Page 92

Chester

Pure rage courses through my body like a wild volcano spitting lava. Brennan called and said it was done.

She is gone—lost in the system. No matter how many times I pleaded and argued that it was a stupid fucking idea.

Poor Trace is the one who has to go into hiding until we can kill that motherfucker. Well, fuck Trace. He gets extra time with her, spent watching over her while every fibre of my being is calling me to her side. I should just say fuck it all and go get her and run with her myself. Mr Z would struggle to pry her from my hands.

Looking around the room, I take in the destruction—everything is smashed into tiny pieces. With nothing left and no outlet, I snatch my keys from the floor and trail through Creed’s house. Maybe I should leave him a note for when he comes up from that damn morgue. Fucking weirdo finds peace in cutting open dead shit. Mr Z dumped a few corpses off today and told him to have at them.

Sorry about your shit. I can’t do this.

- C

The front door opens just as I reach the foyer, and Creed walks through the door. He takes one look at me and shuts the door. He got lucky—well, he and Laughn both did—no fucking parents on their ass all the time. There was an uncle, but that asshole is no longer around, and Mr Z deemed Creed old enough to live alone. He gave him this house. It was run down as shit, but we have all pitched in and helped him build it from the ground up.

“Why are your knuckles bleeding?” he asks, raising a brow at me. He knows. He has been on the receiving end of my rage many times, purposefully putting himself in harm’s way.

“You don’t want to know,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I bet I can guess. You fucked up my house, but it’s nothing we can’t fix.”

“I’m leaving,” I spit. “I’m going to find her and run. Do what Trace should have done right the first time.”

“She doesn’t remember us,” he says, and my heart shatters into tiny little shards.

“Shut up,” I growl, clenching my fists.

“She only remembers him,” he taunts.

“Shut the fuck up,” I warn.

“You will get her killed,” he says, taking a step forward. “And yourself.”

“I don’t give a fuck! I will risk my life over and over again for her.”

“We can’t think about her, it isn’t right. She. Belongs. To. Them.”

I can’t listen to his shit anymore. I charge towards him, but he sidesteps me, and I hit the front door at full speed, knocking myself to my ass.

“Give me a tattoo for her?” he asks as I pull myself up.

“I can’t.” My voice sounds defeated. While I have been practising for years, something happens to me when the vibrations start.

Over the years, I have given myself numerous tattoos, and it has always ended with my cock in my hand, the intense pleasure too overwhelming. Kai has tattooed me, and my cock doesn’t react, not even a little.

“I wasn’t asking,” he says.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me. I can’t fucking control myself when I’m in the zone.”

“Well, don’t,” he says with a shrug.

“I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying. Do I need to fucking spell it out for you?”

“Yes.”

“I might want to fuck you, whether you want it or not.”

“Do you really think you could overpower me?” he goads. “You can always try.”

“Challenge accepted.”

I turn my back on him and walk through the house. My gear is up in my room—I have one here for when the world gets too much. My mother wouldn’t dream of stepping foot in this house, and my father is probably off fucking someone younger than her. The only saving grace I have is my grandmother, but sometimes I don’t want to hear all the right things she says. Sometimes I just want to wallow in self-pity, fuck some nameless girl, and pretend I’m not as fucked up as I really am.

I stride into my room and straight to the walk-in closet. I pull a box down from the top shelf and come back out just as Creed enters the room and shuts the door.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, and he just shrugs.

You can never tell what he is thinking, but it’s obvious he’s hurting just as much as I am, even though he’s better at hiding it. He keeps himself locked up in this house, cutting open dead bodies. I know his brother, Laughn, thinks he is weird as fuck, and that’s saying something—that kid is strange. Maybe it’s their genetics. I, on the other hand, take as many solo jobs as Mr Z will throw at me. The more people I can hurt, the more it makes my pain ease just a little.

I set up the makeshift table in the corner of the room and wipe everything down. The room smells of disinfectant and broken hearts. How damn pathetic.

“What do you want?” I ask, and Creed explains his idea.

I pad across the floor and sit at my art desk, sketching out a rough idea. There is no way I can do an entire back piece in one sitting. After I finish, I show him, and if I’m not mistaken, his eyes get glassy. I pretend I don’t notice and turn back around to get the stencil ready. I should hopefully be able to get a lot of the angel done today.

Creed removes his shirt, and I look at my best friend and feel nothing. At least not sexually, so maybe it will be okay. I know I’m not gay; I don’t find men sexually attractive.

While I snap on my gloves, Creed lays down on his stomach, neither of us saying anything. The silence itself is deafening.

I’m ready and the stencil is on. Creed doesn’t want to look at placement or anything—he trusts me—so I move myself closer and take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

As soon as I test the machine, my cock goes rock hard. I close my eyes and lean my head back. You can do this, Chester. What’s the worst that will happen?

You’ll stick your cock in your best friend’s ass. That’s what will happen.

I shake the thoughts out of my head, but as I bring the tattoo gun to his skin, I know I have fucked up. A surge of adrenaline runs through my veins. But I ignore the way my body reacts to my hand moving across his back, and the way my cock strains in my pants.

As the minutes pass, sweat beads down my forehead. I will my mind to think of something else, but then it’s her. Anger, adrenaline, and sexual frustration have my mind swirling, and I lack concentration. I can’t do this now—I need to focus.

Placing the machine down on the table beside me, I push the table Creed is lying on and he falls to the floor.He’s only down there for a few seconds before I’m standing over him, wrapping my fingers in his hair and pulling him to his feet. Creed throws a right hook and hits me in the lip, one of my teeth puncturing the skin, and blood fills my mouth. I lunge forward, wrapping my fingers around his throat, and he scrambles back, knocking my desk and sending pencils onto the floor. He grabs a paper weight, swinging for my head and connecting with my temple. That makes me let go and steady myself.

I shake it off and turn to find where he has moved to, but much to my surprise, he hasn’t gone far. I run, tackling him to the bed, and his size is no match for my weight on top of him. He’s trapped beneath me, and bucks backwards, his ass digging into my dick. I ease up, using one hand on his back to hold him down.

Reaching down with my other hand, I pull down his boxer briefs. Damn him and never wearing pants—he could have made this harder.

I drop my own pants, having foregone boxers today. My hard, throbbing dick stands to attention, needing a release. The small portion of the outline I managed to tattoo catches my attention, making my body react. I lift myself off him and take a step back—if he wants to run, now is his chance—yet he doesn’t move, and I have to wonder if Creed is into men. He can’t be; I have seen him fuck plenty of chicks.

I grab a condom and lube from the drawer and waste no time. I rip the foil and roll the rubber down my shaft while I walk back to where he is still face down on the bed. His aura has changed. It’s weird—and not one I have seen around him before.

“Get up,” I demand, but he doesn’t move. I lean over him and lift him by the hair, and all he does is glance up at me with a smirk. “Go back over to the table. I need to finish that outline.”

He gets up and walks towards the table, still naked. I make my way over there, raising it so it’s at waist level. He leans over the end, face down, and I take the machine, stepping up behind him. The vibration from the machine has me leaning over him, and the feeling of skin on skin makes my cock leak precum like a young teen. But the contact does jack all to ease the burning need to stick my cock into him.

I grind against his ass as I finish what I started. Once I’m done, I place the tattoo gun down again and Creed goes to get up. But all I can do is smirk; if he thinks we are done here, he is sorely mistaken. I hold a gloved hand to his back, using my teeth to open the small lube packet that comes complementary in the condom packet and squirt it along my cock.

“This is going to hurt,” I warn.

“Promises, promises,” he throws back over his shoulder. Well, fuck me, he wants this, but why? What does he get out of it?

I trail my hard dick along his ass, and finding the hole, I thrust in. A growl breaks from his lips, and he bucks back. I draw back slower and thrust in again, still pressing down on his back.

“Fuck,” he roars as I furiously fuck him against the table. I close my eyes, and her face is all I can see.

My eyes fly open. You’re a sick, sick man, I think to myself. I wrap my hand around Creed’s throat, pulling his body closer to mine and my deeper thrusts have me wanting to come. Creed moves a hand to his dick, and he jerks himself off. My cock swells and spills, and I swear harshly as I come down from my high and step back from Creed. My now flaccid cock pops out, and I remove the condom as Creed’s body shivers, and his cum squirts onto the floor as his body sags on the table.

Guilt washes over me as I throw the used condom in the bin. I used my best friend to satisfy a need. I slip my shorts back on and run a hand through my hair. When I turn around, Creed is back in his boxer briefs and turns his body to look in a mirror at how far I managed to get into his tattoo.

“How long until we can finish?” he asks.

“What? You want to do that again?”

“What happens in here stays in here. I don’t normally fuck guys, but I can see your pain. If this is how it has to be, then so be it. But fuck, man, be gentle next time—my ass is on fire. I’ll top next time to see how you like it.”

I snort. “We’ll see if you can overpower me.”

“Done. Bring your A game,” he says, walking towards the door. “Oh, and Chester, maybe air the room out. It smells like ass.”

I shake my head as he leaves the room. Well, that was an experience. Did I love it? Not exactly, but it answers some questions in my head. I can’t ever tattoo anyone else. Those feelings I have are attached to her. It’s intimate and violent at the same time, and not something I want to feel with anyone else. I just hope, come tomorrow, that Creed doesn’t act differently around me, or see me as some kind of freak. As for telling the others, that is going to be fun. We don’t keep secrets, and Kai can fucking sniff out a secret from a mile away.