.”
I look at Krypt, seeing something so rare in his eyes that it stops my lungs. He’s not someone who thinks about how things feel for others, so it rattles me that he knows how deeply Killian struggles with his lost music. Krypt knows things. More than I thought he did, and he has a big heart under all those bars and cages. I don’t know his point of view from when they were growing up, if he blames his brother for not protecting him like Killian blames himself, or if he sees things differently.
“He thinks he let you down,” I say.
“He saved me.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“Because he has an ego the size of the Milky Way, and it isn’t winning unless he’s able to brag about it. He kept me sane, reminded me that I wasn’t alone, and helped me kill our parents. He might have a god complex and take credit where it isn’t due, but it’s due here and he still won’t take it because he doesn’t think he did enough. So get him the piano back, yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod, feeling this promise deep in my chest. “Yeah.”
The silence isn’t awkward. It’s safe and subtle, and there’s a reason Krypt and I are friends. We’re both dark-minded, but my energy never overwhelmed him, and his self-confliction always spoke to me. We’re finding ourselves now, at the same time, dating each other’s brothers, and it feels like we’re growing together because of it.
“Remiel’s mind is different from yours,” he says to the cell door, watching my mom instead of me. “Riot told me he mapped your brain. Don’t let him fool you into thinking the results were the same as your brother’s.”
I turn my face to look at him. “They weren’t?”
Krypt shrugs. “Don’t know, but knowing Riot, he’ll make you believe the results were shitty just so he can play your god.” He stubs out his joint and drops the roach to the dirty stone floor. “Just saying. He might be fucking your ass, but that’s because he’s a giant dick.” He grins, leaving me in the asylum hall outside my mother’s cell door.
Killian would do that…
Fuck.
37
YOU COULD ASK ME
RIOT
Moros is fucking thriving!
Under a blood moon, pitch black skies, and caressed by a haunting breeze from the north, Death Row has turned into a town party. Everyone is drinking, half drunk or on their way to being drunk, and those who don’t drink are high on justice.
Because the town traitors are being marched down Death Row just like Lockan Tate promised. I’m humming with energy just being here, everyone else in a wicked mood to shame those who have betrayed their home.
I know the rest of the world runs on a ‘don’t sink to their level’ mentality, but we have no such reservations. We sink lower, and we enjoy every sinister second of doling out justice and enacting revenge. Life is too short not to get a sick thrill out of the things that feed our devious joy.
Half the Vile Boys are here in masks, monitoring and joining the locals in their dark celebration, and the other half of us are here as ourselves, blending in and acting the part of Moros townsfolk. I love it because Soren is here, unmasked, drinking and letting loose. We barely get time to unwind, and seeing his face while he’s dropping his guards is such a rarity that I’m staring at him more than I’m staring at the twisted parade.
As the husband and wife Krypt and I encountered are dragged down Death Row because their Achilles tendons are cut, I watch Soren down a can of beer before tossing the can at them. He laughs, and it’s different from his insane laugh. This is joy; unhindered and needed, and his smile is so warped with his idea of fun that my dick firms up and my fists tighten, craving his throat in my grip.
I walk across the street, drawn like a goddamn moth to his flame, taking a swig of rum from the bottle as I step between the husband and wife, grinning at them like they should know who I am. They do. They know me as Killian Hallows, the guy whomost likelykilled his parents. But when they look into my eyes, they know. Deep down, they know I’m the Vile Boy who demanded the answers that led them to this exact shameful moment.
And you’re goddamn right I take pride in that, laughing as I finish my walk to Soren. He’s dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a white horror movie t-shirt, hair sticking up like it was the other morning, and cheeks pink from alcohol this time. The beer has him so flushed that his jacket is missing on this cool autumn night. His blue eyes are a fucking gut punch when they land on me, so full of trouble and fun that I’m eager to get up to more of it with him. With only a little stubble along his jaw, scratchy enough that I itch for my fingers against it, I instinctively rub my own jaw, his bite now tattooed there forever.
“Hey,baby,” he goads, amping me up even more because I love this mood he’s in. “Up for a little spying?”
I step right up to him, chest to chest, and rub my fingers over his stubble to appease my craving. “Who are we spying on?” I bite my lip and he looks, biting his to mirror me.Atta boy. Even my actions get through to you subliminally.
“Facts has a crush.”
My eyes widen, and I look to the left where Soren nods. Facts, wearing his copper mask, stands creepily behind a guy in black pants and a Moros Township t-shirt. I’ve seen him around town. Pretty sure he moved here with his buddy a few years ago, and the two of them bought a fixer-upper place out by Cain Carson’s house on Crucifix Street. The guy looks easygoing, laid back like he’s having fun with the rest of the town, but also like he could fuck you up if you looked at him wrong. He’s a fighter, that’s for sure, but I can’t tell if he’s more soldier-trained or street-trained.
“Facts?” I look at Soren. “Facts finally figured out he has a dick?”
