When he was close, he shoved Regan back. He wanted to orgasm as far away from Regan as possible.
Fisting his dick over Regan’s face and shooting cum all over his sharp features. Regan moved to get up, but Bryson rested ahand on his shoulder. “I want you down at my feet, cum all over your face, while you tell me what the fuck is going on that has you agitated.”
Regan’s pupils dilated. He liked depraved games, and it was clear, in his very sick way, he liked Bryson.
“My father was going to come here today,” Regan said, and Bryson had to hide his sudden interest. “He was going to come and then that bitch got in the way.”
Something painful caught in Bryson’s chest.
“And then he was going to have me take care of it. Had me get a team together and everything,” Regan continued, focused on his own loss rather than the subtle shift in energy that was happening above him.
“Why is she in the way?” Bryson asked, hoping, praying that they were not talking about who he thought they were talking about.
Regan laughed, the cum still sticking to his stupid face. “It was only a matter of time before she started asking questions. But I don’t think my father expected her to zero in on him so quickly. He’s always had a blind spot for her.”
Bryson held his breath. Regan was talking without prompts and he didn’t want to break the spell.
Slowly.
Casually.
Bryson reached out, grabbing a hold of his neck. His fingers dug into the sides of Regan’s flesh as he said, “And your father took your team for himself and left you behind.”
Regan nodded, looking up into Bryson’s eyes.
There was something in them. Something that made Bryson feel sick.
Bryson had done this. He had opened the door to Regan’s darkness, and now the darkness was smiling back.
“The joke is, he doesn’t even have to go to her. She is coming to him.” Regan laughed, and a chill shot down Bryson’s spine.
Regan and Bryson were darkness, but Regan underestimated Bryson.
He would never see it coming.
Not because what Bryson was about to do was crazy, stupid, reckless and completely insane, but because Regan only knew how to love himself.
He didn’t know what it meant to love another. How that feeling could focus the darkness into something good.
All Regan knew was hate and pain.
Bryson increased the pressure on Regan’s neck, and at first Regan leaned into it. But when Bryson leaned down, pressing his body into Regan, clarity reached Regan’s eyes. He saw what he had missed before.
“You won’t get there in time,” Regan whispered as Bryson put his weight on top of him.
Bryson ran his tongue along the edge of Regan’s face. The taste of himself and Regan mingling in his mouth. “You don’t know us. What we can do when we put our minds to something.”
Regan smiled. It was a sickly sight. He didn’t even struggle against Bryson’s hand. Bryson thought of Mavric and how he needed a full dose of Fentanyl in his system to go quietly. But Regan seemed so calm.
Alarm bells rang in Bryson’s mind just a second too late.
Pain erupted on his left thigh and before he knew it, he and Regan were struggling together.
Bryson brought his left arm to his side. Regan’s fingers were still curled around the knife that he had buried into Bryson’s upper leg.
Red blood dripped from Regan’s fingers, and Bryson felt hot liquid pouring from the wound.
“I knew from the first moment I saw you. In that bitch’s kitchen. That one of us would end the other,” Regan said, bringing his knee up and connecting with Bryson’s opposite side.
