Page 21 of Fragile Facade
When thunder cracks, my sanity splits away from my personality, letting my true self shine. Because Iamrepressed. I do get hard for the sinister shit. I crave a level of depravity that has everything to do with the thrill of it, the danger of it, the sickening need to test myself and prove that I’m goddamn invincible. A suicide curse hasn’t beaten me yet, and I’m desperate to know what else I can get away with.
Riot’s charming smile morphs into something purely mephistophelian, enticing my jigsaw puzzle pieces that aren’t glued down as tightly as I thought they were.
“When this thing ends,” he starts, hand clamping tight around my throat to press against my arteries, “we’re both going to be dead.”
“Promise?” I taunt him again.
“Promise.” He licks his lips, drawing my attention to his mouth. “Mask on, Ghost. And I don’t mean this one.” He looks straight into my eyes, telling me to be myself around him. For some reason, it sounds like a cry for help. Because Riot is the one who wears so many masks, I wonder if he knows his true face anymore. I glimpsed the real him when I cut him, but it was only a tease. A peek, something I hope to strip away bit by bit to leave him bare. “They’ll be here any minute.”
Inhaling desire, knowing it’s full of depravity and death, I pull my mask down and become the Ghost of Moros again. We climb the tree, perch over Yates and Tom, and when the person they’re meeting shows up, everything changes.
Because Benton Wentworth, the billionaire funding Axel’s research and the man who tried to buy Moros, is back, meeting with Yates.
Greedy fucker didn’t learn his lesson on Initiation Night.
* * *
Death Row isvacant by the time we walk down the centre of it just before dawn. The crows and ravens are barely awake, and the sky is darker than it was at midnight now that the moon is gone, no longer peeking through the clouds.
The owner of the Neon Demon walks out, throwing a trash bag in the dumpster between the club and The Midnight Diner. She gives us a nod, touches her fist to her heart, and lights a smoke as she walks home.
It’s still drizzling, and the sky is webbed with the odd bolt of lightning, but otherwise, everything in Moros feels settled. Which is deceptive considering how much turmoil is coming our way.
Reaper Corp is a major threat. They’re an organization that plays by no one’s rules but their own. They breed their own people, basing their skill set on a gene pool they pluck from, and they hold so much power because theyactually arestronger than everyone else.
“Why Moros?” I ask Riot during a rare moment of peace. It bothers me to ask because I don’t like to look uneducated, but… he’s broken, not perfect, making me feel less pressure to be perfect right now.If he calls me out on it, I’ll just remind him how inferior he is to me.
He doesn’t look at me. “Why does Reaper Corp want it?” he asks. I nod. “Secluded. Strong gene pool. Government and law enforcement don’t touch this place. Perfect spot to build a new stronghold and gain more control.”
“What control, though?” We turn down the street next to Cauldron, heading for Misfit Hall. “Like, what’s their actual goal?”
Reaper Corp is well-known, but there’s a lot of mystery surrounding them. Essentially, they’re Vile House, but on a global scale instead of a town-sized scale. They took over a whole city down south, turned it into a walled-off community they run, and somehow either bullied or convinced the citizens to become part of them. But Reaper Corp doesn’t just breed mercenaries and talented killers; they breed geniuses, scientists, mathematicians, soldiers, doctors, and leaders. They pick and choose the qualities in their new breeds through DNA sequencing, but I’ve never understood why.
“They breed the best, so they are the best. They’re stronger than any government, and whoever tries to challenge them loses. They control laws and politics, the medical industry, and the tech industries, so they’re greedy and just want more. Total domination is why,” Riot answers. “That’s their actual goal. They’re like you. Just do shit to see if they can.” He grins without looking at me.
It’s all too much to think about, and this calmness between us isn’t as settling as I hoped it’d be. “If Moros goes down, I’m going down with her.”
“Oh, you’re going down long before that,” Riot says, laughing. “Hurry up. Let’s get this shit done so I can go lure someone with a smile and fuck until I pass out.”
I hate his laugh so much that I slip away from him and move through the streets like the ghost I am, planting the rest of the audio devices in Misfit Hall without his help. Because it’s not his laugh I hated, it’s what he said.
9
WICKEDEST MASK
RIOT
It’sSaturday and everything hurts. Nostalgia hurts worse than pain because the agony of it is so blunt and unwanted. I hate this house, the memories of my parents, the life my brother lived, and the uncertainty of my life while I resided here. To stand here, in the place I allowed Krypt to go unloved and unwanted, clashes with the memory of the night we killed our parents in this same spot.
He went through hell, but more importantly, I embarrassed myself by not being the older brother. The shame of it is what fucks me up.
To the left, I see my parents whispering about sending Keegan away. To my right, I see their blood splattered all over the walls and carpet, our teenage selves coming to life for the first time. Such misery and relief mixed in such a small space. A house that never felt like a home, but a building that holds the only memories of our early lives.
Let it go or keep it?
Torture or reprieve?
Why the fuck does this house still have a hold on me?
