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Past
It was possible to crave things without realizing it. I liked the taste of something you shouldn’t have. How it felt to drink from the cup of the forbidden. Cartier had always been that to me, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was my best friend’s sister.
“Keaton!” my mom yelled from downstairs. I continued to flick the blade around my fingers, watching as blood trickled down the stainless sharp lines. “No. Please. Don’t.” His body shuffled across the gravel road, kicking up dust and rocks to float around the high beams of my car lights. “Who are you? What do you want?” His hand covered his eyes and I tilted my head, studying his fight-or-flight. He didn’t have much of either inside of him. “Please don’t kill me. I have done bad things, but I paid for them! I did my time!” He went to shoot up from the ground and break through the clearing of the paddock.
One.
Two.
Three.
He didn’t run very fast. I flicked my knife around my fingers and reared my arm back, aiming it straight for his head. His body fell to the grass with a thud.
There’s a knock on my door and I turned to face it, to see my mom standing at the threshold, leaning on the edge with a knowing look on her face. “You’re home late.” Kiznitch mothers. They’re all fucked up one way or another, but one thing they all had in common was how much they loved their children. At least, that’s what Ash always said.
“I didn’t know I had a curfew.” I moved my eyes from the blade up to her face.
Ash tilted her head to the side before coming farther into my room. She sat on the mattress and wrapped her hand around mine, taking the blade from me. “How many this week?” I watched as her sharp side profile moved when she swallowed. As if it pained her to ask. I knew it did, because out of everyone in Kiznitch, Ash had the most humanity. God was punishing her by giving her me as a son. She had humanity, and I took it.
“Not enough,” I answered hoarsely, standing and pulling my shirt over my head from the back of the collar.
She dropped the blade onto the bed, wiping her hands on her pants. “Well, make sure you’re ready for the tour. I think you all leave tomorrow.” When she stood, she leaned up on her tippy toes and brought her lips to my cheek. “I love you. I’m sorry I’m not more involved in Kiznitch than you probably would have liked, but you know, I—”
“—Mom…” I hardly called her mom. It’s more because I didn’t think I deserved to call her that. She deserved a better son, or even daughters. I wished God gave her better. “I don’t care about any of that bullshit.” I understood why. Having my dad walking around with his dick out everywhere wouldn’t be helpful either. “I’m fine.” She patted my shoulder before turning to leave my room.
Unbuttoning my jeans, I flipped the lamp on and turned off the main light when Cartier walked around the corner into my room. I paused, looking around her. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m drunk and bored.” She danced her way onto my bed, seeing the bloody knife sitting on the cover. Her little blue eyes slowly came up to mine as she reached for the handle. “You wanna drink with me?”
I leaned forward and took the knife from her. “I’m good.”
Turning to the side, she placed her bottle on the bedside table and swung her legs back off the bed. She was fourteen now and growing way too fucking fast. We all protected her, but until when? She was going to stop listening to us one way or another.
Leaning down in front of me, she peered up at me from her knees and I snapped my head to the left, shutting down all thoughts that scratched the surface of my brain having her in front of me like that. Fuck.
Standing to her full height, she raised the bloody shirt in front of herself. “I’ll go wash this. Get changed.” Instantly, she had shifted out of drunk and bored and into taking care of Keaton after he’d slaughtered some humans. She was painfully good at keeping my demons company, and they liked having her in their space. Just her. To the point where they’d want to seek her out after every kill. Kind of like they needed reassurance that I could still have this one good thing even though I did so much bad.
I took the shirt back, but instead of her releasing it, I ended up pulling her into my chest. Cartier was always that annoying young sister to the other Brothers, but she’d never been that person to me. I liked taking care of her in a way; it was my apology for being who I was.
“It’s fine, Tigger. What are you doing here?” I flung the bloody shirt into the trash can near my study table and made my way into the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom. I knew she was going to follow me around like a lost little cub. There was a reason I gave her the nickname Tigger. She wore the cloak of a tiger—fierce, protective, loud—but she’s also fucking hyperactive and didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.
After flicking on the faucet, I spun around to see her leaning on the door. “I told you. I wanted to get you drunk with me! Kyrin is being bossy, and since I’m about to turn fifteen, I could do with a not-so-bossy brother.” She batted her lashes up at me, a smile broad on her face. She always had these two perfect dimples on each cheek that distracted me from whatever thoughts were always rushing through my mind.
I stared down at her. “I’m not your brother, Tigger.”
Her eyes widened, then her cheeks flushed red. “You’re the only one who always re-assures me of that, Vlad the Impaler.” She took the steps backward but kept her eyes on mine. “Guess I’m going to go find someone else to get drunk with me.” Even though we’re on Kiznitch land in The Village, her words still managed to work their way under my skin.
“Good luck!” I yelled to her back as she laughed her way out of my room. Mumbling under my breath while kicking my jeans off, I finished, “Everyone knows I’ll fucking kill them if they hurt you, anyway. Brat.”
Present
I stare down at Delila, curled in a ball in the corner of her cage. It didn’t take long for us to get her here and unload her shit and her two little soldiers she had working for her. The Village’s bunker is exactly for this. To extract information when needed and then incinerate the evidence.
To the right of me, sitting relaxed in a chair, is Killian, and beside him is Kyrin. King is walking down the long corridor, hanging up his phone when he’s near us. His heavy boots slap against the hard concrete, and I know that whomever he was just on a call with pissed him off.
“What?” I snap, unable to take any more fucking surprises.
“It’s Cartier. She’s coming down after she has sorted out the other crew they had started.”
