Page 21 of Sick Bargain

I nod. “Might need your help with one of the names on his list.”

Riot nods and hands me a joint. “Soren?”

“Soren,” I confirm.

Riot lifts his mask and looks at me with a face so similar to mine, eyes full of storms instead of monsters. He grins, nodding. “Soren Sauder,” he repeats. “Dead?” Riot has always had something against Soren, so this will be interesting.

“Controlled.” I walk past him and take Remiel to my room.

It’s about time he learns whose face hides behind my mask.

9

UNMASKED

REMIEL

The tasteof smoke and fear still lingers in my throat. My first coherent thought is for my house, which is probably burnt to the ground by now.

Everything I own is in there, reduced to cinders and ash. Everything I worked hard for, earned all on my own, and paid for with money made from The Ambient Raven. My memories and secrets are in that house, but like my life, it now burns. I don’t even have a vehicle anymore.

Blinking, my eyelids are wet and heavy. My lashes all stick together, and when I rip them apart with another blink, a darkened room with a single glowing light greets me. The light is a neon sign on the wall, a purple skull shining down from one corner of the room.

I immediately know we’re in Vile House because the walls are made of old stone and the draft in the air makes me shiver. The window beside me looks down over the backyard area, the party still going loud and strong.

My lungs hurt when I inhale, making me cough hard enough that a rag shoots out of my mouth and lands on my lap. My almost naked lap. My red boxers are all that cover me, my toned torso naked and my legs and feet bare. Something is written allover my skin—letters and lines snake around my arms and up over my shoulders. Even my thighs are covered in black marker, but it’s too dark to make out the words.

Movement draws my eyes to the glowing purple sign. He’s here. Krypt. The man in the purple mask.

He’s shirtless, standing with his back to me in a pair of black pants and boots. His entire back is tattooed with one design. A skull face in black ink that stretches from the curve in his neck down to the waistband of his pants. The eyes are black and the bones are cracked, the teeth jagged and chipped. KRYPT in block letters is written on a curve below the jaw, and at the very top of the skull, VILE HOUSE glows under the light. Splashes of purple mingle with the design, and it’s so daunting yet so beautiful that I can’t take my eyes off it. Especially when his muscles ripple and the words move with his body.

His mask is on, the strap of it tight around the back of his head. Dark hair waves down to his nape, shaggy and longer than I thought. It should comfort me that I think I recognize his hair, but it only scares me more. I don’t know what he’s doing over there, but his hands are busy and his attention is focused.

“Where’s Cain?” I ask, my voice hoarse and weak.

“You shouldn’t ask about other men while you’re half naked and your body belongs to me,” he says to the wall opposite me.

“It’s not my fault I’m half naked.”

My body isn’t as defined as his. I’m muscled and a little bulky, but not as toned. Tall, but not as tall as him. And he’s clearly proven he’s more dangerous than I am.

“Cain?” I ask again.

“Alive,” is all he answers.

My mind is slow and my body is stiff. I can’t move my arms because they’re tethered to the chair, but I roll my ankles to get the blood moving in case I get the chance to run. All the while, my eyes take in the back of his body. “Why spell Krypt with a K?”

“I don’t like the letter C,” he says. Then he turns around. His chest is bloody from whatever he did after knocking me out, and his mask covers the features of his face, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel his eyes on me. That sixth sense I have sparks to life, and whatever he’s about to do to me will be ruthless. My nape prickles and my thighs clench, anticipating what my brain considers the worst. It probably isn’t even close to what he has in mind. He’s already sexually assaulted me once, and I haven’t had the time to process it yet.

“What’s wrong with the letter C?” I ask, stalling. Instinctively, my arms thrash and try to break free the closer he gets to me. Something buzzes in his hand, and my throat dries. “What’re… what’re you doing with that?”

His head tilts as he studies all the drawings on my body. Now that he isn’t blocking the light, I can see what they are. Krypt. His name, written all over me. My stomach, chest, arms, and thighs are covered in his name, written in different fonts and styles and sizes.

He pulls up a stool and a small cart with black ink pots on it. “To complete our bargain, it must be etched into the skin,” he says. “And blood must be drawn.”

I thrash harder.

“Having second thoughts about the deal we made?”

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