Page 172 of Priest and his Anarchist

His face covered with his signature diamond black skull mask, with one eye caged behind bars, and the sharpness of his fangs elongated. If I didn’t feel his familiar darkness crawl over me like an entity all on its own, I’d still second-guess who it was.

It’s a lazy stroll as if toying with his prey. If I hadn’t already worked it out when they didn’t come to save me, the realization that Corbin was right is sealed. He didn’t know about us being twins until after the fact, and judging by the way he’s circling, he didn’t come for me. The words of what everyone has said over the years come back to me. About how he felt about her. I’m going to say that when he did it, he wished it was me that he killed, and that he still had her.

The muscles in his body flex with every step. I hate that I know what it felt like to be loved by him, even if it wasn’t real. I don’t have to see the tattoo on his back to know who he is.

I hold my chin high as another song starts. He points the machete straight at me as the blood from the victims at our feet drips off the blade. “Cities” by Two Feet starts.

“Well, you heard him, Darling.”

He stops walking. Thankfully a safe distance away from me since he sounds more than pissed.

His boot leaves a footprint on one of the bodies. “Dance.”

I sidestep, but he follows, tracing my every move. Like two lions in a cave, we watch each other. The molly rushes through my body and when the beat drops, I do as I’m told.

I dance. It’s not until I twist into his embrace that I feel that familiar weight of fear drop, holding me in place.

Fuck it.

Arching my back, I bend over, pushing my ass into him, the first rush of heat surging me to life when I feel him already hard. Swinging my hair in a circle, I slowly lift myself back up, turning to face him front on before shoving him onto one of the chairs in the center of the room. He falls, but it’s not because of my force.

Widening my legs, I straddle his waist and roll my hips, ensuring to rub myself over the outline of his cock. He is home to me, but I am hell for him. The song finishes and I push myself off, my back colliding with the glass wall. I find Corbin just in time to watch him slip out of the room.

The feeling of knowing you’re about to die isn’t one that can be swallowed with anything, much less a weak drop of molly. It’s the roll of sweat down the base of your spine, or the final blink without knowing you won’t open your eyes again.

Do or die, Luna. This is do or die because I’m pretty sure you’re going to die anyway.

I open my eyes again in time to see another shirtless, bloodied person clutching his machete on his shoulder and wearing a mask much like Priest’s, only littered with a sprinkling of rubies. Vaden.

Corbin falls to the ground, crawling backward on his hands. “I’m sorry!” He throws his hands up to protect himself. “Please, I just want Danny back—the Minister is the only person. I want—his attention, we haven’t seen?—”

Vaden’s head tilts to the side as if examining him like one would an insect.

My eyes open on Priest again, a brow perched in challenge.

“Okay, Rabbit. Let’s play.”

The mask doesn’t cover his lips, and with the lights flickering, it delays movements by a millisecond.

My blood turns hot when the corner of his mouth twitches to a smirk. Even without my throwing stars, I know how to protect myself. From Priest? No. With or without a machete, but there’sgot to be a part of his dark and dirty soul that sees her when he looks at me. I’m hoping that part decides to keep me alive the same way it has all these years. It dawns on me like a sad nightmare.

He thinks I’m pretending to be her, and he’s let me this whole time.

Nothing but his eyes move. “What’s the matter, Madness? Don’t wanna play anymore?”

In waves, everything rolls into me in soft but unwelcome waves. The last one hits me hard, so heavy I slide to the ground. My world as I know it slips between my fingers, an overwhelming sadness too much for me to hold in. The years, the back and forth of not knowing where I belong, the emotions, the confusion, the games.

It’s too much.

The tears that well in my eyes blur the room in an array of blood and fools. “Vermilion Pt 2” plays, in some sick, twisted way of the universe taunting me, as if a lifetime wasn’t enough.

Laughter leaves my chest, sharp and hollow. I swipe at the tears running down my cheek, sniffing and resting my head against the wall.

Nothing helps calm my spiral.

Not deep, slow breathing.

Not my eyes closing out the disaster around me.

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