Page 48 of Sick Bargain

“It’s regrets, isn’t it?” I ask Matterson. “That’s what I thought about when Krypt almost killed me.”

Ghost glares at his best friend.

“I thought about my brothers, my dad, and all the people you took from my mom. Are you thinking about your kids, Reeven?Are you thinking about your wives? How many of them have you failed? Are you thinking about how much better off they’ll be without you?” I hit the knife in his chest, driving it a little deeper. “Reeven Matterson, founder of the pathetic Matter Cult. You’re fucking nothing! You wanna know why?” I stand, shivering with need. Need for what? I don’t know. “Because I fucking made you nothing.”

“Fuck,” Krypt groans.

Ghost hauls Matterson to his feet, and then black masks are there to help carry the dying man to the basement. “You good?” Ghost asks, getting right in my face. I nod, looking past him to latch onto Krypt’s gaze. “You’re good,” Ghost says with a laugh. “Don’t take too long.”

With that, everyone leaves me alone with Krypt on the stage of a theatre room in an old asylum house. Unmasked and bloody, frenzied and broken, cracked in half but healing.

“Look at me,” Krypt demands, grabbing my chin and forcing my eyes to his. “Oh, fuck, Remiel.” He growls low in his throat. “This is what it feels like tonotbe the hero. This is death and energy. This is wickedness and goodness morphed into one fucked up feeling. Feel it,” he commands. “Fucking feel it.”

I am feeling it. I’m humming with it. Vibrating and ready to explode. It’s overwhelming and powerful, and no part of me wants to let it go. It’s a high I’ll never top and a sensation I’ll never replicate. It’s what makes a serial killer a serial killer, because nothing—fucking nothing—can top this euphoric haze of pure power.

“Are you powerful?” Krypt asks, voice jittery.

“Yes.”

“Are you deadly?”

“Yes.”

“Are you the hero?”

“My hero. My own hero.”

He hums under his breath, sinking into this feeling with me. He builds it, makes it stronger, taunts it and teases it until I’m damn near ready to explode with it.

Then he takes it all away.

“I’m the antihero,” he snarls at me. “And you’re still mine. Fucking feel this, Remiel.” He drops his hand to squeeze my throat.

“What?” I bark at him. “Feel what?”

Like a bad omen, he whispers, “Fear.”

The energy of everything changes, and dread suffocates me. My cock is unbearably hard.

17

FEELINGS I CAN’T NAME

KRYPT

Remiel’s liptrembles and his eyes water as his blood-high sinks into the pits of despair. Yes, he killed a man, and I’m proud of him for slaying his demons, but he will never be more powerful than me. Because I won’t let him be. Because he doesn’t want to be. I took the power role right from the beginning, and he’s gotten comfortable under my control. He feels important there, and I don’t think Remiel has ever felt important before.

My hero doesn’t want to be the almighty. He wantsmeto be his deity.

He wants to be scared.

I pull my mask back down and tilt my head at him, waiting for him to challenge me. He won’t, but the option is there if he wants to try.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, shaking for a whole new reason.

“I’m a killer who hasn’t killed. A hunter who let his prey get away. A madman with a fucking need that hasn’t been met.” I trail a knife from the hollow in his throat down his sternum.

“Wh-what need?”

---