Page 2 of Never Say Die
There. Aiden’s pulse doubled. His lungs squeezed, cautioning against the next two choices. They were still just that—decisions he hadn’t made yet. He could change his mind. Tell Shay to go fuck himself.Again. Get gross-drunk at the bar across the street from his apartment. Forget about rituals, and sacrifices, and everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d almost had. Everything Shay had taken from him.
“You sure this is coke?” Shay asked.
Aiden shook his head. “Ketamine.”
Shay furrowed his brow, shrugged, and inhaled another mound from the hollow of his thumb. That should’ve been enough to get him woozy, numb the pain, make what was about to happen a little less awful. Aiden had always assumed shit like this would be easy. Shit like soul-selling and sacrificing. Find aperson, make them disappear, follow the instructions, find out how muchlifewas really worth. But he’d done the research, read the books, scoured the internet, and Aiden knew, as well as anyone who’d ever wanted something bad enough, that a sacrifice only worked with love as an ingredient.
Aiden thought he’d probably loved Shay Bennett. At one point, a long time ago, back when things were good and hard and wild. But now, he hated Shay more.
“We could’ve been something,” Aiden said. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken until Shay laughed, shooting him a curious glance. “We were right there.Right there, Shay.”
“No, we weren’t.Youthought we were. Just you. Everyone else knew we were destined to be a six o’clock opener, Aiden. You’re the only one who thought we’d be anything else.”
“We had seven years under our belt. Packed signing lines, hungry fans, sold-out venues?—”
“Sold outbars,” Shay corrected. He stepped forward, jamming his pointer finger against Aiden’s sternum. The movement startled him. Thrilled him. “I did what I had to do, like I’ve told you eight hundred times before, and I’m not fucking sorry for that. Knight’s Blood was dead. Buried. Rotting in the ground. Just because you pretended not to smell it doesn’t mean I had to.”
“You did this. I need you to know that.”
“You’ve made sure to remind me?—”
Aiden hadn’t planned this part. The kissing Shay part. He’d meticulously bullet-journaled everything else. Pig’s blood from the butcher in Koreatown, dove feathers ordered from an online metaphysical shop, Ketamine from Dylan’s dealer in West Hollywood, the knife from a lockbox in Walmart’s stupidly huge hunting section. But not this. Shay’s mouth slackened against his lips. Aiden touched the tattoo sprouting from his collar and followed raised ink across his freckled throat. Aiden had neverkissed Shay. Not in the decade they’d orbited each other. He wanted to know if kissing him felt the way he’d always thought it would.
It did. It didn’t.
The kiss ignited in his chest, lower, tightening beneath his navel. Disastrous and inevitable. Too big, like a wing stretching open in his body, shaking and trembling.
Yeah, Aiden thought, miserably.Yeah, I loved you.
Shay laughed, a warm breath against Aiden’s chin, before he kissed him again, hard and deep and wet. Aiden let him. Tasted him. Licked into his mouth and pushed himself closer, as close as he could get, until Shay nipped his bottom lip and said, “Can’t stay away, huh?”
Aiden’s cheeks burned. He memorized the slope of Shay’s strong jaw. “You did this,” he said again.
“I knew you’d be easy for me, Aiden Moore.” Shay teased at his mouth. Above them, moonlight peeked through the cloud cover. “I always knew.”
Aiden kissed him again. Reached backward and curled his fingers around the handle flattened against his tailbone. “Yeah, I bet you did,” he whispered, and shoved the sleek, silver blade into Shay’s stomach.
You did this. Almost true. In the end, Aiden still held the knife.
Ocean sounds swallowed Shay’s gasp, but Aiden felt it, right there, stolen from inside his mouth. Warmth soaked his knuckles, buried in torn fabric. Shay clutched to him. Dug his fingers into Aiden’s waist. Held on. His breath came in awful, giant puffs, and his voice hitched, furious and terrified, as he said Aiden’s name. Aiden hadn’t planned this part either. His chin dimpling, regret blooming at the sight of a half-finished tragedy, thewaitsitting on his tongue like a match post-strike.
Do it. Don’t do it. Do it. Don’t do it.
The devil better eat this love.Do it.Paimon better pulverize it.Do it.Beelzebub better pay a fucking premium.Do it.
Because damn,god-fucking-damn, this shit hurt.
Don’t do it.
“Go to hell,” Aiden snapped, choking on the lump in his throat. He wrenched away, slammed his boot against Shay’s chest, and sent him tumbling off the cliff.
Aiden scrubbed his reddened hands with dish soap. He hadn’t stopped shaking since Shay’d met his eyes, falling backward, reaching out, asking to be caught. Aiden’s whole body had convulsed while he’d poured the pig’s blood in a circle, clawed at the dirt until his cuticles peeled, and upended the plastic pouch filled with feathers into the center of the damp ring. He’d buried them—the consensus between three different books and two outdated websites—and stared at the gleaming, black liquid drying on the knife. Touched the cool blood. Brought his fingers to his lips. Sucked. Tried not to gag. Cried, hard. Ugly, retching sobs. And then he’d plunged the knife into the earth, through the feathers, until the handle met the ground.
He’d thought, momentarily, that it’d all been for nothing. That he’d done the unspeakable for an audience of exactlyno one. But gazing at the half-hidden moon, he’d realized the ocean had stopped singing, and the wind had stopped blowing, and the animals in the trees had gone quiet. Everything had paused to witness what Aiden Moore had done. Carefully, he’d lit the edge of a sallow page where two words in black ink werescrawled—stolen future—and put the hot ashes in his mouth. Shay’s blood had lingered like a penny on his tongue.
Soot still coated his teeth. He uncapped a bleach pen and scribbled on his palms, rubbing the chemical into his skin. Knuckles smacked and fingers slipped, wringing until the water ran clear. Nausea rolled through him. He gripped the edge of the sink and stared at his reflection, water-spotted and splintered by a narrow crack. Bloodshot eyes watered. Fingers raked through his dark hair, still sticky with texturizer, and he scrubbed his palm over the shaved area around his ear. Sipped for air. Exhaled too fast. Turned away from himself and stormed into the rat-cage apartment he rented above a pizza parlor in Echo Park.
Okay, it’s done,he thought.It’s done. It’s fucking done.
