Page 34 of Fragile Facade
Riot. He thinks he knows where I am, so I slow down again, moving backwards instead of forwards, throwing him off my trail. His feet stop, and the echo of everyone’s voices changes to something duller, farther away. His breathing is loud in this chamber, and I swear to fuck I can hear his heart beating as he tries to listen for my whereabouts. The guy has no idea how to be quiet.
He won’t hear me. I won’t let him. He’s already drowned me in a pond, paralyzed me in my grave, and kissed me while in the throes of a blood high—I won’t allow him to get another one over on me. He’s made my head even less of a safe space, and I can’t stand him having that sort of control over me.
But… the way it felt to cut his inner bicep. I took that control and he let me have it, and the way his blood trickled down his skin has been on my mind since.
My eyes adjust more, my ears pick up everything, and my body relaxes to a point where my wounds don’t even hurt. Anticipation swells inside me, my fingers all flexing at my side as he comes to a complete stop, trying to be silent to listen for my movement. Here in the dark, I don’t have to hide the cracks in my illusion or the over-glued pieces of my jigsaw puzzle front. I use the darkness as a mask, but it’s a different kind of mask from what he wears. He tries to please, to accommodate, to manipulate those around him, but I’m only trying to manipulate myself into believing I’m not as broken as the voice inside my head tells me I am.
He walks closer to where I am, water rippling against the soles of my boots. I feel it like it’s a caress, a subtle warning, and I use it to aid my silence. While he disrupts the water, I step backwards, pressing my shoulder blades to the tunnel wall. He’s right in front of me now, but he doesn’t know it. He’s looking back the way we came instead of looking to his side, and I love the way I deceive him. The way he thinks he’s smarter than me, but moments like this prove that he’s not.
“Hiding from me, sweetheart?” he asks the long tunnel. His voice is dark-tinged yet gleeful, which pisses me off because he isn’t aware that he’s losing this round yet.
I grin, but I bristle, too. I want the ability to hide from him because he’s too stupid to know where to look, but I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I’m cowardly for hiding. I almost react, which is exactly what he wants, but I flex my fingers again and force myself to be still.
“When I was in the shower last night, your blood was all over me,” he says, turning his back to me to peer against the opposite wall. “Fucking dripped down my body, and guess what I did?”
Pressing my lips together to force a silent breath through my nose, I flex my fingers once more. This time, against my cock. It better not get hard. Because I’m imagining it. His busted knuckles turning white as his bloody hand wraps around his thick cock, stroking my blood to mix with his precum…
“Fuck, my dick looked good coated in your blood.” He turns more, and if he steps a little closer, his adjusted eyes will see me. “The water diluted it, but I can’t wait to make you bleed all over me and try not to get hard at the sight of it.”
My palm presses to my dick, willing it to stay down.
“We gonna talk about it?” Riot asks, almost facing me now. “That kiss you forced on me?”
Fuck. Him. When he spins to face my spot, I move with him, keeping my body behind him without making a sound. He looks at the tunnel wall, his shoulders tensing when he doesn’t find me where he thinks I am.
“Couldn’t get enough, could you?” he asks, acting calm when we both know he’s pissed he can’t find me. “Fuck, you were a desperate little blood whore. All broken and bleeding and using me to get your strength?—”
From behind, I wrap my forearm around his neck and use my other hand to tighten the hold. Riot wheezes, his body fighting to get free, but fuck him. Fuck all of this. Fuck the bargain with my brother and the way Riot thinks he can push me to an early death. Fuck him for everything he’s done since he came into my life as my best challenger.
“Iforced onyou?” I growl in his ear. “I’m the whore?” I squeeze tighter. “You called Lock and made him come check on me.”
His breath rattles and his voice is forced. “Keeping… my end of the… bargain.”
“You came at me like you fucking owned me.” My laugh is pure evil. “You demanded I only bleed for you. You fucking kissed me. You’re the whore, Riot. You’re the one who turned this sexual.”
He coughs, and I feel his throat spasm against my arm. He tries to say something while his fingers grasp my wrist, but I don’t loosen my hold. This shit ends now. He can push me all he wants as long as the destination is Hell and not his bed. He’s the desperate one who can’t fuck the same person twice because he never remembers what mask he wore with them to win them in the first place. I won’t be his easy way out just because he doesn’t have to wear a mask for me.
Riot struggles in my grip, making all my wounds ache fiercely. Holding him tighter and pressing my lips to the shell of his ear, I exhale slowly. “You don’t fucking own me, Riot. I bleed for no one but myself. You think you’re the one chasing me to my death?” I pause, gathering the strength of the dark tunnels and the sinister things that’ve happened down here. “Stop acting like you have any control here. We both know I’m the one dragging you to Hell, and like the little puppy you are, you’re following along eagerly.”
With one more blown breath against his nape, I shove him forward and disappear before he ever turns around. Our games have always been rooted in challenge, but whatever new sexual energy he’s bringing to our dynamic isn’t going to fly with me. Because I don’t like the way he makes me feel unglued, ripped open, my pieces scattered around the board for him to put back together the way he sees fit.
13
TOWN MEETING
RIOT
I loveit when Director gets diabolical. Under the light of dusk, he’s giving Moros a show, but they have no idea just how serious this show is yet.
Strung up to the iron gates of the cemetery, a Reaper Corp prisoner groans. He’s fully clothed, somewhere in his late thirties or early forties, and he’s dripping blood onto Moros soil while every eligible citizen watches from between the headstones. The cemetery is the biggest gathering place we have within town limits, and I doubt there’s a Moros resident who feels uncomfortable here, so here we all are, having the first town-wide meeting in years.
Director hasn’t said a word, but as the energy shifts to signify the start of the meeting, the locals press their fists to their hearts in acknowledgement, and the ten of us do the same for our people.
“The threat is real, Moros!” Director shouts from behind us, the crowd already silenced. He’s standing on the platform of a stone garden, and we’re all ground level in front of him. His gold and black mask is in place, and his voice is modulated, capturing everyone’s attention. “Reaper Corp is coming for our town.”
“Let them fucking try!” Gemma, who owns the Cauldron, shouts, and a bunch of cheers agree with her.
“We’re not ready,” Director says bluntly. “We lack a plan, training, and weapons. We’re too broken after the attack.”
