Page 13 of Fragile Facade
I love the unknown ofhim.
I grin and he glares, but when someone knocks on the door, his eyes turn panicky.
“Sauder? You in there?”
Ghost tries to shove me off to hide, but I pin him down as the door opens. Lockan Tate, one of Moros’ most deceptive men and a member of The Misfits, walks in, pausing when he catches me straddling Ghost. I’m unmasked, and Lock is about to make his own assumptions that’ll piss Ghost off. Even better.
“Didn’t know you two fucked,” he says, closing the door behind him. “Killian.”
“Lockan.” I give him one of my charming smiles, but there’s trouble etched into it. Lockan’s bright green eyes stay on me a few extra seconds, like everyone’s do when they aren’t sure if I’m flirting with them or not, so I meld my smile into a grin and lick my lips. Most people melt, but Lockan just grins back, combing his tattooed fingers through his flop of dark and gold hair to push it back.
Little does Lockan know, his adoptive brother—for lack of a better term—is also my Vile House brother. Glitch has kept the secret from his lifelong friend since he joined, and if it ever comes to light, I’m excited to see how the pieces fall.
When Ghost bucks and tries to throw me off again, I wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze. Not against his windpipe this time, but against the arteries on either side of his neck, proving to him just how well I know how to restrict blood flow to give him a buzz. He takes the hint, eyes widening and lips parting. Ah, such a good boy.
“Am I interrupting?” Lock asks, walking into the room to take something off Ghost’s dresser. “Because I’m not leaving. Give me a show. Better than being out there.” He leans his ass against the edge of the dresser and lights a joint.
Looking down, I see Ghost’s face turn red. I hate red skin. It’s such a weakness not being able to mask your sweaty, flushed features to hide how you feel. Pathetic fools. It irks me to see he has this weakness. I grin, and when I lean my weight back to find his cock thickening beneath my ass, I grin wider.
“I win,” I tell him. “Admit it.”
“Fuck you,” he pants.
“Admit it.”
His hips buck and his knee cracks against my ribs. He throws me off his body and coughs, rubbing at his throat. I laugh, wincing a bit at my ribs, but when I look at him, the victory is in the way he’s so fucking ruffled.Yeah, sweetheart, keep thinking about it. Start begging.
“Shit, you two are hot,” Lock says. “How long has this been?—”
“It’s not. Ever.” Ghost stands, taking the joint from Lock. “Don’t comment on it, asshole.”
Lock laughs, not at all fazed by Ghost’s mood. “Thought you were best friends with Keegan? You been living a ‘best friend’s brother’ fantasy behind his back?”
I chuckle, climbing off the bed. “Bet he creates some amazing fantasies in that dark head of his,” I say, standing with Lock. “Bet I star in them all.”
“Fuck you… Killian.” Ghost inhales the joint. We don’t often fuck up on names outside of our masks, but his temper has always made him stupid, so Lockan notices the hesitation.
To stop the topic, I say, “He usually calls me sweetheart, but he’s embarrassed.”
Ghost’s exhale is shaky. “You need something?” he asks Lock.
“To get the fuck out of this building,” Lock says. “Yates is all worked up about…” He glances at me because I’m the outsider here, and I shouldn’t know about the meeting tonight.
“About me, right?” Ghost asks. “Because I’m requested at this meet-up?”
“Yeah.” Lock nods. “This fucking crew, man. Not what it used to be…”
Ghost doesn’t disagree. Now that I know Lockan hates it here as much as Ghost, it gives me an idea of who Director has in mind to take over The Misfits. Lockan is thirty, like me, and he’s been a loyal member of this crew since he was fifteen. Back then, the leader was awesome and cared about Moros, the locals, and his crew more than anything. Yates fucked everything up and turned them useless and lost them respect in town.
“Don’t you have somewhere better to be?” Ghost asks me. “Fuck off.”
I grin at Lock and then shift it into a smirk I create for Ghost only. “See you later, sweetheart.”
I leave Misfit Hall and head back to the asylum to change and get ready to meet Yates. All the while, my mask slips off and I stop forcing my smile. The pressure fades away as I exhale, and every fake facade slips away, leaving me exhausted from holding everything in place for so long.
Alone, I don’t have to act for anyone. My face can be blank enough to scare because no one is around to terrify. I’ve trained myself to be the perfect representation of whatever is needed in the moment, and without a mask in place… I’m blank. Because under all the pretend and the acting, I don’t know who I am anymore. When I don’t have a person or a situation to manipulate, I don’t know what to do.
It eats at me, this need to be something but never knowing if it’s the real me or a fake version of me. I’ve become so good at pretending that I don’t know how to drop the act, to let it go and let my personality shine through. I don’t even know if I have a personality or if every facet of me has been fabricated over the years, molding and shaping me into whatever version of myself is necessary to survive.
