Page 12 of Fragile Facade
“You two are fucking stupid for that.” I nod at Remi’s wrists. “Moros knows you’re with Keegan, and if they see your wrists, they’ll figure out who he is. You’ll have to wear long sleeves forever.”
Remi pulls his sleeves down to cover the tattoos and stares at Mom. “At least his mark is better than hers.”
True, I guess. Krypt’s brands are better than the slice Mom left on his wrist because he did them to save my brother, and Mom did them to harm him. I’ll have to work my way past Kyd to confront the fuck out of Axel Graves for making her do that to Remi.
“How’s she been?” Remi asks Selena.
She’ll be finished with school in a few months, and now that she’s initiating with Vile House, I doubt she’ll go back for the next semester. Remi is safe under Krypt’s watchful obsession, and she’s never worried about me as much, so there’s no point in killing herself studying psychology for our curse anymore.
“The same. Mostly absent but has lucid moments. Always asks about Malone or Graves.”
Both of which are at the asylum—Axel as a scientist and Malone as a lab rat.
“What’re we doing with her?” Selena asks, looking at both of us. “I say we just back off and let her be.”
“You shouldn’t stay here. Stay at Vile House or the Hallows’ place. Anywhere but here.” I look at my sister, proud of her for how she’s been doing. “You still have months before you level up, but you can stay in the lower-ranking rooms.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waves me off. “Again, I ask, what are we doing with her?”
“Back off and let her be,” Remi agrees with Selena. “Even if she gets her mind back, something isn’t right with her.”
Yeah, she’s too focused on Gregory Malone. Krypt knows something, but he hasn’t told me what, and I’m getting real sick of his shit lately. Fucker is too obsessed with my brother. I once threatened him that if he raped my brother, I’d rape his…
Maybe it’s time to make good on that promise.
5
SLIPPING
RIOT
Misfit Hall ispathetic compared to Vile House. Our house has character, tunnels, and creepy old treatment rooms that speak to the sinister, evil-experimental side of me. Vile House is as alive as Moros herself, but Misfit Hall is a fucking joke. It used to be a fire station, but now it’s uncared for, dirty, and trashy as hell.
The difference between a gang like The Misfits and us is that we don’t publicly gloat. They throw parties, invite the town to their house, decorate the lawn with red plastic cups, cigarette butts, and beer cans, and generally have all sorts of lowlifes passed out in their numerous beds. We don’t invite anyone but Vile members into our house, unless they’re there to make a bargain.
We respect our space; they destroy their space.
No wonder Moros doesn’t value The Misfits anymore.
I’m early for my meeting with Yates, but I’m here on purpose. Unmasked. Ghost has been slinking around this place for an hour, planting all the devices without anyone noticing him. He’s bored here. The jobs don’t require all his skills, and it’s eating away at him to have to fake it as a member of the gang. So, when he walks into the room he uses as his own here, he sees me sitting on his bed and closes the door behind him.
He's easy to read if you catch him without his shields up, so before he can slam them into place, I catch the rage and the boredom on his face. He fucking loathes that I get to come here as a masked member of the ten while he’ll have to stand at Yates’ side as a lower-ranking member of a useless crew. It makes me grin, and that earns me a fist flying at my face.
I grab it and throw him down on his bed, climbing atop to straddle the feisty bastard. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“The fuck are you doing here?” He bucks, trying to dislodge me. “If you blow my cover with Yates, I’ll help Director kill you.”
“No you won’t.” I smile at him just because he hates it. His blue eyes narrow on my mouth, and his body tenses beneath me, so fucking lithe and toned it gets me going. “What fun would a trip to Hell be if I’m not there herding you exactly where you want to go?”
“I have fun all on my own, thanks,” he says, lifting his hands to throw me off. I pin them beside his dark blond head. “Get the fuck outta my space, Ri-Killian. Jesus. Why are you all up in my business lately?”
“A bargain,” I deadpan, loving how this feels. When I straddled him in his grave, he was so pliant and still. I like the lively version of him even more. “Is this how you fuck people when you’re here? On your back so they don’t see your Vile House tats?”
“From behind,” he snaps. “Want me to show you?”
I definitely do, but he’s not riled up enough yet. I won’t fuck him until he begs, and to be honest, I don’t know if he’ll drop his pride enough to do so. Not with words, anyway. He’ll pull a move, try to overpower me, make true on his threat to rape me, and that’ll be his begging. I’ll know it when I see it. I’ll expect it when I manipulate it out of him.
I hum from deep within my throat as the night sky makes an appearance outside. His face darkens, but his eyes light up because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he loves this. A challenge. An opponent. A way to blow off steam and be fucking sick about it. There’s a reason we’ve been fighting for years, but now that it’s part of an actual deal we made, it’s coming to a breaking point, and Soren Sauder loves the unknown of it.
