One of my pack brothers tossed an arm over my shoulders. I lifted my head, glancing to my right, and finding Asher. He waggled his eyebrows.
“Smells like team spirit in here, don’t it?” His gaze moved to the photographs.
“Smells like gas,” I said bluntly.
ASHER.
“About that,” I gave a casual shrug. “I’ve got a surefire plan to stop this bullshit before it even starts. Bitch won’t even make it through the front door.”
“Oh?” Xander lifted one eyebrow, probably knowing exactly what I was about to suggest. “Pray tell.”
"Okay, hear me out,” I paused dramatically, giving his shoulder a squeeze and then taking away my arm so I could move to face him, back up against the wall of photos. “How about we just set the whole place on fire?"
I grinned, a devilish spark warming my chest as the suggestion rolled off my tongue. I’d been holding it back for awhile. Damn, it would be so easy. I already had a few filled-to-the-top gas cans squirreled away in the house. Xander gave me a look that read ‘exasperated schoolteacher’. But it was a different one of my brothers who actually responded. I hadn’t even heard him approach; my mind had been too overwhelmed envisioning our house being consumed by flames. Hot reddish orange licking up walls, heating glass, melting shingles. It would be a glorious sight.
“Jesus, you’re such a damn pyro,” Kane grumbled, leaning in the doorway between foyer and living area, arms crossed over his chest. He wore a deep frown, but his dark eyes held thinly veiled laughter.
“You love it.” I countered, leaving Xander and approaching Kane. “I keep you warm.”
“You will not set fire to our home, Asher. At least, not until we have time to empty it,” Fallon chimed in from near the coffee table. He held the recycling bin, taking empty liquor bottles and spreading them around the room. Thanks to Xander’s prolific drinking lately, the Omega was going to think we were raging alcoholics. Hell, we were sometimes.
I waggled my eyebrows. “But the house burns better if it’s full of shit. Flammable carpet, combustible cleaning supplies, wood furniture.”
“Drop it, Asher. Go burn something other than the house,” this from Xander, who’d gone back to replacing wall decor—this time working on the opposite foyer wall, taking down the shadow boxes with our original DemonX team jackets.
“You guys are no fun,” I sighed dramatically, pushing past Kane into the living room and heading towards the fireplace. Deep down, I knew I wouldn’t really burn down our pack home. Well, I probably wouldn’t.
Though it wasn’t satisfying, I built a raging fire, which seemed fucking useless in the security of the hearth.
Or maybe it wouldn’t be. Maybe I could show the Omega how beautiful flames are as they kiss flesh. Would she balk at the smell of charred skin? If I let myself burn, would she let me burn her too?
I stood up, eyes locked on the crackling, blackening wood.
NITRO.
I heard the others, but I didn’t take part in the banter.
Moving to the doorway between foyer and living room, I placed the female-shaped target down, wicked thoughts making my body tingle. I hadn’t had the chance to use this one in a long time. I liked how closely the cut-out silhouette bordered a real woman when she stood against the black shape, like a second shadow behind her.
When I threw blades, I had to be precise. A fraction one way or the other and I’d either miss the target or hit the woman. I’d grazed my assistant during one show, which is why it had been shoved in my closet all this time. But the Omega was my perfect prey. I didn’t know what she looked like, but I imagined a small, sickly figure. I mapped her curves. I saw how tall she stood. I saw my blades outlining her. Maybe I’d be less than perfect, maybe my aim wouldn’t be true. Maybe I’d graze her skin here and there, little slice by little slice, making her beautifully bleed.
My hands vibrated, desire thinly contained, as I pulled a paint pen from my pocket.
With each scarlet stroke, a delightful promise unfolded.
“10 points” tattooed the forehead.
“20 points” pierced the heart.
“15 points” slashed the neck.
“25 points” severed the wrists.
Lastly, “50 points” deliberately penned over that oh-so delicate place.
I added a twisted smile for good measure.
Lowering the marker to my side, gripping it loosely in my fist, I wondered if I should ink other areas.
