Page 43 of Three for a Girl

“It—It’s hard to talk about.”

“You got hard afterwards, hard as a fucking rock.”

Chad scrunched his face and ignored the scorch in his cheeks. He couldn’t look at Romeo, he couldn’t look anywhere but at his shoes as he slowly backed off.

“Don’t do that.” Romeo whispered.

“What?”

“Feel all ashamed. We both know you enjoyed watching him die.”

Chad spun on his heels, and hurried out of the outhouse.

He left the backdoor wide open, kept his shoes on, and rushed through the house to get to the shower.

When he thought back on that moment with Marc, his head had been all over the place, but one thing had been constant, and stable, and that had been Romeo.

Romeo had killed his tormentor, and the look of pure euphoria on his face while he did it, Chad didn’t know how to process it, the overwhelm, the intrigue, the arousal.

He’d never seen Romeo looking more incredible, full of power and rage before it eased and another just as mesmerizing sight burned into his retinas. Romeo was happy, genuinely happy, and free, and so was Chad.

He hissed, turning the showing to cold and knocking his head into the tiles. He couldn’t deny it as much as he wished he could. He’d dragged Romeo into a bedroom, lost in a haze ofsomething. It had been intense, and desperate, and Chad’s heart pounded thinking about it.

But it had been Marc Wilson, and in that moment, Chad had wanted him to die. There was no uncertainty, or regret, or guilt, only relief. Marc was a murderer, he needed to be held accountable, punished, and it was Romeo who delivered swift justice, and Chad had enjoyed it, but the thought of Romeo killing anyone else … letting it happen … standing by and watching…

He couldn’t do it.

He wouldn’t do it.

****

Marc had practiced before cutting into him.

He showed Chad on a wooden board, his artistic numbers. 5 to 2, and when he finally cut into Chad’s flesh, he grinned, and remarked how much smoother the scalpel cut through his flesh. He only needed a soft pressure for Chad’s body to split open and spill, and the excitement on his face when it ran to the bed beneath made Chad want to thrash, struggle, kick his legs, and shake his head, make it difficult for Marc, mess up his numbers.

He’d been drugged.

Paralyzed into staying still, able to feel, but unable to defend himself. Marc had made his art, satisfied his bloodlust and there had been nothing Chad could do, but lay there, take the pain, and think of Romeo.

If there was one person that could save him, it was Romeo.

He thought of Romeo when the scalpel met his skin. When Marc loomed over him. When he inflected fresh agony on Chad’s body. He thought of Romeo.

His monster and his savior.

Chad woke with a gasp, flinging himself from the bed. He smacked his knee into the frame, but the dull pain was a relief.

He could move, his arms, his legs, everything worked.

He could run, and fight, and thrash if needed, the lingering helplessness of Marc faded, and he took a few deep breaths before grabbing a t-shirt and covering his chest. The number tingled, screaming out with phantom pains.

They dulled, but didn’t disappear completely.

The final thing he needed to kill the dream of Marc was to find Romeo. To look at his savior and monster, and press into his chest, smother himself in his scent.

He rushed down the stairs, but Romeo wasn’t on the sofa, or in the kitchen. Chad tugged on his boots, and left the door open behind him as he went to find Romeo.

Six hours ago, he’d fled from the outhouse, desperate to get away and not think about Marc’s death, but now all he needed was Romeo to confirm it, and tell him he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

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