Page 20 of Fragile Facade
“Monster.”
He looks at me again, his eyes shining through his mask. He just shakes his head as if to say he simply can’t. He justcan’ttalk right now. I lived a shit life with my parents, but it wasn’t because of how they treated me. I had to live with the inner shame that I watched my brother get neglected for so long before I learned to do anything about it—even my trauma is selfish. But Monster lived through true horror. From birth to eight he was used, abused, raped, sold, rented by the hour, and conditioned to believe the mentality of a serial rapist’s ways. Until Vile House saved him from the situation, but not from himself. Not even Psych can get through to him after all this time. Only Ransom can, and to be honest, none of us are clear on their dynamic. It’s none of our business, despite how badly I wish it was.
Monster holds out his phone, showing me a text from Ghost.
Yates on the move. I’m following him. Meet me at Janie’s Woods.
Knowing Lock isn’t in any danger he can’t handle tonight, I leave him a Vile House calling card with my white trademark on the front as a form of contact before we head out to Janie’s Woods. When we creep through the forest, I almost get nostalgic for the other night when I see the pond on Carnival Hill. Fuck, the way he drowned was glorious, but the way he came back was even better.
Why would Yates meet someone in Janie’s Woods? It's out behind the asylum, the closest forest to Vile House, and the riskiest for him to be caught in because so many of us spend time in these woods, tempting the history of Carnival Hill—a sacrificial piece of land that is still used today.
When we arrive, I don’t hear or see Ghost, but tonight, he’s masked as a Vile Boy, so there’s a high probability that we won’t see him until he wants to be seen. Fuck, can he move silently.
8
PROMISES PROMISES
GHOST
The rain bathesmy heated skin in relief, drawing a satisfied smile from behind my mask. I love the rain. I love the weather. I love the way it charges me, the webbed lightning in the air igniting my soul and turning me fiendish.
My feet are silent on the damp forest floor, the patter of the rain giving me cover and the rustle of the leaves providing kinship. Krypt met us here, so him and Monster are watching from the west, but I’m the Ghost of Moros, moving through Janie’s Woods as swiftly as the breeze.
Riot is my target. He got the better of me out here the other night, and now it’s my turn. He’s supposed to be the one watching me—keeping track of me. Didn’t he take over my brother’s bargain, agreeing to keep me so well monitored I can’t take another step in Death’s direction? He’s fucking failing. Miserably. Hard to keep tabs on a ghost, and I have no intention of making his job easier.
Yates and Tom are at the edge of the clearing, the glint of the moon reflecting off the surface of the pond Riot drowned me in not far from where they stand. Whoever they’re waiting for isn’t here yet, so I keep moving like a phantom, skirting around them until I come up behind Riot.
He doesn’t hear me. Because I don’tlethim hear me. His back faces me, his black outfit blending in with the night, damp from the rain and sticking to his athletic body. He’s leaning against a tree, his chest pressed to it while he watches Yates and Tom through the forest. His white and black mask is strapped to his head, but the hood of his jacket is pulled up to hide his hair from me. I like his hair, dark and wavy, and a little long at the back for the style he wears it in, but suitable all the same.
Krypt is out of sight, but I peer up, seeing Monster in the treetop to our left, watching, but not caring enough to listen to what I’m about to do. Their masks are covered with a black bandana to hide the glow, and their hoods are up to shield their eyes as they watch from above.
Keeping my movements fluid, I stalk closer to him without making a sound. There's hypocrisy in what I do. I like recognition and attention, so being a ghost is detrimental to my need for fame. But it’s not all bad because no one can move like I do, and pride swells within me every time I get something done that no one else can do. I’m needed, prized, skilled, unlike the others, and I love throwing it in their faces.
When I’m right behind Riot, I slow my breathing, move in a way that doesn’t make my jacket rustle, and press up behind him. My hand clamps over his masked mouth as he startles, pushing the firm material against his face, and the majority of my body presses against his, pinning him to the tree. He stiffens in my hold but doesn’t try to break free. He sinks into me, as if he were the one who lured me here.
I don’t appreciate being deceived, so I ignore that feeling and bring my mouth to the side of his head. “You’re doing a shit job of keeping your side of the bargain. Remi will be so disappointed.”
He hums against the mask in the palm of my hand, his body pressing back against mine. He bucks me, then whispers, “I know you, Ghost. You think I don’t know when you’re tempting death or just doing something for attention? You’re the biggest attention whore I’ve ever met.”
I am, but I don’t like being called out on it. “Got your attention, didn’t I?”
He presses his ass back to find my dick hard. “Sure did.”
I debate pushing him away, but fuck it. My hard-on has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the adrenaline rush of being so casual in a dangerous situation. I’m a thrill-seeker by nature, and Riot always provides a savage thrill. Especially when he pisses me off.
“You think you made me hard?”
He huffs out a laugh, spinning in my grip. I press against him harder, unwilling to let him get the upper hand. I glance past him, making sure no one has shown up to meet with Yates and Tom, and when I look back at his face, his mask is up and he’s giving me one of those bullshit smiles.
“I think you get hard for the most sinister shit. And you’ve been repressed. Can’t find a fuck buddy who gets your level of depravity, and you have to be so careful because of your tats and The Misfits.” His hand comes up between our bodies while my stomach jolts at the truth of his statement. His fingers curl around my throat and he pushes my mask up so he doesn’t miss my facial expression. “Should I add another level to this deal we have, Ghost? See how close I can fuck you to death?”
My cock throbs against his hip, making him smirk. “Nah. I don’t get off on being the one fucked to death.”
His smile only widens at my lie. “Ah, you want the easy way out, yeah? Fuck a little doll to their death?”
No.“Yeah. Have my eyes on that sad guy with the dead dad. He seems like a nice, sexy little doll, don’t you think?”
Riot’s grey eyes storm. His smile never falters, though. The moment stalls, building in intensity as the rain picks up and thunder joins the lightning. A new game has just been declared, and I hate that I don’t know what will win me my victory. Poor kid might become the rope between us, and when we’re through, he’ll be so frayed and strained he’ll snap in half.
