Souls Unfractured (Hades Hangmen 3)

Vike looked at AK and shrugged. Steeling his expression, AK flicked his chin, and asked, “Why the little one, brother?”

My bouncing legs stopped dead. All my muscles tightened.

AK sat forward. “Why save the little one? Why guard her room? I’m trying to fucking understand it all.” He glanced to Viking who was now downing his beer, and looking back to me, added, “You want her? Is that it?”

I didn’t say anything and my jaw clamped shut. I dropped my eyes, my head twitching at this conversation, then I found my head turning, looking toward the trees again.

“Is it because she touched you?”

As the question was asked, my head whipped to AK. My hands fisted as I remembered Maddie wrapping her arms around my waist after I’d killed that cunt, Moses, at that commune months ago. She’d walked straight up to me and touched me. But the flames never took hold.

I still didn’t know why. But something happened that day. She’d done something to me. Somehow she got into my fucking mind. But since then, the thought of being touched had got worse. Because now I wanted her to touch me.

But I couldn’t ever let her.

“Brother. Talk to me.”

“Yeah. She touched me. After I’d fucked up that cunt, Moses, real bad she thanked me. She looked up at me with those big green eyes and then she fucking touched me.” I looked up at AK and Viking. “And I could touch her back. I can’t touch anyone unless I’m killing them, because of the flames.” I shook my head as my eyes clouded over and my stomach tightened so much I couldn’t breathe. I blinked, and said, “But she touched me. The flames didn’t hurt her. I made her feel good.”

My chest ached at how much I wanted to touch Maddie again. But a deep pit caved in my stomach when I told myself that I couldn’t. That it was a one-time thing. Then I saw a drop of water hit the thigh of my leathers. My hand moved over the water, my finger pushing through the wetness. Then another drop hit.

“Shit!” I heard AK hiss. When I lifted my head, Viking and AK were blurred. My hand went to my face, and I felt wet on my skin. Wet from my eyes.

AK stood up. “Flame, man. Fuck. Sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed. I shouldn’t have asked about the little one, and the touching, and how you feel about her. That’s your fucking deal.”

“She would never want me. I’m a fucking retard.” I hit the side of my head with the heel of my palm as my eyes blurred again. “I don’t think right in here. I’m fucked up—I don’t get people, they don’t get me. And I ain’t ever gonna be able to read people. Why would someone as perfect as her want someone as fucked up as me? Someone who isn’t right in the head?”

AK held out his hand. “Stop fucking talking like that. That bitch fucking watches you as much as you do her. And I ain’t thinking after what she’s come from that she’s as perfect as you think. Mae ain’t. Lilah ain’t. What makes you think she’s different?”

“Because she’s perfect. Everything about her is fucking perfect. Every-fuckin’-thing.”

AK stepped forward, his palms in the air. “Brother, I think you need to sleep. Just… yeah. Just get some fucking sleep.”

Vike joined AK. “Go, Flame. Go in your cabin and sleep. Shit’ll feel better when you’ve got some strength back.”

Dropping the untouched steak to the ground, I got up and turned to my cabin, but just before I reached the door, I glanced back. “I had to save her. I had to save her from that bullet. I can’t touch her. I can’t ever… be with her. I can’t… do that. But I can save her. I can keep her safe.”

AK ran his hands through his dark hair. “I know, man. I fucking know.” He dropped his head. “And I’ll say it again. That bitch fucking sees something in you too. Like she gets you or some shit…” He trailed off and his voice got rougher.

I felt like I should know why. But I never understood other people.

Vike pointed at my cabin door. “Get inside. Get your head down.”

I opened my door and walked inside, confused at my brother’s emotion. Scanning the room, my things were just as I left them: knives, leathers, guns.

Then I looked to my right, and to the floor. The scalding blood in my veins hit me like a freight train when I fixed my gaze on that hatch, at the back of the living room. I held my breath as a slice of pain stabbed through my stomach and I felt the flames once more. I closed my eyes and stumbled in the direction of my knives.

I picked up the old steel knife. The one I always used. I stared at the knife. Felt the evil filling my veins; the fire crawling to the surface. Then I felt my cock get hard. Felt it push at the zipper of my leathers. And I knew he’d be in my head any minute.

Breathing fast, muscles pumped and dick hard, I stumbled to the hatch. Lifting the knife, I held it between my teeth. It was dark, no light on this side of the room, but my eyes were fixed on that hatch.

Then the voice in my head stirred.

His voice.

The voice that never fucking left me alone.

“Strip,” he ordered, his rough voice loud in my head. Teeth biting down on the knife’s handle, I hissed, and my eyes rolled back. In seconds I’d ripped off my cut.

“All of them, boy,” he growled, and I heard the crack of his leather belt follow the command.

My cock throbbed and tested the zipper of my leathers. Reaching down, my hands slammed to cup it in my hands. I squeezed and squeezed harder again, my fist iron-tight until my legs shook, then a roar tore from my throat.