Page 27 of Fragile Facade

“You belong to Vile House, Sauder?” he asks me.

“I’m a Misfit.”

“Fuckingsureyou are. You know Killian called me to come here tonight?” He shakes his head, letting it go for now. “Where’s Yates?”

Why the hell did Riot call him? Is he trying to give himself away? I nod upstairs, knowing Yates is probably locked in his office with Tom because they’re both too pathetic to fight for their crew.

We head up the stairs, only having knives in what is turning into a gunfight. Some of the Misfits have guns, and all of Reaper Corp’s first surge of soldiers do too, but I’ve always preferred a blade. I like the feel of blood running down my arms and working into the creases of my fingers.

“How many of them are there?” I ask one of the Misfits. “A number?”

He shakes his head, aiming at a man coming up the stairs behind us. His gun fires, but so does the other guy’s, and the crew member accomplishes killing him, but he dies, too.

“At least thirty,” Lock says. “We’ve taken outmaybehalf. Maybe.”

Halfway there then.

I look up the stairs, ready to fight my way to Yates and his son. Reaper Corp is not getting this building or overtaking this gang, and when I’m through, there won’t be anyone left standing. Their legs will be broken, and I’ll haul their asses to Axel myself.

* * *

I’ve dippedinto such brutal darkness that it feels enlightening. Closing my eyes to relish the blood soaking me, to listen to the fire of guns and the clash of blades, the screams of anguish paired with the war cries all around me, I sink into my shadowy self until it draws a curve to my lips. I’m happy here, as this bloodthirsty man, powerful in a building I’ve had to fake being weak in.

Misfit Hall is a mess of gore and bodies, but I’m finally the one haunting it. I’m unmasked, but I’m still the Ghost of Moros, and these halls are my playground. When I open my eyes, I see the playsets and the obstacle course, willing and eager to cut men in half to get to where I need to go.

Yates’ office.

Kyd’s twin katanas spin as he twirls, a severed hand flying my way. I dodge it as he laughs like a lunatic, caught in the same bloodlust as I am, but experiencing it differently. He laughs, and I delve deeper and deeper into the abyss inside me, hauling my evil parts to the surface freely.

“You don’t belong here.”

I spin, finding a Reaper Corp man at my back. My blood-red hands lift curved blades, and my legs crouch into a fighting stance. But my expression shifts into something that shows all my jigsaw pieces and how comfortable I am being so messily constructed.

“You’re not one of them.” He motions to The Misfits. “You’re something stronger.”

A swell of pride surges through me. Someone finally fucking noticed. “I am,” I agree, smiling at him.

“Where’s your mask?” he asks, not moving.

I take a page out of Riot’s book, merging my inner self with my outer self to don the mask I want him to see. Wicked. Unafraid. Ready to die if I get to fight my way there. Deranged.

“We doing this?” I ask, spinning my blades. “Or are we wasting time by chatting?”

His smile matches mine. “Reaper Corp has a message.”

“Don’t give it to me. I’m not a good middleman.” Another severed body part flies by, and the guy shifts to the side to avoid it.

“Soren Sauder.” He steps closer. “The Ghost of Moros.”

I tense all over.What the fuck?If he knows that much, what else does Reaper Corp know, and how long have they been spying on us? “You mustn’t be very high ranking if they sent you in with their first wave. They’ve gotta know you’ll all die tonight.” Pathetic crew of thirty isn’t going to take us down, but the way he smiles puts me on edge, making me think there’s way more than thirty, we just don’t know who or where they are.

“Here’s the message,” he says, his fingers nimble at his sides, not even holding weapons yet. “If you surrender the town, your citizens live. If you don’t…”

I laugh maniacally. “Really? A trailed-off threat before a duel? Where do you guys learn your battle tactics? Drama movies?”

He laughs with me like we’re old friends. “Old Westerns,” he teases. “We’re bred for this. Don’t underestimate us,Ghost.” He lifts his jacket, showing me a few guns holstered there, but he doesn’t reach for them. He pulls two knives that match mine from his lower back straps, fingers flexing around the hilts. “Shall we start this duel you speak of?”

“Gladly. What’re we dueling for? This building?” I balance on the balls of my feet, eyes zeroed in on his every move.