Page 31

THIRTY

HATE SEX

CRIMSON—ATREYU

KILLIAN

T he last day of warm weather has come and gone, leaving us suddenly immersed in the chill of the fall—the season known for living in hoodies, leggings on all the city girls, and an incessant avalanche of fucking pumpkin spice, enough to make one cringe.

Yet, despite my dislike of certain things, I find solace in the comfortable, crisp air, embracing it during my daily walks, and without anyone knowing, I take a little extra time to admire the vibrant tapestry of orange, red, and yellow foliage. The beauty of the serene atmosphere serves as a cure for my weary soul, providing a much-needed reprieve from the turmoil within.

I walk until my breath returns to normal and the tightness in my chest begins to dissolve, allowing my overly tense body to relax—some.

With each hit off my blunt, chased by sips of hot coffee, I feel instant warmth spreading through me as I step into the subway and descend the stairs into the tunnel. Instead of turning right toward the platform, I veer left, opting for the less traveled route to the empty tunnels where many of the city’s homeless have bunkered down.

As I walk down the long, winding tunnel, clutching the strap of my backpack against my shoulder, I sweep my gaze along the cement wall, admiring the collection of colorful graffiti I’ve been creating over the years.

I used it as an escape from the shit going on at home with my father. Every time I ran away, I ended up here with a can of spray paint in my hand, tagging everything I could find. Troubled kids don’t have very many outlets, so when I discovered mine, I made it a part of my life. To this day, I come down here as often as I can and create art with my spray paint.

I walk a little further, stopping in front of the mural I’ve been working on. The sudden feeling of eyes burning into my back makes me freeze. Turning around slowly and trying to be subtle about it, I scan the empty, dreary tunnel for any signs of another person, but I don’t see any.

Sliding my bag off my shoulder, I drop it to the ground and crouch down to take out my spray paint. Before I can get to work, my phone rings, bringing back all the uneasy feelings I just got rid of. I put the phone to my ear and unknowingly hold in my breath, preparing myself for whatever might come.

“Yeah, hello?” I ask, forcing myself to speak while trying to ignore the mild tremors attacking my body.

“Calm down, Kill. It’s just me,” Dom says softly, hearing the panic in my voice from what I thought was going to be my father on the other end.

Once I find out it’s Dom, I relax again, exhaling the deep breath I was holding in that was beginning to make me lightheaded.

“Oh, what’s up?”

“Shit, nothing really. Where you at?”

“The tunnels.”

“You up for a race tonight?” he asks, and I can hear the excitement in his voice.

“Fuck yeah. I think that’s exactly what I need. What about... Calista, is she coming?” I ask skeptically, not sure why I’m so nervous about it.

“I haven’t seen her yet to ask, but Ash is down.”

“Alright, yeah. Tell Five that I’m in too.”

After Dom gives me the details, I hang up the phone and slide it into my back pocket, shaking the brand new can of black paint. Walking closer to the unfinished mural, I sweep my gaze over it, admiring how well it’s coming out.

I’m not sure how Calista would feel if she knew that I was painting her for all of Boston to see. But she’s fucking breathtaking and the only thing on my mind lately, always dancing gracefully beneath my fluttering eyelids.

Even if her return was sudden and skeptical, I’m glad she’s back. And if I have a say in the matter, I’m never letting her walk out of our lives again.

“Why the fuck is everyone so obsessed with that girl?” A voice booms behind me, making me jump as the echo bounces off the concrete.

I don't even have to turn around to know who it is, but I do anyway. “Delilah, what the fuck are you doing here?” I ask the girl who’s been a thorn in my side ever since I met her.

Me and the guys met Delilah when we started going to the races; she was always with Five until he kicked her ass to the curb for stealing his car and crashing it one night. Even though she’s a hot piece of ass, she’s as fucking crazy, jealous, and spiteful as they come—which isn’t a cute combination.

She stands there with her hands on her hips and a snarl curling on her fake lips. Her jet black hair sits in a messy bun on top of her head, showing off the bright red hickeys she’s sporting on her neck.

“I saw you passing the T, and I decided to follow you.” She rolls her eyes, unable to tear her gaze away from the mural of Calista. “If you think this is some kind of love letter to her, you’re fucking delusional, Killian,” Delilah snaps, ignoring the weight of the emotion I had poured into my work.

The paint feels sticky on my fingers, but it’s a sensation I relish—the thrill of living in the moment, of expressing something I can’t quite articulate into words.

“It’s not like that,” I retort, keeping my voice steady, despite the feeling of heat creeping up my cheeks.

Delilah’s always had this way of drawing out my insecurities—a talent she showed me during our endless two-am encounters. To this day, I don’t regret fucking her, but I wish I was smarter about it. I wish I knew her more before sticking my dick inside her. I wish I knew how fucking crazy she was.

She steps closer, invading my space, her eyes flaring with jealousy and mischief. “Really? Because last I checked, you’re not the type to paint an ex-girlfriend unless you’re still hung up over her.” Her smirk is almost taunting, designed to get under my skin, and it’s fucking working.

“She was never my girlfriend, Delilah. Calista is way more than that—more than just an ex,” I spit back before I can stop myself.

The words spill out unfiltered, and I regret them instantly. It’s not something I want to explain to her—why I feel tied to Calista, why every brushstroke is more than just art. It’s a form of therapy for me and helps me deal with the pain of losing her because of what we did.

“Right, she’s a muse, right? Your muse,” Delilah snickers, crossing her arms. “You just keep latching onto the idea that she’s somehow going to swoop in and save you from your pathetic little world,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain.

‘There’s nothing pathetic about wanting to be around someone who gets me,” I counter, feeling my pulse quicken.

The tension in the air grows heavier, each beat of my heart echoing against the cold concrete walls, and I know I have to bite back. The last thing I need is to be all worked up and pissed when I’ll be seeing the others soon, possibly even Calista.

But instead of responding, I turn my back to her, focusing on the mural. Each stroke is a release, a deep breath that brings me closer to the feeling of freedom—freedom from Delilah’s snide remarks and the chaos that consumes my mind when I think about my father and everything that’s been suffocating me lately.

“Well, if you think she’s worth all this effort,” Delilah continues, this time softer, like she’s trying to gauge whether I’ll flinch at her words. “Just remember, it’s a long shot. You’re a nobody, Killian, and she’ll always be out of your league.”

My grip tightens around the can, and I can feel my teeth clenching. “You really don’t know shit about me, do you?” I hurl back without looking at her.

The paint sputters as I start to create sweeping lines that mimic the wind dancing through Calista’s long blonde hair.

“Then why the hell do you care so much?” she screeches. “She’s probably off flaunting her perfect life with someone who actually matters.”

“You’re fucking wrong.” I grit my teeth, trying to hold back from exploding.

She knows nothing of the life that Calista was dealt, nor the things we did to her. But there’s no use explaining it to her; all she’ll do is twist the story and make it something that it isn’t. Besides, I can’t do that to Calista. I’ve done enough. I can’t fucking do her dirty like this.

Delilah keeps nagging about her, pissing me off, and I can’t hold the frustration inside. I whirl around, letting the paint can slip out of my hand and clatter to the cement, frustration finally boiling over.

“You think if she fucking wanted that, she would have kept me around?” I snap. “She came back, Delilah, looking for something .”

Delilah’s smirk falters for a fraction of a second, the vain mask slipping, and I almost feel guilty for snapping at her. But the truth is, every word I said is more than just bravado; it’s a truth that rings clear to me every single day that I spend in the same city as Cali. So close, yet so far away from each other—until now. Now she’s back and within my reach, and for that, I don’t give a fuck what anyone has to say.

“Well, what did she come back for, Killian?” she sneers, her attitude heavily laced in her spiteful tone, as if she’s trying to get me to feel some type of way about it.

“None of your fucking business. Me and the guys have it under control,” I lie, wondering if she can hear the truth being bent as it slips from my lips.

“Whatever,” she huffs. “Where is she now?” Delilah asks, her tone slightly less prickly but still heavy with disbelief.

“Probably out doing something better than following me around in dirty tunnels,” I reply, taking a jab at her, anger simmering just beneath my skin. “And for what it’s fucking worth, stop acting like your life is so perfect. You’re just as fucking lost as the rest of us, D.”

“I’m not lost,” she retorts heatedly. “I’m figuring things out and having fun doing it. Maybe you should fucking try it instead of obsessing over some girl who doesn’t even look your fucking way.”

I don’t hit women.. I don’t hit women... I don’t hit women...

The moment stretches, heavy like the autumn air filling the tunnel. I take a step back, suddenly weary of the battle we’re waging. My thoughts flicker to the upcoming race with the crew and how the adrenaline rush will silence the chaos, even if it’s just for the night.

“Maybe you should worry about something other than my shit or the shit I’m doing,” I bite, my voice finally steady but firm, filled with venom. “Do you need me to fuck the attitude out of you or something? Is that why you followed me?” I growl, feeling utterly drained from the constant back and forth.

But I push forward, delivering one final jab that I hope will shut her the fuck up. “You want me to shove you against the tunnel for all of the fucking bums to see and fuck you like a dirty two-dollar whore?” I roar, a wicked grin twisting on my lips as I watch her jaw drop in shock and her eyes narrow, betraying a hint of intrigue she won’t admit to.

“What a fucked up thing to say, Killian,” she pouts, feigning innocence while putting on the act she does so fucking well.

Yet, I can see right through her facade. This isn’t my first encounter with Delilah, and it certainly won’t be my last. We fight like brother and sister but fuck like passionate enemies; it’s a beautiful fucking disaster.

“Text me if you want to meet up later, but until then, I’m done playing this fucking game.” I grab my bag and start walking past her, the urge to lash out bubbling to the surface at the bottom of my consciousness.

“All fucking talk, Killian,” she yells after me, taunting me and pushing me to the fucking brink.

Ignoring her doesn’t work, not when she’s got me so fucking hot right now—not in a good way—and to be honest, a little turned on just thinking about fucking her like a dirty whore just for me to unleash my anger on.

Spinning around quickly so I make myself dizzy, I drop my bag, hearing it land with a thud on the concrete. I storm over to her, unbuckling my belt on the way.

Noticing the crazed, demonic look in my eyes, she takes a couple steps backward, not intending for her back to hit the wall of the tunnel, trapping her. She sucks in a breath as I rush up to her, pinning her body beneath mine and keeping her firmly against the wall.

“What, are you fucking scared now, D? Was all that just a big game you were fucking talking?” I snap, spitting each word heavily with venom as I ease my pants down a smidge to roll on a condom, then roughly spin her around, violently pressing her cheek against the wet paint on the tunnel wall from another piece that I painted.

“I’m not scared, Killian. You’re all talk,” she hums, smirking as I stand behind her, not moving, seemingly having second thoughts about what I was just about to do.

Continuing to hold her face against the wall with my palm, I violently rip her leggings down and kick her feet apart, settling myself between her legs.

“I’m all fucking talk, huh? Is that what you fucking said?” I bite harshly, waiting for the right moment to show her that I’m not all talk.

And of course, since it’s Delilah, that doesn’t take long at all.

“You don’t have it in you to fuck me the way you’re claiming— but Dominic does for sure ,” she giggles, pissing me off and finally pushing me over the edge.

I line up my cock with her cunt and brutally thrust my hips, slamming her against the wall with brutal force and shoving my entire cock so deep inside her that she yelps, her body tensing in pain. But I don’t stop, nor do I take it easy. She wanted the rough, hate sex, and that’s exactly what she’s going to get.

With each forceful impact, her ass slapping against my pelvis, my cock plunges into her over and over again, ripping her insides apart and leaving streaks of blood on the condom. Reaching around the front of her, I grab her throat and tightly squeeze it, bringing my lips next to her ear while I have her the way I want her.

“Is this what you fucking wanted, you dirty fucking slut?” I hiss, thrusting away with so much ferocity that my groin begins to throb every time I slam into her. But I can’t stop, mainly because it feels so fucking good.

She doesn’t speak, not with my hand choking the shit out of her. But I want it this way. I don’t want to hear her fucking voice; it’s just another reminder of how I’m potentially betraying Calista and my loyalty to her.

Her body shakes against mine, obviously enjoying it, even though you can feel the hatred seeping from every pore in my body, drenching her in it. I feel myself blacking out, squeezing her throat even harder.

I close my eyes, still pinning her in place, and immediately picture Calista, pretending it’s her that I’m fucking, even if it is twisted and wrong on so many levels. I don’t give a fuck . I’m lost in the moment—the heat of the friction blurring the lines between pleasure and anger.

Each thrust carries not just my body but the weight of all the unresolved feelings that Calista stirs within me. The memories of her haunt me like shadows, flickering at the edges of my mind, but I push them aside, focusing on the reality in front of me instead.

Delilah’s breath comes in deep gasps, a mix of pain and something I refuse to recognize as pleasure. I dig my fingers deeper into the side of her neck, feeling her pulse quicken, and it’s fucking intoxicating—addicting almost.

There’s a rush that comes from keeping her at my mercy, from knowing that I have total control over this situation—and yet, some part of me is reluctant to admit that the connection between us has the ability to be something great, no matter how much I don't want it or how much I try to fight it.

“Come on, Delilah,” I growl, my voice a low rasp against her ear as I quicken my pace, hearing the sound of our bodies colliding, bouncing off the concrete. “Tell me you fucking love it—that you love when I fuck you like a slut. Tell me you need it.”

“Fuck you,” she manages to choke out, but there’s a hollowness in her defiance, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me.

I chuckle darkly—the sound reverberating off the walls like a warning bell—then release my grip slightly, just enough that she can draw in a breath or two.

“That’s it, keep talking,” I demand, twisting the sensation and edging the desire just a little more.

The thrill of dominating her races through my veins, igniting the dark pleasures I’ve kept buried for so long. With every pound—every sharp intake of breath from her—I lose myself further in this hectic world we’ve spiraled into together without even meaning to.

“Just... get it over with,” she finally gasps, and though I can hear the sass in her tone, there’s an edge of desperation too—an unspoken challenge in her eyes that dares me to push harder to prove that I can give her the release she craves, even if she won’t admit it.

I feel like a storm ready to break. The walls of my restraint crumble, and each thrust becomes a statement that I’m a force she can’t ignore. I pick up the tempo, brutal and relentless, losing myself in a rhythm that feels so primal.

“You fucking asked for this,” I grunt, the tension unyielding, morphing into something dangerous and complete. “You wanted to fucking play with fire; now you’re about to get fucking burned.”

Her back arches involuntarily as the pressure in her suddenly shifts, heat building deep inside her. I feel it too, my pulse racing in unison with hers. Even in this messy web of anger and lust, something raw erupts between us—a silent understanding of our twisted connection.

“You’re a fucking bitch and I can’t stand you,” I spit, now holding her hips and slamming her back on my cock. “Your pussy isn’t even that good.”

“Fuck you, Killian. You’re the one who’s buried balls deep inside it right now, so…” she taunts, little seductive moans slipping from her throat.

“Yeah, to shut you the fuck up. You’re a whore, Delilah. Whore’s love getting fucked how you are right now,” I bite venomously, using my words as a weapon to shatter the confidence building inside her.

With a final hard thrust, sharp and deep, I lose myself completely, surrendering to the madness, and for a brief moment, the tunnel fades as we collide, two wild spirits tangled in this dark dance while teetering on the edge of something reckless.

As we reach the peak together, a rush of unexpected feelings flood me. The walls around us feel both stifling and liberating. But our bond is breaking. There’s a quick flash before the chaos of our hatred settles back in, leaving me to wonder if we’d ever truly escape it. Or was our relationship only ever meant to be this—hate sex and degradation?

I’d never have with her what I have with Calista, but I don’t want it. Nobody can compare to Cali, no matter how hard they try. And that is something I need to realize. I need to stop trying to find that special piece in other girls and focus on building a connection with Calista, much like the one I had built in my mind over the years.

I made our relationship out to be more than what it ever was, but I’m done doing that. I need to focus on the now and the fact that she’s back in my life—that there is a chance to build something more, something real.

As I walk away, Delilah continues to yell, but this time I ignore it, not falling for her trap this time. Her voice trails behind me, challenging and daring me to respond, but I keep walking deeper into the shadows of the tunnel, where nothing exists but my art and the flickering candlelight of hope that I’ll be able to have something special with Cali after all these years and the shit that I’ve done.

I feel the thrill of the unknown settling back into my bones and a sudden jolt of anticipation rise within me for the race tonight—a chance to break free and breathe. Because whether Delilah believes it or not, I know that Calista is back in my life for a reason, and I’m not about to let that shit slip away again.

* * *

Ash has barely said two words since I’ve gotten home, and the look in his eyes tells me that he’s going through something. But with him refusing to talk, I have no idea how to fucking help him.

After changing for the race, I walk into the living room to see Calista sitting in between Dom and Ash, her hands on their thighs, massaging them. And fuck, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of them right now.

“Ya’ll ready?” I ask, flicking my curious gaze between the three of them.

“Waiting on you, Blade,” Calista purrs, liking her lips as the nickname she chose for me in the alley that night rolls off the tip of her tongue, sending all the blood in my body rushing to my cock.

“And where the fuck were you last night?” I ask, putting the spotlight on her, noticing her grip on Ash’s thigh is slightly tighter than the one on Dom’s.

I can tell something happened between the two of them, but neither one has uttered a single fucking word about it. She grins, pulling up something on her phone and tossing it to me. I flip it around to see what it is, and my jaw drops, my blood turning to sludge almost immediately.

As I read the article, my heart begins to race faster than ever, my eyes quickly skimming each word carefully.

“Isn’t Marcus your father’s…” I look at Ash, my words trailing off, getting silent as I take in the expression on his face.

“He was my father’s... business partner,” he says in absolute disgust, cringing through the whole sentence.

Dom and I know all about Marcus and Ash’s father's other “business partners” and how they’ve fucking broke Ash piece by piece over the years. Looking at Calista, she leans closer to Ash, wrapping her arm around his lower back, a small comforting gesture. Right then, I know that she had something to do with the brutal murder and fire to follow—same MO as all the other murders we believe she committed. I glance at Dom, and he shrugs, clearly just as lost as I am.

“Yeah, I fucking killed him,” she blurts out, sounding proud and annoyed at the same time. “He was hurting Ash, and I’m tired of seeing the ones I love fucking hurt by these powerful men who never have any consequences for their fucking actions.” She shrugs and rolls her eyes, clearly not ashamed of the hell she’s unleashed across the city.

I can’t even be mad. I’m fucking proud of her coming in and trying to save Ash, but I’m worried she’s going to get herself hemmed up and she’ll be taken away from us before we have the chance to fully reconcile.

“Just be careful, Cali. I’m sure your parents already know it’s you behind the killings.” I offer a warm smile, to which she smiles back, slightly nodding her head as she gets to her feet.

“I’m sure they do too, and I bet they’re nervous fucking wrecks,” she laughs. “I want them to be afraid, looking over their shoulders, wondering if or when I’m going to show up for them. I want their asses afraid of me just like how I used to be afraid of them.”

Walking over to me, she grasps the hem of my hoodie and tugs me into her embrace, standing on her toes to whisper in my ear. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Killian. I’ve got something special planned for us too.” She places a kiss on my cheek and steps back, smirking with evil in her pretty eyes.

Whatever she meant by that has my hands shaking and anxiety gripping my throat. For some reason, this fucking girl makes me nervous, but I’m more than willing to dive into the darkness along with her without even giving it a second thought.

The air in the room feels electric, charged with tension and unspoken promises as Calista’s words linger between us. Each heartbeat reverberates in my chest, drowning out the chaos around us.

Dom glances between me and Calista, an amused expression crossing his face before he gets off the couch, arms crossed. It’s like he can sense the energy crackling, and he thrives on it just as much as the rest of us do.

“Dude, are you okay?” He teases, grinning like a dog who just found a bone. “Looks like someone just got their head turned.”

I shove him lightly, trying to divert attention as the warmth from Cali’s embrace still lingers on my skin. “Shut up. I’m fine. Just trying to think about what’s next.”

“Next as in getting ready for tonight?” Ash speaks up, his voice a mix of longing and determination, a hint of unease lurking within him that I can’t shake.

His eyes flicker toward Calista, searching for something in her gaze as if he’s trying to read her mind or ass her a knowing message.

“We need to keep our heads in the game, especially tonight,” I inform them, knowing that with the races comes more than just adrenaline; it brings the unsaid risks and the potential for all-out turmoil lurking in the corners of our reality.

Calista slides her arms into her jacket, her movements refined and purposeful, like she possesses an innate grace even when the world around us is anything but graceful. “Well then,” she says with a smirk. “Let’s make this night unforgettable.”

She smooths out her short black skirt that barely covers her ass and adjusts the tight royal blue lacy top her tits are squeezed into, making her look fucking irrestable. She turns and walks to the front door, the breeze from outside gently blowing her hair, and all of us momentarily forget about everything else as we step outside into the dimming daylight, our eyes heavily glued to all of her movements.

Heading towards the meeting point for the race, I feel a mixture of excitement and dread twirling in my stomach. Our lives are anything but ordinary due to us regularly skating on the line between disaster and salvation.

The streets are quiet; only the distant hum of engines and murmurs of the night fill the void as we navigate through dark alleys. Dom’s playful jabs and Ash’s restless energy bounce off the brick buildings, but for me, all I can focus on is Calista, who walks just a bit ahead. There’s a confidence in her stride that puts a fire in my soul; it’s like the rest of the world has faded until it's just me and her—two people standing on the precipice of something deeply confusing and utterly exhilarating.

But it’s not just me and her—it’s the four of us, and I keep forgetting that.

As we approach the gathering point, the air and energy shift, the tension thickening almost instinctively as we near a group of bikers warming up their bikes.

I catch sight of various familiar faces—some friends, some rivals—all locked in a dance that reminds me why I’m here and the bonds we forged through the chaos.

“Remember the first race we went to?” Dom breaks the silence between the group, sharing a look with me that uncovers the memories we both hold dear—the thrill of speed, laughter, and the blinding rush of adrenaline as we chased freedom down asphalt paths.

“Yeah, sure the fuck do,” I reply, my heart swelling at the memory. “I thought we were going to get our heads beat in that night.”

Calista giggles softly, nudging me sideways. “And you didn’t?”

“No, I mean...” I hesitate, fumbling my words as my chest tightens in a confusing way. “I mean, I thought it was the end for us. Look at us now.” I think back to the first win and how many drivers we pissed off, smiling as my insides begin to grow warm.

“Yeah,” Ash interjects, and there’s a knowing weight to his tone. “We’ve come a long way, and for good reason. But we still have so much more to go.”

The energy of the crowd swells, and everything fades temporarily as the night draws on. The growl of motorcycles and the hum of car engines and cheers from the crowd all mingle, creating an anthem that echoes our relentless desire for something more—a craving that keeps us all bound together.

Again, I feel a tug at my shirt and look down to find Cali looking up at me, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Just remember, you and I have unfinished business, Kill.” She winks, raising her sculpted brow, and then saunters off toward the growing crowd of drivers flocking to Five.

Invigorated by the pulsing atmosphere, Dom and Ash linger beside me, intrigue flickering in their eyes as it has for the past few races, but I can’t shake the feeling squeezing my chest as I watch Cali disappear before my eyes.

With her being back, we’re subjected to danger even more, but instead of running away, I’m ready to dive in and face it. There’s a hint of trepidation in the air mixed with out adrenaline and unease, and over the whispers of who’s racing tonight and who’s watching, and the voices in my head, I can feel it calling— whatever it is.

But this is the life we all chose, and despite the apprehension swirling inside me, I’m ready to roll the fucking dice.

We’ll rise together, or we’ll meet the darkness, fueling the fire seeping into our lives since day one. It’s a dangerous game we’re playing, but even in chaos and madness, there’s peace in knowing we have each other.

As the horns begin to honk, we step up to our cars, grasping onto the unbreakable bonds we’ve forged in the fires of tumultuous nights and reckless dreams. And as Calista comes back into view, a smirk dancing on her lips, I can’t help but feel this night is the catalyst of a new chapter—a chapter filled with the promise of something catastrophic and beautiful all at once.

And fuck, I’m absolutely here for all of it.