In Fury Lies Mischief (Midnight Mayhem 2)

Killian is glaring down at me as I lay flat on my back. “If you fuckin’ die, I’ll kill everyone here. Don’t fucking move.”

I pull away from his touch. “You killed my father.”

“I did.” His lips curl.

“You killed Hope!” I yell, right in his face.

His nose presses against mine slightly as his eyes frantically move between mine. “I fuckin’ did.”

“Why?” I choke out. My throat is tight, unwilling to let any other words through. You will not cry. You will not cry.

He brings his hand up to my cheek. “Because they’re fucking bad people.” The shots firing off in the background and smell of spilled metallic blood soon drifts into the background and it’s just Killian and I having an argument in the middle of a damn war.

“You’re a bad person, too,” I whisper, as a small tear slips from the corner of my eye.

“Fuck,” he grunts, catching the tear with his thumb and bringing it to his mouth to lick it off. “Yeah, babe, I am, I’m the fucking worst. But to beat the monsters, one must become one.”

“Killian! Get them out!” Kallisto screams from the background.

I spin around to see Kyrin throwing a feisty Lilith over his shoulder.

“Get up,” Killian murmurs, but I don’t. I have to check on Delila. Spinning around to face her one last time, I see she hasn’t moved, and there’s more blood on her face.

“She’s gone, baby. Get up. We need to get you out of here.”

I pull away from him. “I don’t trust you.”

“I don’t trust you either.” He glares at me.

“So why are you helping me? I’m a lost cause.”

He pauses, searching my eyes. “People are only lost because they don’t have anyone willing to find them.”

“I’m so lost, Kill. I’m—I remember everything, Killian. What he did to me. I’m stuck with him. This is all I really know.”

Killian presses the cushion of his thumb to my lips. “Fuck what he did to you. You were a victim. Just like all the others, which is why we needed to bring them down. You think you’re the only one who has been on the end of his dick? You’re not, and he’s had younger. If he’s not selling them at his shows, then he’s got them under him.”

“I went to a show a few times—” My eyes close as images flash through my head. “There was this one time, when someone asked if I was for sale.”

“Yeah?” Killian asks, his eyebrows raised. “Tell me what you remember about that night…”

“I—” I chew on my lips.

“Dig deep. Tell me what you remember. The red light? What else…” Gunshots pound off in the background as my mind slips back into a memory…

I walked down the long corridor, the cold, damp walls leaking with mildew and the smell. The smell would be something that I would remember forever. Like damp concrete and fermented flesh. Squeezing my hands into fists, I knew what it was that I was supposed to do—play with fire. I was thirteen years old, but I had been practicing for years now, almost having the poi and staff down to perfection, but this would be the first time that I would be performing in Patience. Hope said it’s okay and that it’s normal. I wasn’t for sale, I was a child of Patience and we’re not for sale. We put on a show with the people who are to be sold. Hope said that they’re willing, wanting this life. I chose not to listen to anything and to keep to myself.

I was Kosta’s favorite, and he liked to share me out whenever the right time came.

“Saskia, you’re up!” The doors opened, and I was met with a dark room and a single red light bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling. It allowed me to see the audience, to an extent. The audience is the same, with them all wearing a masquerade mask to hide their identity. Each person is assigned a pager. If they want to bid on one of the girls or boys, they page in and a waiter comes to them to take their bid and order.

Picking up my torch, I light the end and slowly swish liquid around my mouth before blowing harshly against the end. Flames react to the area, lighting up the crowd. A big one. I go through my steps as girls and boys walk across the stage to Marilyn Manson “Kill4U.” I flipped the staff around and go through my routine like a robot, manufactured by Patience. When I’ve finished up, I drop down off the stage as Jessika, one of our waitresses, waltzes over to me.

She nudged her head to the back of her shoulder, leaning into my ear. “Got people asking if you’re for sale…”

My eyes followed hers, to see four men all wearing different masks. The bone curved around their eyes and nose, allowing their jaws and mouths to remain on display.