Page 16

Dante

I have many favorite moments, but this is a special one. This is one where Malik constructs art, similar to the way Selene does. Maybe I have a thing for artists? I’m not sure. Regardless, I find myself leaning against the damp concrete wall in the basement, the air thick with the stench of blood, piss, and fear. The single light bulb is slowly swinging overhead, casting jagged shadows across the scene unfolding before me—Malik circling a guy on his knees, hands strung up in chains bolted to the ceiling.

The little fucker’s screaming, his voice hoarse as he insists he doesn’t know anything, that we’ve got the wrong man. Blood dribbles from shallow cuts on his chest and arms, red rivulets mixing with sweat, pooling on the filthy floor. The smell’s rancid, sharp, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of watching Malik work. For a moment, I wonder if Ronan fucked up and brought back the wrong guy. He’s never made a mistake before, but there’s a first time for everything. The same way that Selene is slowly losing her edge.

I glance over at Ronan, observing him as he leans against his own section of the wall, eyes locked on the scene. He’s as enraptured as I am, his usual smirk gone, replaced by a hunger that mirrors mine. No mistake, then; the guy Malik is currently playing with is just another soul caught in our web.

Turning my attention back to Malik, my cock twitches at the thought of them together, Malik and Selene tearing a man apart, blood and screams and raw, unholy beauty. It’d be heaven on earth, a depraved masterpiece. I drop a hand to the bulge in my pants, massaging slowly, the pressure building as the guy cries out again. Malik has drawn his knife across the man’s shoulder, a shallow cut just enough to bloom red, and the guy’s tears mix with snot, his face a mess of panic and pain. “Only cowards get to live,” Malik purrs.

The guy’s head jerks up, eyes wide with terror. “What do you mean?” he chokes out, his voice trembling, chains rattling as he pulls uselessly against them.

Malik tilts his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes, a grin splitting across his face. “You tell us what we need to know, and we set you free,” he says, the lie so smooth it’s almost believable, his knife glinting under the bulb’s flicker.

“I don’t know anything!” the guy screams again. “I’ve got a wife and kids, please !”

A wild, unhinged sound escapes Malik as he drops to his knees in front of the man, before dragging the tip of his knife down the guy’s chest, drawing a thin line of blood until he stops just above the man’s dick. The guy lets out a raw, animalistic sound, his body jerking backward as piss leaks down his leg, adding to the stench in our basement.

Malik’s grin only widens, his eyes blazing with desire. “Oh, the cock’s such a precious bargaining piece, isn’t it?” he mocks, his knife hovering over the guy’s fragile piece of equipment. “Now, let’s try this again. You’ve got a bounty on your head that my dear friend Wolf over there,” he nods at Ronan, “should absolutely turn you in for. Yet, you might also have information about why you were in the fucking area. Not a lot of hired killers hang out in Ashthorne.”

Whatever was eating at Malik last night, whatever had him fucking me into the mattress with a desperation that left my ass sore and my chest bruised, seems to have taken a backseat to this. The guy is his canvas, his blood the paint, and Malik’s painting a fucking masterpiece. My hand moves faster, stroking through my jeans, my cock thickening in my palm at the sight of him. I glance at Ronan again, and he’s hard too, his pants straining, and I wonder what his fantasy is in this moment or if the taste of blood is what gets him going.

Either way, we all get off on this shit and I’m not sure there will ever be an easy way to end this lifestyle. I’m not entirely sure I’d want to.

The guy’s sobbing now, his voice barely a whisper. “Fine, I’ll talk. Just promise me I go free after this.”

Malik hums his response, his knife still pressed to the guy’s skin. “Yeah, I promise.” His voice is soft, almost tender, but I know that tone. It’s a lie and the guy’s too desperate to see it.

I shift against the wall and pull my hand from my cock before I explode in my pants like a goddamn teenager, just as the guy starts to talk.

“I was hired for one last job before I could retire,” he pushes out, desperation filling his words. “It’s not really a thing in our business, leaving and all, but they said this last job, no pay, would cover everything. So I took it. I’ve got a family now. I need something less dangerous. But the bitch is so fucking slippery, like she knew I was watching her.”

Malik leans forward, still on his knees in front of the guy. I push off the wall and step up. “You got hired to kill someone as a way to get out?” I ask, skeptical because I’ve heard of deals like that from my days running dirty jobs, before I went legit. Well, mostly legit. It’s a trap, always, a way to tie up loose ends by burying the hired gun. They get a sweet deal, think they’re scot-free, and then the public finds them dead somewhere. The man lets out a pained grunt before speaking again.

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous. Stands out too, with that long silver hair.”

Malik lets out a feral growl, his body immediately tensing. Well, shit. “You’re after my sparrow?” he snarls, his eyes flashing with a sudden rage.

The guy’s eyes widen, confusion twisting his bloodied face. “Who the fuck is Sparrow?” he chokes out, chains rattling as he jerks.

I sigh, dragging a hand down my face, realizing this is about to go south really fucking quick. Selene is Malik’s newest obsession and this idiot just admitted to hunting her. Before I can get a word out, Malik’s knife plunges into the guy’s chest, the blade sinking deep into the cavity of his flesh. He slowly twists the blade deeper, eliciting a guttural groan from the man, blood bubbling at his lips. “Sparrow is mine!” Malik screams, before dragging the knife upward, sheer force splitting skin and muscle, blood spraying across his face, his chest, and the floor.

My cock hardens even further at the sight of Malik soaked in blood, lost in his crazed obsession. Ronan shifts beside me, his eyes still locked on the carnage, intrigued. “I’m gonna guess that somehow our resident crazy found Selene?” he says, a hint of amusement cutting through the tension.

“Yeah,” I mutter, my eyes on Malik, who’s hacking away now, the guy long past screaming, just a twitching, bleeding mess. “Apparently, he’s been watching her.” I catch myself before saying more, before admitting Selene’s the Reaper, that Malik’s been trailing her kills. That’s a secret I’ll keep locked tight until it finds its way to the surface.

Ronan just shakes his head, growling at the speck of blood that makes it onto his shoe. “Good thing that bounty’s dead or alive. No idea how I’m gonna explain the meat sack that’s left, but I will say this morning’s already been entertaining.”

The laughter that follows is something between a twisted cackle and downright evil as Malik turns toward us, his grin wild, blood dripping from his teeth, his face a mask of red. “Look at my masterpiece!” he says, his voice bright, almost childlike, gesturing at the corpse like it’s a painting.

I smirk as I step closer. “It’s gorgeous, babe. Let’s get you a full fucking shower.”

Malik’s grin falters, his eyes narrowing, blood-streaked hands still gripping the knife. “No, I need to go check on Sparrow. This man was after her.”

Once I’m close enough, I pinch his chin between my fingers, forcing his wild eyes to meet mine. “We’ll go check on her right after you shower, put some clean clothes on, and shoes. She won’t be okay if you show up like this.”

Malik pouts, his lips slick with blood, his expression almost petulant. “She likes blood,” he muses. He’s not wrong but I can’t let him run to her like this.

I growl, pointing to the shower in the corner of the basement, a bathroom hidden down here for moments just like this. “Now.”

Ronan chuckles, leaning against the wall, his eyes flicking between us. “How the fuck would Malik know if she likes blood?”

Shit. “How the fuck does he know anything?” I say, turning to Malik, who’s reluctantly stripping off his blood-soaked shirt, tossing it into a pile. “I’m taking him with me to check on her, hopefully so he doesn’t scare the bejeezus out of her.”

“You’re worried about her too, aren’t you?”

“She can take care of herself but that doesn’t mean I’m not just a little worried someone’s after her.” I leave it at that, gesturing to the meat sack dangling from the chains. “Guess you’re on clean up duty.”

Ronan groans, pushing off the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. “I’m only not complaining because I get paid for this shit. Should I put him in some funny position and send the picture in? Maybe have him picking his nose or something?”

“You’re a literal child. Tell me, did he really have a family?”

Ronan snorts, moving toward the bloody mess and kicking at it with his foot. “Nah, that was all bullshit. From the research I could pull up, he was trying to get out. No wife, no kids, just a desperate fucker looking for a way to disappear.”

“What was the point of the torture, then? You usually only pull them down here to catch bigger fish, and as far as I know, we have no idea who hired him.”

“Because he’s not the first hired killer to be in this town,” he states. “He’s just the first one who’s been alive long enough to tell us who his target was. What I’m trying to understand is why Selene would be a target, and that strange look on your face tells me you know.”

“If I did, I’d tell you.” It’s a half-truth, and he knows it.

“I can’t do my job with you in my way.”

He’s not entirely wrong but he isn’t right either. Working as a bounty hunter, occasionally picking up the riffraff for a sizeable payday doesn’t require me to give him the entire picture. However, I’m not really sure why I never told Ronan about Selene, about her pastimes if for no other reason than the fact that we have very different goals. At the end of the day, my job is to protect her. I don’t know where he would stand and so I never made it his problem. Now, though, that thought process is working against me.

Because people are after Selene, but why? Who wants her dead? Do they know she’s the Reaper, or is it something deeper, something tied to her past, to Anabella , the name she buried? None of it makes sense and my head’s spinning though my is agenda clear: see Harley about the latest Reaper kill, check on Selene, make sure she’s not bleeding out or worse, and then find something— anything —to keep my mind from unraveling.

I leave Ronan without an answer and head into the bathroom, the shower’s hiss cutting through the silence. Malik’s in there, head bowed, water pouring over his dark hair, blood swirling down the drain in crimson spirals. Whatever was eating him last night—whatever had him fucking me raw, leaving hickies and bruises across my chest—is back, sinking its claws right back in. His fickle emotions are terrifying, a wildfire that burns through reason, and he acts on them every time. I shed my clothes and step into the shower, careful not to spook him, the water scalding my skin.

Malik whirls around and pins me against the tiles, his forearm pressing my throat, his wild eyes searching my face. Despite the desire to do something in this position, I focus on the uncertainty in his expression. “Babe, what’s going on with you?” I ask, my hands resting on his hips, pulling him a little closer to me. “You’re not usually this wired.”

He pauses before stepping back, his hands dropping to his side, water streaming down his blood-streaked face. “I hurt you. I’m not supposed to do that.”

I shake my head, my hand cupping his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “No, you didn’t hurt me. But something’s wrong. Talk to me.”

Malik’s gaze darts away. “Someone’s after my sparrow.”

“Hey, yeah, but that’s not why you were all messed up yesterday,” I say, searching his face, needing to understand what’s driving him to this edge.

He doesn’t answer as I turn him around, knowing that it’s easier for him to talk when he isn’t facing me. I grab the shampoo from the ledge and start massaging it into his hair, my fingers working through the blood-matted strands, the water turning pink.

“Someone else has been watching her,” he says finally, venom dripping from his tone. “From the shadows. I don’t like it. She’s mine.”

That’s news to me and probably also Selene. She always gets jittery when she knows she’s being watched. She calls me out all the time. Which means she never noticed Malik or the dead guy just a few feet outside the bathroom.

But why now? What’s pulling these threads together?

My hand moves of its own accord, slipping to wrap itself around Malik’s cock, the man arching back against me. Shampoo-covered fingers stroke him as I massage his head with the others, losing myself to my thoughts, almost as if giving Malik pleasure is a way to calm my own emotions.

I’m torn from my head as I find myself pressed up against the wall again, Malik’s hand on both our cocks, roughly stroking us together, using a mixture of water and blood to bring us pleasure. “Shit, babe.”

“I need this,” he growls out, eyes trained on our cocks, his breath kicking up and matching the excitement swirling in my chest. I brace myself on his shoulders, my hips rocking into his chest before he rips that orgasm from me, using our release to continue stroking.

He lets out a little groan, still stroking us until he hisses, shampoo stinging his eyes. Fuck . I lean him back to rinse it out under the water, “Sorry,” I mutter, smoothing water over his face to finally reveal the handsome crazy beneath.

“It’s okay,” he teases. “You can apologize when I fuck you later.”