Holden recoiled. “What the fuck? Like a substitute?” He wound both hands in Kit’s hair, trapping him in place. “Darling, darling. Nobody could take your place. Nobody ever. I almost killed a woman on the hiking trails the other week, did you know?”
Kit laughed breathlessly. “How the fuck could I know that?”
“I stopped. Because I wouldn’t enjoy it.” Holden pressed his forehead against Kit’s. His hands were so gentle. “Because there’s no point in killing anyone now, if I’m not killing you.”
The tenderness was overwhelming. Kit shuddered in Holden’s grasp, half wishing his hands were free so he could touch Holden back.
Half grateful he was tied down, so he couldn’t forget where he was. What he was doing.
“I can’t share you, Kit,” Holden whispered. “I just can’t. I thought about stealing you away, but we can’t disappear forever. Your fucking boyfriends will find us. This is the only way I can keep you.”
Holden was right. James, Darius, and Bishop would find them eventually, wherever Holden ran. However smart he was,however well he prepared, Holden was still no match for the rest of Kit’s men if they caught up with him.
Kit wanted all three of them so bad he could barely breathe—but despite everything, he wanted Holden just as much.
Maybe there was a route through this. One narrow, treacherous route to survive with every piece of his heart. And if Kit failed? At least he could die on his own terms. As long as Holden agreed.
“If you’re going to kill me,” Kit said quietly, “I have one request.”
“What is it, darling?”
Kit took a deep breath, then met Holden’s eyes. “Make me suffer.”
38
a ruined masterpiece
Holden tore himself away. “No.” He sat back on the mattress, hard. “You won’t feel a thing. It won’t hurt.”
Kit curled up so pitifully against the wall. His legs bent towards the foot of the bed, and his shoulders hunched forward with the way Holden had tied his hands behind him. Every birdlike bone of Kit’s shoulders protruded beneath his tender skin.
Ethereal, divine, yet so gorgeously human. The bruises only added to Kit’s perfection. The disheveled dark hair. The smeared eyeliner. Kit was a ruined masterpiece.
Kit was perfect. Holden yearned to destroy him.
Yet Holden couldn’t bear to hurt Kit either.
Holden could harbor both contradictory needs in his mind. He could protect his darling while breaking him apart—until Kit captured him with those big green eyes and asked to suffer.
“That’s what I want,” Kit said, his voice ragged. “Torture me while I’m awake to feel it. You can break my vocal cords first, if you’re worried about me screaming.”
Pain hammered inside Holden’s ribs. “Kit, sweetheart.”
Kit smiled horribly. “Kill me slowly. Draw it out. I want to see my own shattered bones, Holden. I don’t just want my blood onyour hands. I want it dripping from your arms, all the way to your elbows.”
Each fantasy sharpened into daggers with Kit’s words.
This was what drew Holden to Kit in the first place. This compelling strangeness. Kit’s glittering soul was riddled with veins of darkness.
“There’s a big toolbox in one of the kitchen cabinets,” Kit said. “Unless the cops took it. There should be a nail gun. Have you ever used a nail gun, Holden?”
“No,” Holden whispered.
“It’s easy.” Kit tipped his head back against the wall, baring the stark lines of his throat. “I wanted you to nail me on that co-op roof, so maybe you could nail pieces of me to the wall instead. A hand here. An organ there.”
“No.” Holden staggered backwards. Everything was too warm. He ripped his hoodie off, but he was still too warm in just his loose tank. His every movement was jerky, abortive, furious energy wanting to pace the room, wanting to run, except he couldn’t look away from Kit. “No, no, no.”
“Leave evidence,” Kit snarled. “Flood this fucking room with my blood. And then throw my body in acid, or a woodchipper. I don’t know how to find a woodchipper, so you’re on your own for that.”
