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6

Hayes

I couldn’t understand my actions recently. And I could say the same of Hudson. But there we were, standing with two dead bigots at our feet.

“What if we leave their fingers at his door?” Hudson considered as he played with the bloody garrote in his hand. Glaring, I smacked my brother on the side of his head.

“Yeah, let’s just leave severed fingers of unknown origins wrapped up like a gift on his doorstep. Damn idiot,” I ridiculed harshly, watching as Hudson rolled his eyes at me. “I don’t think we should do anything. They obviously won’t be bothering him anymore, so problem solved. We’d only give the kid a heart attack if he knew we killed them.”

“Yeah, okay, okay,” he groaned childishly, smearing the blood coating his palm onto his shirt.

I sighed, “Let’s go. I need a shower.” And self-reflection.

It wasn’t like us to kill outside of contracts, especially for others. Hudson and I had agreed that we wanted Oliver the first time we saw him; that is, we wanted him as a toy to share. Just thinking about wrecking him, tasting his no-doubt delicious tears, made my cock throb in need.

But why had we killed for him? Why had we gone out of our way to find the stupid culprits and bleed them? That wasn’t something we’d typically do for a toy.

I mean, we hadn’t even fucked him yet.

He was starting to get under my skin.

It bothered me.

It made no sense.

We hadn’t fucked him, not even close, and still, there was something about him.

I kept waiting for this… this thing to fade. Only, it wasn’t fading. It was getting worse. I caught myself wanting to know what he had eaten, what he did when he was alone in that tiny apartment of his, what he thought about when he woke up in the mornings. It was fucking weird, and I didn’t understand it.

I couldn’t understand what was the difference between him and the probably hundreds of boys we’d fucked. Hudson and I didn’t care about anyone but ourselves.

I told myself it was novelty. That was all.

He was new, shiny, and unspoiled by vices. Maybe that’s why we wanted to protect him—like a clean canvas we hadn’t ruined yet. But that didn’t explain why I wanted to hear his laugh again. Why, when he flinched, something in me tightened—not with excitement, but something closer to anger. Anger at who or what had startled him.

This wasn’t me—us.

We took what we wanted and left nothing behind but bleeding wounds, broken hearts, or sore bodies. And yet here I was, thinking about the way he smelled and the shape of his mouth when he was concentrating. What the hell was happening to me?

Hudson hadn’t said anything. But I knew he felt it too. I saw it in the way he looked at the boy—too long, too quietly, too fucking intensely. We hadn’t talked about it, because we didn’t have words for this kind of sickness. Not when it wasn’t about sex, not when it wasn’t about blood. Whatever this was, it was worse.

Because it wasn’t fading, it was rooting . And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pull it out or feed it. I wasn’t sure I had a choice.

* * *

Oliver looked so serene while he worked. I particularly enjoyed it when his little pink tongue peeked out from his lips when he focused on a task.

Hudson and I had taken turns switching between us to watch him each day. The bookstore across the street from his antique shop had a fantastic view into it.

Of course, we would frequently wander into his store for a chat. He’d greet us with a sour face each and every time. It was frustrating that he was playing so hard to get. Why was he so wary of us?

I started noticing the little things. The way he obviously preferred baggy clothes to something tight and sexy like you’d find over on the campus. He never quite sat still, constantly shifting, like he almost didn’t trust the ground beneath him. I’d catch myself watching him too long, picturing him sleeping in my bed, wearing my clothes, eating my food, and living in my house.

The boy didn’t even know. He had no idea what he was doing to us —either that or he was purposely pretending to be oblivious. He’d flit about his store, looking so soft, and I’d feel this punch of want so pure it made my teeth ache.

We’d killed for him—not that he knew.

But I kept thinking about that—how necessary it had felt. Like he was already ours, and anything or anyone that bothered him was a threat that had to be erased. It deeply puzzled me, but mostly it just made me feel high. Like I’d finally tasted something tangible after a lifetime of chewing on ash.

“Do you not like our visits, pup?” I mused, leaning against the large wooden pillar next to the check-out counter.

Oliver grumbled, “No.”

“Why not?”

He shot a glare in my direction as he continued working at the counter. “You’re annoying, creepy, and you keep calling me pup in front of my customers. It’s weird, and I wish you’d go bother someone else.”

I considered his complaints. “You’re not flattered by our attention?” Greyson said his prey loved attention.

He scoffed, “No, no, I’m not. Are you really that fucking full of yourselves? Just walk over onto the university campus and I’m sure you’d find hundreds of people who’d actually appreciate your attention.”

“Hm… What about a hookup?” Oliver’s head whipped up, frantically scanning the store to see if anyone had heard me. There wasn’t anyone; it was just us.

“You’ve got to be joking, right? Go fuck yourself, Hayes,” he spat. I grinned at his cute outburst.

“C’mon, just one night?” I purred, tracking the emotions rushing through his eyes. They were very expressive.

“No.”

“What about a date?”

“Absolutely not. Get out of my store before I call the cops on you for harassment,” Oliver seethed, his cheeks reddening. Would his ass cheeks also turn that color if I spanked him? I couldn’t wait to find out.

“Alright, alright,” I conceded, my hands raised placatingly. “I’ll go, but just think about it, pup.” My voice lowered to a raspy whisper. “Think about how we could make you so full.”

To my utter delight, he threw a water bottle at my head.

It missed, but his point came across crystal clear. He didn’t want us. Somehow, that only made my growing desire for him more urgent.

I couldn’t wait to hear that bratty mouth beg to choke on my cock.

* * *

It was starting to really piss me off; the way Oliver wouldn’t fucking give in . The way he’d roll his eyes when Hudson teased him, or shift away when I leaned a little too close. Like we were annoying to him. Like we were background noise. We’d razed cities quieter than that kind of dismissal.

And it made no fucking sense. He should’ve been grateful. Afraid. Flattered. Something that I could use as leverage. But Oliver just kept existing, as if our attention bothered him—as if he felt we weren’t serious.

I wanted to shake him, make him see us.

Because I knew what this was. This was primal, feral. This was a need that didn’t end at skin. And the longer he ignored it, the louder it got. In my head. In my hands. In that animal place behind my ribs that only woke up when it smelled blood or longing.

“Will you fuck off for five minutes?” His voice wasn’t raised, but it cut clean. “I’m tired and busy. I have a literal business to run while you two seemingly do nothing but sexually harass me. I haven’t had a single full night of sleep since you two decided to wedge yourselves into my life like stray dogs. And I’m not interested. I don’t want to go on a date with you, and no, I don’t want to hear for the thousandth time that you can get me off with those supposedly giant cocks of yours. I don’t understand how much clearer I can be. So either fucking kill me, or leave me the hell alone.”

It wasn’t the words that did it. It was the way he said them. Flat. Final. Like he meant it.

I think Hudson stopped breathing. I know I did.

And while hearing him stand up for himself like that—bare his teeth—had my cock quickly filling, I wanted him to want us. So I ignored my urge to slam him against the wall, rip his pants off, and brutally fuck him in front of his customers.

After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Not just the words—though those carved a groove into my brain like a mantra—but the way he looked at us when he said them. Like we were beneath him, like he had measured us—me and Hudson both—and found us lacking. That shouldn’t have mattered. We were gods compared to him. But somehow, he held all the power.

He’d lit something inside me I didn’t know I had—something raw and ravenous and feeling . Something that made my hands shake when he brushed past without a word, itching to reach out and make him unable to ever leave our side. Something that made me linger outside his apartment door at night, just for the chance to hear him moan, talk to himself, or chew on a midnight snack. I wanted to know what he looked like beneath the surface, and I wanted to strip him down to his bones.

He became our center of gravity in a way.

We weren’t playing anymore—we were circling something sacred and sharp. Something that might cut us open if we got too close.

But I didn’t care, and neither did he.

We would make Oliver cave, and when he did— oh, when he did —he’d find himself trapped in a hell we would craft just for him. A hell where he would lose that stupidly logical part of his mind, leaving him completely dependent on us to survive.