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He moves the knife finally before dropping it and letting it clatter to the ground so he can grip my hips tightly. He punishes me with his thrusts, which turns me on even more. Each drive of him into me shoves me deeper into the corpse below me. A perfected rhythm occurs until both of us are see-sawing together in synchronization.
“I told you once I would give you anything, and I meant it, but I never said it would be on your terms. Remember that, baby boy. Now I give you permission to come in your little toy. Let this be a lesson that stays with you, Malakhi. You are not in control, never have been and never will be. You trust me to let me lead, and I’m always pulling strings. This is chess, baby, not checkers.” I feel myself lock up, and then I’m coming until everything I have is wrung out from me.
Dominic is fucking into me even harder, and the twinges of pain from how rough he’s being spark every nerve I have. My hole is going to be red and raw by the time he’s done, and I welcome it.
“I love you as much as I hate you. Fall in line when it matters, and let me fucking protect you.” He snaps his hips once more before I feel him empty himself in me just like I did moments before.
We drop down onto the concrete, both of us and the ground soaked in blood, come, and spit. A heady cocktail that has my cock twitching, eager for a round two. Dom sees it before chuckling and pulling me into him, angling my head up so he can latch on to my mouth with his own. Kissing me with every ounce of feeling he’s capable of, I feel his love. Between this and everything that just happened, there is no doubt that he’s my savior, my brother, my lover, and my owner.
I’ll never be able to repay him, but what I can do is show him that I love him just the same.
“Do you hear that?” he questions me, and I strain to hear what he does.
The harsh, pounding sounds of water against the building wash over us. The sweet release of rain has escaped from the sky above.
“Mmm. Rain is upon us. Fitting, isn’t it, brother?” No other words are uttered as we lay there in the silence as the water cleanses us yet again.
Always and forever, LaRue.
EPILOGUE
DOM
One year has passed since that fateful night. Quinn Sorvani, the journalist who had come too close to unveiling our secrets, is nothing more than a distant memory now. Her life extinguished, her body disposed of with the careful precision we've honed over the years.
There was no scene, no grand displays of our twisted artistry. We couldn't afford to leave any trace of her existence, any hint that she had ever crossed our path. The evidence she had gathered, the connections she had made, well, we wiped them all clean, erasing any link that could lead back to us.
All that we had was that memory, which I know played on repeat for Malakhi often, and I allowed it. He got something he wanted, and so did I.
In the aftermath of that dark night, we made a decision–a decision to retreat from the shadows of Hazelwood, to go on hiatus from our gruesome work. We knew that the heat was on, that our city had become too dangerous, too volatile for our continued presence. So, we turned our gaze elsewhere, seeking new hunting grounds in other cities, other places where we could indulge our urges without drawing suspicion.
Our killings have become sporadic, calculated to avoid detection, to keep the authorities guessing. We've become apparitions in the night, leaving no trace of our presence, no pattern for them to follow. It's a dangerous game we play, a balancing act on the edge.
But we're skilled, we're careful, and we're relentless. The allure of violence is a siren's call that we can't resist. And so we continue, one year into this new chapter of our lives, driven by the insatiable hunger that helps bind us together.
As I stand in the shadows, I can't help but reflect on the twisted journey we've embarked upon. Quinn Sorvani is but a footnote in our history now, a name buried beneath layers of secrets and lies.
I look out the window, my gaze fixed on the city below, a sprawling landscape of neon lights and distant echoes. The city is both our refuge and our hunting ground, a place where we can lose ourselves in the anonymity of the crowd, where we can satiate our dark desires without fear of discovery. A vacation with a dual purpose.
As I lose myself in those distant lights, I sense him before I see him. There's a subtle shift in the air, a presence that wraps around me like a shadow, and then his touch–a gentle, almost tender graze against the small of my back.
I don't turn to look at him. I don't need to. I know him; I feel him in ways that transcend the physical. He's always been a part of me, a mirror to my own twisted soul, and in moments like this, our connection is palpable.
Malakhi's chin rests on my shoulder, his breath warm against my ear, a silent acknowledgment of our shared existence. We don't need words, not when our connection runs so deep, so raw.
The world outside continues to spin, oblivious to the darkness that lingers in our hotel room, the secrets we carry, the sins we've committed. But here, in this moment, it's just the two of us, bound by our shared obsessions.
“Atlas just called. He said those rich bastards at Hillcrest are looking to be indebted to someone. He’s too much of a cranky bastard to deal with them, but figured we might want the cash flow.” I just hmm an acknowledgment in the back of my throat. Atlas McKenna would probably be the closest thing I would call a friend. Definitely a colleague in this world, but he’s just as bat shit crazy about his sister as I am about Khi, so we understand each other on another level.
I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of his eyes, those bright blue pools that hold a reflection of my own twisted desires. There's an unspoken understanding between us.
“Do you ever get tired of the rain?” I hmm at his question. We both love the rain, but Malakhi doesn’t appreciate it as much as I do. It’s not just about the fact that we came together during a rainstorm.
My love for the rain runs deep, rooted in the very essence of my being. The rain is a paradox, much like my own existence. It's both a cleansing force and a shroud of obscurity, a reminder that life can be beautiful and cruel in the same breath. The gentle patter of raindrops against the windowpane offers me some solace, a respite from the chaos that simmers within me at any given moment.
The way each raindrop falls, seemingly disconnected from the others yet part of the same torrential downpour, mirrors the fractured pieces of my own psyche.
It’s in the rain where I found the one person who completes me and one day, it’ll be the rain that will take us.
