“I would do anything for you, Vero. Except watch another man take what’s mine.”
“Would you bury a body for me?”
I rasp out a laugh. “I would kill that person and bury them for you, all so you didn’t have to get your hands dirty. Now get your costume back on—it’s time for you to shine. I will see you in a few hours.”
He pulls on his jumpsuit, grabs the Hannibal mask, and slips his hands through the handcuffs attached to the belt around his waist. The chains are extra long, so they don’t restrict his movement, but they complete the look.
Screams pierce the air, and it’s my cue to leave. Since we don’t have anyone to chase tonight, I know he likely won’t leave the room; he is more there for the jump scare.
I’m walking toward the front entrance when a girl runs inside and screams when she notices me. I don’t stick around to see who is chasing her; instead, I head to the bar, where I find Nixie talking to Ares.
He thinks he has fooled everyone, but I see the fucker for who he is.
Ares leans on the bar, listening intently to whatever Nixie is saying. This is a safe space for the broken; it’s bullshit, but not ina way most people would think. He isn’t cold like Clay, or manic like Vero, or even a slave to violence like me—he is something worse. Ares is a puppet master who has convinced everyone he is holding the strings for their own good.
He leans in close to Nixie, his large body easily fitting across the bar. Whatever it is he says, she is eating up. She always does; everyone does. That’s the thing about Ares—he knows exactly what you need to hear.
Truth is, he doesn’t actually give a fuck about anyone; he cares about control, about being the person everyone runs to for help. Vero trusts him, Clay respects him, even Nixie goes to him for advice. Fuck, so do I. He has made us all need him. Ares needs to be needed. He loves it—not with any genuine emotion, because I don’t think he feels all that much, but it feeds him in a way. He is the one holding us all together, in a design of his making, so that we would fall apart without him.
The difference between him and me is that I know what I am. I’m a violent motherfucker who is obsessed with Vero, and I don’t pretend to be anything else. Ares hides his loneliness behind his understanding persona. But someone who is normal and lonely seeks connection, whereas he seeks power.
“Brawley,” Ares says when he notices me, his voice warm and welcoming, like he is genuinely happy to see me. That right there is what makes him the most dangerous of us all. He is so good at pretending that sometimes I almost believe it.
“Ares, Nix,” I reply, taking a seat beside Nixie.
“Still covered in blood. It was a good fight.”
I snort—it really wasn’t. Clay barely even tried because he wanted to feel physical pain. “Now he knows not to mess with what’s mine.”
Nixie elbows me in the ribs; it’s no secret Clay is her favorite. Ares nods, as if he understands what it’s like to love someone so much you would beat a man. But he doesn’t; hecan’t. That would require him to feel something, and I know he feels nothing except the need to be in control of everyone else’s feelings. That is why he will never be like me—I’m honest, even if what I am is fucked up. Ares will die never knowing who he really is, all because he is too busy worrying about what everyone thinks. And that makes him more dangerous than all of us combined.
“So, this girl,” Nixie says, knowing damn well any black wristband that goes on a woman for Vero will need to be run past me, or she may end up at the bottom of the ocean.
“Get her here. And before you start, I do not give a shit what Clay wants. He can get his panties in a bunch over something else.”
Ares and Nixie laugh, then she surprises me by saying, “Oh, Clay also has a wristband for her, and I’m throwing Ares in the mix to make sure you all stay alive.”
I turn and my eyes find his; now I know exactly what he was talking to Nixie about when I walked in. He is up to something, and it’s only a matter of time before I find out what. But as long as he leaves Vero out of it, he won’t die by my hands.
Kayla
It’s rare I get a night off, but Rogue forced me into it, and when she has her mind set on something, that’s just how it is. However, she didn’t say I couldn’t come in, get wasted, and pick up—even though it’ll likely be a disappointing waste of my time.
I don’t even know why I bother with men. Life would be so much easier if I liked women sexually—maybe they would listen to what I need. Is it too much to ask to be fucked with some force? Or maybe I’m the problem; a light spanking and mediocre hair pulling just doesn’t do it for me anymore.
As I stroll into The Pit, Rogue gives me the stink eye, so I wave and blow her a kiss.
Doren, our huge bartender, walks over to me and pours me a shot of tequila, then slides a wedge of lime and a salt packet my way with a wink. I wish he wasn’t gay—someone his size would be able to throw me around a little.
“How’s the boyfriend? You ready to ditch him for me yet?” I drawl by way of greeting.
Doren laughs. “Did you magically grow a nine-inch cock overnight?”
“I did not, but I am happy to purchase a ten-inch one if that helps.”
Doren shakes his head, as we joke about this a lot. I love his boyfriend Mitchell, who is also a massive mountain of a man. He offered to let me watch him manhandle Doren, but I don’t want to get jealous and horny at the same time.
“Looks like I walked in at the right time. Talking about cocks, mine is only eight and a half inches, but if you are looking for a ten, I know a guy. He is super nice but has that look in his eye that you just know means he is freaky in bed.”
