Page 27

H er favorite lavender mug slipped from limp fingers, landing with a muted thud against carpet fibers—chamomile bleeding into wool like a wound weeping. The rhythm of her lungs slowed in deep sleep.

Good.

Her neck offered no resistance as I cradled it, my thumb brushing over her pulse—swift and oblivious beneath my touch. The sedative I'd crushed into fine powder and stirred into her tea had worked.

She said she wanted to get married. She said she wanted to get fucked awake.

So now she slept with my ring on her finger and my hand between her thighs. That was what she asked for. I was just making sure she never forgot it.

My pupils dilated at the memory of her trusting smile as she'd sipped from that mug, completely unaware. The sweet irony of her drinking the very poison that would bind us together forever tasted better than any drug I'd ever known.

I traced beneath her knees, goosebumps rising at my touch. Her body knew me even when her mind was gone.

Chestnut hair cascaded down, swinging with each step I took, a pendulum counting down seconds until our union became irreversible. Heat pooled low, my pulse spiking sharply at her vulnerability. So vulnerable. So completely surrendered.

Her brow twitched as I bent and pressed my masked lips against her earlobe. I tasted the salt of her skin through the cloth, imagining her flavor coating my tongue directly. Soon. Her head knocked gently into my shoulder with every step, each dull tap marking another moment closer to yielding. Her limbs hung loose, fingers grazing my thigh.

Every third step, I squeezed her tighter, bones pressing into my palm—proof she was real. That I didn't invent her in the dark just to survive it.

That the first person I ever needed to see me wasn't something I made up to feel less alone.

The bed waited in the bedroom, fresh sheets I'd bought earlier stretched over the mattress. She'd insisted on a bigger bed. I wanted a smaller one so I could feel every movement while she slept, so she couldn't escape me even in dreams that weren't mine to enter. Laying her down, she didn't stir, chest rising and falling slowly.

Anticipation coiled tight in my gut as I moved to the bedside. Blood rushed through my veins harder than it had on the motorcycle with her pressed against me, her arms wrapped around my waist. That was nothing compared to this.

I reached for the bouquet I'd placed on the nightstand earlier, plucking a lily free. She'd told me once she loved lilies. It was the perfect flower for our wedding.

She said happiness felt like breathing without pain.

So I’ll rip the ache out with my bare hands and shove love down the hole it leaves behind.

I moved to the dresser. My eyes went to the oversized T-shirt I bought for her for our special day. Taking it out, I shook it, letting it catch the moonlight. Nyla had worn white on her wedding day. I remembered Grim looking at her, his hazel eyes soft with a love I didn't understand then.

The floorboards creaked under my weight as I returned to her. Her breathing remained deep and even, lost to whatever dreams the drug had given her. Her chest rose and fell in a rhythm I'd memorized over countless nights watching her.

My fingers worked methodically. The cotton of her shirt whispered as I lifted it. The clasp of her jeans surrendered with a soft click. Her skin prickled with goosebumps as the night air touched her. Her stomach muscles contracted briefly before going slack again.

The oversized white T-shirt slid over her head easily, fabric pooling around her curves. The neckline dipped low, exposing the hollow of her throat. Too large across her shoulders, the sleeves hanging past her elbows. Nothing fancy, nothing special to anyone but me. This would be her wedding dress. Simple. White. Pure in a way she'd never understand.

Her head lolled to the side as I arranged her limbs, adjusting the shirt to cover what I wanted covered. A strand of chestnut hair fell across her face. I brushed it back, carefully tucking it behind her ear. Her skin felt warm beneath my fingertips. Alive. Unaware of what tomorrow would bring.

I stepped back to study her. My perfect fucking bride.

Her eyelids fluttered briefly. She was dreaming of me. Of us. Of the life we would build. Of our family with Summer. She would thank me. She would see that I had given her everything she ever wanted.

Tomorrow she would understand. Tonight, she would become mine.

Forever.

I left her underwear on—a gift I was giving myself. I wanted to peel them off after I had officially claimed her, to unwrap her like the present she was.

My fingers tucked a strand of Oakley's hair behind her ear, the lily I'd taken from her neighbor's garden settling against her temple. The white petals stood stark against her chestnut hair, fragile and pure against skin that would bruise so easily. Oakley said a bride should have flowers in her hair. There should also be something old, something new, something borrowed,

something blue.

The lily was borrowed. The shirt was new. The rings were old. And her bruises from the last time we fucked were blue.

Perfect.

Wearing my usual black jeans, black long-sleeved top, and cut, I shifted on my feet. The material stretched across my muscular frame, my shoulder-length black hair tied back for the ceremony. Not good enough for her, but I wore it anyway. She deserved a ceremony. Even if I was the filth walking her down the metaphorical aisle.

The scene was set. We were ready. Picking up my phone, I dialed the next part of my plan.

"Did you kill someone?" Tyrant's voice is flat with resignation, not surprise.

"Come to Oakley's."

"Did she bake some Basbousa?" I heard that fucking smile in his voice making me wish I could tear his lips off through the phone. "She told me she'd try making some for me ? —"

Blood rushed hot and violent through veins that suddenly felt too narrow, too fragile to contain the rage surging inside me.

"No." And she never fucking would. "Bring Knight and someone else."

"I might be too busy icing my knee since someone hit it with their fucking bat." He grumbled. I hit him hours ago, he needed to get the fuck over it. "What's your psycho ass up to now?"

"Just get here," I growled before ending the call, my thumb pressing the screen hard enough to fracture glass. I unlocked Oakley's phone using her face, the screen glowing blue against her sleeping features. It would take Tyrant around thirty minutes to arrive. That gave me time. Time to make sure everything was perfect for her. For us.

Opening the camera, I lay down next to Oakley, making sure to have our heads close together, her cheek against mine. She looked so peaceful, so unaware of the vows about to bind us. I snapped the picture and checked to make sure it was perfect. Anything with Oakley was perfect.

"Even in sleep, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," I whispered against her ear, lips brushing the delicate shell through my mask. "I knew you'd say yes."

I set the picture as her lock and home screen. I found my name in her contacts, V. How fucking boring. In the editing section, I removed the letter and typed husband, followed by a black heart emoji. She would smile when she saw it.

The sound of the front door opening alerted me, wood groaning against hinges. Two large bodies appeared in the doorway, battling for who could look in first. Both sets of eyes went from Oakley on the bed to me standing in the middle of the room, a predator caught in his den.

Knight's gaze flickered to Oakley—a gesture so quick it was almost subliminal. I caught it though. My vision tunneled, rage building so quickly that my ears rang with it. I imagined plucking his eyes from their sockets with my bare hands, feeling the wet pop as the optic nerve severed, squeezing until vitreous humor ran between my fingers.

"Look at her again and I'll skin you alive." My eyes snapped to his best friend. "I'll make you fucking watch while I do it."

Knight's eyes snapped to mine, then to the floor, a nervous chuckle escaping his throat. "Jesus, man. Chill the fuck out. We're here to help, remember?"

"What freaky thing are you planning?" Tyrant asked, voice thick with curiosity and something darker, more excited. His blue eyes sparked with that familiar sadistic glee—the same look he got before he carved someone up.

"Marry us."

Tyrant choked on nothing, blinking rapidly. "I'm sorry. I swore you just asked us to marry you."

"I did."

"Like, marry marry? With the whole I do bullshit and rings and pledging eternal love to someone?" Tyrant's voice rose with each word, a hysterical edge creeping in. "You want me to officiate a wedding where the bride is fucking asleep?"

"Yes."

Knight and Tyrant exchanged a glance, words without sound passing between them. Knight let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair as they stepped closer. I held Oakley tighter, he wouldn't take her away from me. No one fucking would.

"How're you going to pull this off?" Knight’s eyes went to Oakley. "She's not even awake!"

I reached for the bedside table, opening the drawer. The papers rustled as I picked them up. "I know what I'm doing."

"I don't think you do." Knight grabbed the paper from me, his fingers leaving creases in the corners. "You need an ordained minister and two witnesses."

My attention turned to Tyrant. "How the hell did you know I was an ordained minister?" I knew everything. "If I agree to do this, what do I get?"

"What do you want?"

He pursed his lips. "Give me a marker."

Knight whistled, knowing what Tyrant was asking. A marker was important to our club. We had to do whatever the person we owed wanted, no matter what it was. My eyes shifted to her unconscious form on the mattress, chest rising and falling in rhythm. She was worth it. Worth anything.

I nodded to him as he pumped his fist to his chest, sealing our bargain. If I didn't feel like doing it, I would just kill him.

The front door opened, heavy footfalls rushing towards us. "I'm here." Grim rushed in, face exhausted, his dirty blonde hair—shorter on the sides, longer on top—disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it all night. His hazel eyes scanned the room, muscles tensing beneath his clothes like wires ready to snap. "What's so goddamn important?"

"V and Oakley are getting married," Tyrant and Knight said in unison.

"I think I heard you wrong," Grim shook his head, "I swore you said that V and Oakley are getting married."

Tyrant laughed, "Yeah, that's exactly what we said."

Grim's head snapped from my fiancé to me, then back to Oakley, tendons in his neck standing out like cords. "She's not even fucking awake!"

"Didn't say it was an ethical wedding."

"You two are okay with this?" Grim looked between Knight and Tyrant, desperation threading through his voice, hands gesturing wildly.

Knight's lips curled into a sardonic smile, glancing at his best friend. "Not the most fucked up thing we saw today."

Grim dropped his head into his hands, fingers digging into his scalp. "Is this even fucking legal?"

Tyrant's ice blue eyes rolled, "Because we're such upstanding citizens, Grim."

Knight leaned forward, studying Grim. "You got here fast. Usually takes you forever to leave Nyla's place."

"Nyla and I..." Grim turned away, shoulders tense. "Things aren't the best right now."

"We've seen you disappearing without a word." Knight's voice hardened. "I swear to fuck if you relapsed again?—"

"Not that." Grim's jaw clenched beneath his beard. "I'm just trying to find him."

Knight's hand landed on Grim's back with a dull thud against the leather jacket. "He's gone, man. Better he stays away. You know what happens if we spot him."

Tyrant's lips curved upward. "Better hope Victoria or you find him before we do. We'll kill him."

Grim met their eyes, exhaling through flared nostrils. "I know."

We would have to kill him. It was the rule Prez wrote himself.

Ironic that he would be the second member we would hunt.

"Who's even gonna marry you?" Grim asked, face flushed with frustration, veins standing out against his temples like rivers on a relief map.

Knight jerked his thumb to his best friend, "Tyrant is an ordained minister."

Grim's head snapped to Knight, disbelief etched into every line of his face. "Since when?"

"Since I had three beers in me and twenty-five bucks to waste." Tyrant's voice carried a note of pride, as if this moment validated his drunken decision. "Never thought I'd actually use it. Was gonna be more of a party trick, you know?"

"That doesn't even make sense," Grim looked at Tyrant like the idiot he was. "That's not how marriage works."

"It is when you're trying to get laid," Tyrant winked.

"My wife is going to kill me," Grim dragged his hand down his face, skin stretching beneath his fingers.

Tyrant slapped his back, the sound cracking through the room. "That's the spirit."

"How come you two are okay with doing this?" Grim demanded, looking between Knight and Tyrant, his voice cracking with moral outrage that seemed comically misplaced given his own bloody history.

Tyrant grinned, teeth gleaming white in the dim light. "He gave me a marker." His eyes darkened with sadistic anticipation. "Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting to have leverage over our resident psychopath? This is like fucking Christmas."

"What are you planning?" Knight asked, suddenly interested.

“You’ll see.” Tyrant's smile spread wider. "I'll wait until after the honeymoon to cash in. Consider it my wedding gift."

I narrowed my eyes at the motherfucker, making Tyrant throw his palms up in defense.

Knight glanced at Oakley, then back at me. "You planning a reception or just going straight to the embalming?"

"This is gonna be a fucked up wedding." Tyrant pulled out a pair of reading glasses and a small notebook, paper worn at the edges like something often touched.

"Since when do you wear glasses?" Grim asked, brows raising toward his hairline.

"I always have role-play props on me." He grinned, thumbing through the small book.

"Can't we just sign the damn paper and go?" Our VP paced, boots wearing paths into the carpet. Occasionally glancing at her chest rising and falling, whispering fuck to himself like a prayer. His gaze wavered between revulsion and resignation—trapped in loyalty. And yet he didn't leave.

"No." Tyrant chastised. "It's less fun that way."

He snapped his fingers, his gold rings catching the dim light. "Wait. Don't we need that wedding checklist thing? You know— something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?"

Knight huffed and leaned against the wall, leather jacket creaking with the movement. "You really wanna run this like a legit wedding?"

"I'm ordained, bro. I take this shit seriously." Tyrant flipped to a fresh page, tongue between his teeth like a child concentrating. "Alright. Old, new, borrowed, blue. Let's see…"

He spun dramatically, gesturing toward Grim with the pen like a conductor's baton. "Well—Grim's thirty-two. That's old."

Grim's dead hazel eyes fixed on Tyrant, the dirty blonde of his hair catching the light as he shifted his weight, grinding teeth audible in the quiet room. "You know what else is thirty-two? The body count in my basement. Want to make it thirty-three?"

"Why is everyone in this damn club so fucking violent?" Tyrant grumbled, rubbing the knee I hit with my bat earlier.

"Next up—something new." Knight drummed his fingers against his thigh, the rhythm uneven, anxious. Skin against denim creating patterns of sound.

I savored the weight of the fabric between my fingers as I lifted the folded white shirt from beside Oakley. The shirt ghosted over her frame like fog, glowing almost ethereal. My thumbs smoothed over the material with slow, deliberate strokes, feeling every thread.

"This," I whispered, the word itself a caress. My pulse quickened, looking at how it draped over her curves, how the white would make her skin appear even softer, more vulnerable. More mine.

Knight's eyes narrowed, his lip curling up at one corner. Something in my expression must have disturbed him. "Nice. We love a virginal hostage vibe."

"Borrowed," Tyrant tapped his pen against his chin in a staccato rhythm. His gaze lingered on the flowers I'd arranged in Oakley's hair, white against chestnut.

The scent of those stolen blooms filled the air, sweet and somehow sinister—like perfume on a corpse. Tyrant's teeth flashed white in the dim light, his grin spreading slowly across his face like an oil spill. "Those flowers from her neighbor's yard?"

I nodded. He gestured with his pen, a conductor orchestrating chaos. "We're already halfway to Martha Stewart, if she ran a death cult."

"And blue?" Knight's voice had dropped to a near-whisper as his gaze swept around the room, searching.

The marks I left on Oakley from us fucking were blue, but these bastards would never see those. Instead, I beckoned Knight closer with a slow curl of my index finger. He stepped forward, brow furrowed in confusion. I would've gone to him, but I refused to let go of my bride.

"What?" he asked, the word barely formed before my fist connected with his left eye—a quick, savage blow that sent him stumbling backward. "What the fuck, man!"

"Something blue," I said flatly as Knight cursed, hand flying to his face. Already, the skin around his eye was darkening, capillaries bursting beneath the surface like tiny stars dying.

Tyrant's laughter exploded through the room, doubling him over. "Holy shit!" he wheezed, slapping his thigh. "That's one way to solve the problem."

Grim's laugh erupted, "Perfect for this fucked up wedding."

His words carried the weight of moral judgment, but his presence here made him complicit. We all knew it. The hypocrisy hung in the air between us, thick enough to choke on.

"It's goddamn perfect," Tyrant said, voice dropping an octave, sliding into something almost intimate as he examined Knight's rapidly swelling eye with professional interest. "You're gonna have a beauty there. Like a little wedding favor."

Knight glared at me with his good eye. "You're fucking insane."

Tyrant rolled his eyes, “At least it wasn’t your kneecap.”

I turned my attention back to Oakley. The rise and fall of her chest beneath the white shirt hypnotized me, promising redemption I knew I'd never deserve. Salvation I'd take anyway.

The room fell quiet, a silence so complete it seemed to have mass, to press against eardrums. The only sound was Oakley's steady breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioner— white noise underscoring the surreal scene. I counted her breaths through the thin fabric of her shirt, each one a gift she didn't know she was giving me. Each one mine to take if I chose.

Tyrant whistled low, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. His shoulders relaxed, as if this moment of quiet contemplation had renewed his enthusiasm for the blasphemy at hand.

"Alright then. Ceremony's legit."

No audience would clap. No priest would bless this. But it didn't matter. This wasn't a wedding. It was a possession ritual disguised as devotion.

Knight snapped his fingers again, his brow furrowing as a new thought interrupted his focus. His eyes darted between the flowers in Oakley's hair and Tyrant's notebook, connections forming.

"Wait, did we settle on borrowed?"

The question hung in the air, sticky as cobwebs. Tyrant raised a single eyebrow, the gesture somehow both questioning and knowing, a silent interrogation.

"You borrowed those?" His tone suggested he already knew the answer and was simply giving Knight the opportunity to confess.

Knight's shoulders rose and fell in a casual shrug, but there was nothing casual about the glint in his eyes—predatory satisfaction barely concealed beneath the surface.

"Not exactly."

A pause stretched between them, thick with unspoken meaning.

Knight's lips pursed, "Did you kill Oakley's neighbor?"

The words fell like stones into still water, ripples of silence radiating outward. Grim's head snapped up so quickly I heard the vertebrae in his neck crack, his eyes suddenly alert and horrified. The color drained from his face, leaving behind a mask of disgust. A map of revulsion etched in bone and skin.

My gaze didn't waver. The memory of the neighbor's screams played faintly, a lullaby of control. Some things shouldn't be asked. Some answers shouldn't be heard.

I said nothing.

"Holy shit, you did," Tyrant breathed, laughter and horror battling across his face. "Guess nobody's going to be reporting suspicious activity around this place anymore."

Grim pressed his palms against his eyes, as if trying to physically block out the knowledge. "Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered.

Tyrant grinned, teeth gleaming in the low light. He flipped his notebook closed with a flourish, tucking it into his pocket with the practiced movement of a magician concluding a trick. "God, I fucking love weddings."

Knight rolled his eyes, the gesture dramatic and exaggerated. His patience was wearing thin, the initial amusement curdling into impatience.

"Can we get on with this bullshit?"

The impatience in his voice grated against my nerves. My hands trembled with barely contained rage, but I forced myself to breathe. To focus. Oakley needed this to be perfect.

Tyrant straightened his posture, squaring his shoulders as he stepped between us like a ringmaster taking center stage. The gold rings on his fingers caught the dim light as he raised his hands in a pantomime of divine blessing. He cleared his throat dramatically, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

"Dearly beloved," he began, his voice falsely solemn, "we are gathered here today?—"

"Just get to the fucking point," Knight and Grim interrupted, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

Tyrant shot him a glare. "Don't rush art, asshole." He steadied himself with a deep breath. Flipping through his little notebook with theatrical flair, finding the page he wanted with an exaggerated flourish. "Oakley Anson?—"

The sound of her full name in his mouth ignited white-hot rage through my veins. Another man speaking her name wasn't fucking allowed—it was sacrilege. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescents into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me as jealousy threatened to consume all reason.

Tyrant's eyebrows shot up, surprise momentarily replacing his performative solemnity. Then a harsh, mocking sound rumbled from his chest, sharp-edged and humorless, before he coughed into his fist to regain composure. "Okay, Law's daughter, do you take this psychotic asshole to be your husband?"

"She said yes." Tyrant snorted a laugh, the sound derisive.

"Okay, V—no last name since, according to the government, you don't exist. Do you take Law's daughter to be your wife?"

Nodding, Grim asked, "Do you even have rings?" Did he think I was an idiot? Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out two bands. One had a three-diamond set on top, stones catching light like trapped stars. The other was a black silicone ring for me to wear.

Knight whistled, nursing his shiner. "You have good taste."

No, Mother did.

This was the only thing she ever gave me, but I didn't want to think about that now, not on the happiest day of my life.

Taking Oakley's limp left hand in mine, I pushed the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, like it had been made for her—like she had been made for me. Sliding my band on my left ring finger, I took a moment to look at it, feeling the weight of eternity. The three of them stood awkwardly before Tyrant spoke. "I guess kiss her?"

"Get the fuck out." I didn't look at them, eyes fixed on my wife's sleeping form.

Tyrant took the paper and signed off, Knight and Grim doing the same. "Congrats. I'm leaving."

Knight and Grim followed. Looking down at my new wife, blood rushed through my veins like a storm surge. The room felt heavier, like even the shadows were holding their breath in anticipation. The moonlight through the half-drawn blinds cast prison-bar patterns across her still form. My fingertips tingled with anticipation—tonight was just beginning.

"Did you enjoy our ceremony?" I asked, kneeling beside the bed. "I know you did. I could see it in your eyes."

Had her eyes opened during the ceremony? I could have sworn they had—just for a moment, just for me. Jade eyes saying yes a thousand times in languages only I could understand.

"I've given everyone a chance to leave," I whispered, tracing my thumb over the edge of her lips where softness met vulnerability. "But you don't get one." Leaning closer, my presence hovering above her like a coming storm. "We're together in life, kardia pou chtypa." My voice was rough, scraping against my throat. "Or we're together in death."

Pulling my mask down slowly, my eyes taking in every detail of her face. For the first time, I would touch her with nothing between us—no barriers, no masks.

My lips touched hers, the barrier gone. Her taste lingered—sweet, real. My pulse quickened as our breaths synced. This wasn't just desire; it was necessity. She became part of me with each heartbeat, each shared breath. The boundaries between us blurred until I couldn't tell where I ended and she began.

Lying beside her, our rings glinting in the darkness like eyes watching our communion. Her breath whispered against my throat as I wrapped my arm around her waist, drawing her against me. The heat of her body bled into mine, a living reminder of what I now possessed. My muscular form curved protectively around her softer one, my black hair spilling across the pillow behind us. My fingers traced the new weight on her ring finger, metal catching on calluses. I imagined the metal was cool, her skin warm. I cataloged the difference in my mind, storing it with other treasures. The diamonds caught what little light remained in the room, throwing tiny prisms across her rounded face. Even the shadows wanted to touch her.

Reaching for her phone, unlocking it with her face once more. Opening the voice memo app, I pressed record and held it between us as I spoke directly into her ear, words meant only for her.

"I vow to never let you go—not in life, not in death. If your body leaves, your soul will stay with me. If your soul flees, I'll hunt it through darkness and drag it back."

My lips brushed against the shell of her ear as I whispered. Her skin was warm against mine, delicate as tissue paper. The scent of her hair—lavender and something uniquely hers—filled my lungs, becoming part of me. I shifted closer, drawn to her warmth the way rot finds sugar—inevitable, hungry, irreversible. Her breath hitched slightly, a tiny rebellion her conscious mind couldn't control.

My fingertips traced her jaw, feeling the faint flutter beneath as I continued my vows. Her eyelashes cast feathery shadows on her cheeks in the dim light, black against ivory. Pressing my palm flat against her sternum, feeling the subtle movement beneath my hand, memorizing the rhythm of life captured within my grasp.

I stopped the recording and saved it. She'd find it eventually. A wedding gift. A promise. A threat.

The phone's screen cast a blue glow across her sleeping face, highlighting the soft curve of her cheek, the peaceful parting of her lips. In that moment, I almost wished she could see me—the real me—without fear clouding her eyes. But that was a fantasy for another day. Tonight was about foundations. About creating something that could never be undone.

The front door hadn't fully closed when Tyrant's voice called from the hallway. "Hey! Wait?—"

His heavy footsteps approached again, Knight's following close behind. I glanced down at Oakley, reluctant to leave her side. The weight of the moment pressed against my chest—our first moments as husband and wife, and I was being interrupted.

I traced my fingertip over Oakley's heart, leaving a crimson smudge from where I'd cut myself earlier unloading her neighbor's body. A promise for later.

"My blood on your heart," I whispered.

With one last look at her sleeping form, I forced myself to rise. Every muscle resisted the separation, as if my body recognized the wrongness of leaving her. But this interruption was temporary. The night was still young.

I joined them in the living room, where Tyrant had already made himself comfortable on the couch. His eyes followed my movement with predatory interest, cataloging my reluctance, my tension.

"So what now?" Tyrant asked, his gold rings catching the light as his fingers drummed against his thigh. "You got what you wanted."

Knight leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes still watering from my earlier blow. "Let me guess—you got something else planned for tonight? Jesus, man."

My jaw tightened, hands curling into fists. They didn't understand. Couldn't understand what she meant to me. I didn't want them here, but I needed them for what came next. I walked over to the couch, shrugging my cut and shirt off. Turning my head to see their reactions, I reached for the hunting knife on the side table and held it out to them, handle first.

"Your only chance for payback."

They looked at each other before Knight spoke, "You gonna kill us when we're done?"

I might. "No."

Tyrant grinned. "Crossed off an item on my bucket list, I might go play the lottery after this."

He could die after this for all I care. Lying flat on the couch, I heard them approach. Pulling out my phone, I looked at the picture I took of my wife and me.

She was the only reason why Tyrant and Knight would make it out of this alive tonight.

"Okay," Tyrant said, voice lower than usual. "What are we doin', psycho?"

I'd been unwanted all my life—a shadow person existing on the fringes, watching others live and love and belong. But now...

Someone would finally love me.

Even if I had to carve that love into my skin myself.