#named characters

You hung off Zanri’s arm. Even as he spoke to others in the hotel that had become your more permanent home. People didn’t normally spend much time here, just enough to have a handful of pamphlets thrust into your hands and finding an apartment somewhere else in Hell. There again, most newcomers didn’t fill their days fucking the orientation officer.

He finished speaking with a new arrival, giving them the usual rundown: yes, this is Hell; no, you’re probably not evil; no, nobody’s going to torture you, at least not unless you ask them nicely. The moment you two were relatively alone, you were tugging him towards a maintenance closet

“Come on, Zan, I’m bored~” You gave him your best puppy-dog eyes, trying to convince him to follow you “Nobody’s gonna care if we slip off for some fun”

Zanri raised his eyebrows, grey steel fibres glinting against the deep red of his skin “Already? I’m surprised you’re not still worn out from last time” his hand settled on your waist, lips next to your ear “Much more of this and you’re gonna get me into trouble”

He looked around. Nobody was paying the two of you any attention, the crowd of newly arrived damned all standing around sipping their drinks and leafing through the sheafs of garish job advertisements. There was at least a moment of respite you could share, but who knows how long it would last? Zanri waved over another demon, icy-white skinned, lines of illegible text shimmering over his body. “Hey, Shg’shthg, right? Give me a hand with this one”

The blue-shite demon with the unpronounceable name looked you up and down “She giving you trouble?” His voice was like an icy lake cracking in the winter, all strange reverberation and fathomless depths

Zanri smiled down at you, vicious fangs bristled in his mouth, “No trouble, but my little pet is a little… Insatiable today.” He stroked your face “I need to see to the newcomers, or at least pretend to.”

Shg’shthg stepped closer, “And you wanted a hand seeing to her needs? A pretty little thing like that? I can do that”

You could feel yourself blushing. Still clinging to Zanri’s arm as he bartered you like a slab of meat. The hunger in Shg’shthg’s eyes as he stared at you, not even trying to hide how he was undressing you in his mind. Nobody had asked you what you thought about this arrangement. You weren’t sure if you wanted them to.

You gazed at Zanri, tugging his arm again. Then at Shg’shthg, basking in his carnivorous glare. Looking between the two demons, unable to quite find the words, feeling the deep redness spread across your pale cheeks.

“Eager, aren't you? Yes. I’ll help you, Zanri” Shg’shthg took you by the shoulder, two-inch long claws pressing into the soft meat. They wouldn't break the skin, not unless he wanted them to, but that didn't mean they weren't razor-sharp against you.

Together the demons guided you to the closet, Zanri looking around before slipping in and closing the door. They seemed even bigger in here, tall and muscular, each inhuman in different ways. Their scents mingled in the small space, gasoline and tobacco smoke, cut with hot metal and the electric ozone scent.

The attentions of the two fiends reduced your dress to ribbons, claws shearing through the thin fabric turning the already revealing garment into a pile of rags on the floor. You stood naked before them, before Zanri bent you over.

One arm held you to him, the other slipping his cock over his waistband. The rapidly-hardening rod slapping against your ass as Shg’shthg unzipped his flies. His member thicker at the base, tapering to a pointed tip, already leaking a droplet of precum.

He made your mouth water.

You lined Zanri up, nestling his tip at the opening of your cunt, the equine flare pressing gently against your dripping hole. Mouth open, you looked up at Shg'shthg, holding your tongue out expectantly. He tasted of bitter almonds, the drop of liquid on your tongue making you sigh.

“Fuck you've got her well trained, haven't you?” Again, Shg'shthg wasn't talking to you. He wasn't even acknowledging you as another person in the room. You were there as a convenient hole to fuck.

You whined, shaking your hips a little. The demons either side of you got the hint. You were there to get fucked, not be kept waiting.

Zanri gripped your hips, your well-slicked hole welcoming the familiar thickness. His hips pushed you forward, the pale demon’s cock slipping into your mouth. Shg’shthg took your shoulders in his hands, hips moving gently at first then gaining speed. Together the demons passed you between them, alternating which one hilted in you. One moment Zanri’s flare butted up against your cervix, the next Shg’shthg’s tip passed your tonsils. Each one chased their own pleasure, aware of the moans and gasps escaping you, only caring about getting themselves off with your eager holes.

By the time you could feel the familiar pressure building in your belly, Zanri was already grunting. Your cunt pulsing around him as he tried to force himself ever deeper, only succeeding in driving Shg’shthg further down your throat. Both demons were getting close, two sets of hands gripping you, fingers sinking into your soft body. You know you’ll have bruises where they're grabbing you. That's part of the fun.

Shg'shthg came first. Thick, bitter cum exploded into your mouth. You couldn't swallow it all, it filled your throat, washing out of your mouth, forcing its way up and out of your nose. He came like a firehose, every pulse shooting more than the last into you, streaming from your face.

Your gurgling sent Zanri over the edge, and you were filled from the other side. Your throbbing cunt swallowed his load, your womb filling in a heartbeat before beginning to stretch, your body struggling to accept as much of his seed as it could. Cum streamed from your mouth and nose, it ran in streams down your legs, mingling in a puddle below you.

Zanri pulled out, leaving your cunt to clench around the space he left “I’ve gotta get back to work.” He slapped your ass, shaking a little more from you “Keep her company for me until I come back”

Val jut her chin up, meeting his smirk with a glare. “Do you get a kick out of trying to make me afraid? Does it make you feel tough?”

He snorted and stepped closer to her. She stood stock still as he linked their arms together.

“You’re in enemy territory, Val,” he murmured, ducking his head down close to her ear, like he was sharing a secret.  “I’m just trying to keep you on your toes.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

The corner of his mouth lifted up. “My king wants you down for lunch in his office. I’ll show you the way.”

The king’s office looked much the same as it did when he was Eugene the Prime Minister. Papers scattered in random piles, post it notes scribbled with cryptic notes only he understood. Reminders taped on walls, the desk, the door.

A table was cleared off, the papers clearly dumped on the desk. A spread of soup and sandwiches sat on it, the king sitting in one of the chairs, waiting. Val was hit with a pang of nostalgia, because this set up looked exactly like the ones they had during campaign season. She didn’t know if he did it deliberately or if this was just how he ran his life.

“Afternoon, Val,” he said with a smile. “I see you have your tracker now.”

“And potential execution device,” she added dryly.

He shrugged. “Only a stupid person would need to worry about the electric shock and you are not stupid.”

“That makes me feel so much better.”

He smiled again, ignoring her sarcasm. “Have a seat.”

She reluctantly joined him and helped herself to a sandwich, knowing this whole charade was just to watch her eat. Rook did not join them, preferring to lean against the wall next to the king. It felt a little unnerving to eat under both of their stares but she knew there’d be hell to pay if she didn’t.

And she had to admit, the food was painfully delicious.  

“You now control the lock on your door,” the king said (Aris? It still didn’t feel right but neither did Eugene). “You may stay or leave your room as you please. All unlocked areas of the castle are open to you, as well as the grounds. If you wish to head into the city, Rook will escort you.”

Rook’s mouth fell open in outrage. “You cannot be serious! I babysit her enough as it is and you want me to take her out for ice cream and shopping? Who is protecting you while I run bullshit errands with her?”

“Hey! Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I have a shopping addiction,” she snapped.

“Like you wouldn’t jump at the chance to blow all the king’s treasury just to fuck us over.”

“What the hell am I going to be buying to drain it — a super yacht?”

“Children, please.” The king — Aris — held up a hand. “It’s not an ideal situation for any of us, but the two of you will have to give each other a little faith.”

Val and Rook let out twin snorts of derision and then shot each other matching glares.

“As I was saying,” Aris said with a warning look, “you have been given a probationary amount of freedom, Val.”

“Probationary?” So this was temporary?

“Yes. Your privileges will change depending on your actions. If you stay obedient, prove yourself, then you freedoms will grow. If you try to circumvent your restrictions, you will lose your freedoms and live in a cell much less cozy than the rooms I’ve given you.”

Obedient. Like a toddler. Like a dog. 

Not for the first time did helpless rage well up in her throat like acid. So many retorts and screams crowded her mouth that it rendered her speechless, unable to choose which to say first and terrified to say any of them.

Eug— Aris — looked at her in such smug satisfaction, as if proud of himself for bestowing a phenomenal gift. If Rook wasn’t in the room, Val could have hit him. Her fingers curled in on themselves to fight the temptation regardless.

“Do you have any questions?” Aris tilted his head slightly, studying her.

She used to love having his full attention on her — something made rare and precious because of his busy schedule and bouts of scatterbrained day dreaming. Right now it made her skin crawl, adding fuel to the feeling of constantly being under surveillance, never able to relax.

“Can I go now?” she asked tightly.

His gaze ducked down to her half-eaten lunch. “You haven’t finished your food.”

The rage leaped up, like a kerosene drenched campfire. She felt reckless and wild with it and without a second thought, flipped her plate off the table to watch it shatter to the floor, food spraying over the lush carpet.

“I’m done,” she said. “Now?”

She had no idea what her face looked like at that moment, but whatever Aris saw on it made him sit back in his seat.

“Yes,” he said slowly, warily. “Of course.”

Val stood so far that her chair fell backwards. “Thank you,” she bit out, dripping venom, before striding out the door.

She had no idea where she was headed, and she didn’t care. Val picked a direction and walked as fast as she could towards it. If it led her to a so-called restricted section of the palace, then maybe that would put her out of her misery.

The padded footsteps sound too close and too late to react before a hand grabbed her shoulder. Val whirled around, fist striking out in pure instinct at the warm body behind her. In less than a second, that body gripped her wrist and shoved her against the wall of the hallway.

Rook.

Of course.

“Someone is very cranky today,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a smirk.

“Let me go,” she snarled, pushing ineffectively against him.

Rook complied, releasing the bruising grip on her wrist and taking a wide step back, hands up in mock surrender.

“Not many people can scare the king, but I think you managed it just then,” he said.

“What the hell do you want? You have a tracker now. You don’t need to stalk me anymore.”

“We never finished our tour. I wouldn’t want you wandering somewhere you shouldn’t and getting electrocuted on your first day.”

“I’ll figure it out on my own, thanks.”

Rook gave her that same kind of stare Aris did — an assessment. Complete with head tilt. They must spend a lot of time together.

“You’re very angry for someone who was just given a significant amount of freedom that they quite frankly don’t deserve,” he said slowly.

She gave him a poisonous look. “I am not talking about this with you.”

And now that smirk again. “Thank god. I’m not paid to be a feelings person. But I think I know what you need.”

“A long walk off a tall cliff?”

He snorted. “Tempting. But no. Follow me and find out.”

It was probably a stupid decision to follow the most untrustworthy person she’d ever met, but having more opportunities to hate Rook offered her a welcome distraction. So, against all sanity, Val followed him down to an elevator and watched him push the basement button.

“Is that where you keep the torture chambers?” she asked, half joking, half . . .not joking.

“Sometimes it feels that way,” he muttered back.

The elevator dinged and opened to gleaming wooden floors and bright lights. It looked like the reception of a swanky business more than a typical basement. Down a short hallway sat an interior room lined with windows and inside sat various mats, weights, and other equipment.

“You brought me to the gym?” she asked dubiously.

“Yep.”

He made a bee line to a tall metal cabinet and pulled out boxing gloves. “Catch.”

Too fast for her to react, they hit Val square in the face and fell to the floor. She sent him another glare as he snickered before bending down to pick them up.

“You want me to hit something?”

Which actually sounded great, come to think of it.

“I want you to hit me.”

Oh even fucking better.

It felt too good to be true. But Val watched as he pulled out two wide padded circles and fitted them over his palms before he stepped onto one of the mats.

“You gonna put them on or are you chickening out?”

She yanked them onto her hands, their weight surprisingly heavy and then followed him onto the mat.

Rook held up his hands in the mock surrender pose.

“Hit these as hard as you can.”

“You’re serious?” She eyed him dubiously. “What if I hit you in the face?”

“You won’t.”

“You sure? It seems real tempting.”

He grinned. “The day you land a hit on me, I’ll smuggle you back home myself.”

As much as she wanted to deck his face, Val knew a trap when she heard one. Instead, she followed his instructions, landing a blow square against the right hand pad.

He didn’t even budge.

“Come on, Val, I know that’s not all you got. You were so full of rage earlier. Don’t tell me it left already.”

Oh, it didn’t. But she felt nervous putting her full effort in. Either it would hurt him and he’d make her pay or it would be pathetic and he’d mock her.

“You can’t laugh,” she said.

“Oh, I’m going to laugh. Now fucking hit me already.”

She took a deep breath and then slammed her fist against the pad with all her might. He never lost his footing, but she was pleased to see his body sway a fraction.

“Much better. I knew you had it in you. Do it again.”

“What’s the point of this?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Stress relief. I love hitting things when I’m mad. And if you’re hitting me then you’re not hitting my king. So come on, Val. Give me everything you’ve got.”

He asked and she delivered. Val channeled all the injustice, the fear, the grief that the last week had brought her into her fists, driving them over and over into Rook’s padded hands. She didn’t stop, not when her arms started to shake, not when sweat soaked her back, not when a lancing pain hit her shoulder with each impact. It was mindless violence with no victim and it blocked out everything else.

“Ok, okay, Val. That’s enough.”

His voice echoed distantly and she dismissed it instantly. He took a step back and she chased him. It wasn’t until he wrapped his arms around her from behind, trapping her arms against her sides.

“That’s enough Val,” he said in her ear.

She was breathing like a winded rhinoceros, her chest burning with it. But with each slowed breath, exhaustion threaded itself through her limbs and tugged. Eventually she slumped against his chest, happy to let him take all the weight of her. Even then he did not budge.

She was too tired to be angry now.

“Your form is absolute dog shit,” he said, his grip cautiously loosening. “But you have some potential. I could train you, if you wanted.”

“Train me?” With supreme effort, she pulled away from and turned to face him. “Train me in what?”

“Boxing. Mixed martial arts. Basic self defense. You can have your pick.”

“You want to teach me how to fight?” She crossed her arms. “Is this some kind of trap? What’s the catch?”

He raised an eyebrow. “There’s no catch. It would get you in shape, get your mind off things. Give you some sense of control.”

“And then I could use it against you.”

He had the gall to laugh at that, head thrown back. “Not in a million fucking years.”

“You think I could never be a threat to you?” Now she felt insulted. “Is it because I’m a woman?”

Rook rolled his eyes. “The scariest people I’ve ever met have been women. But a few weeks or months of the basics is never going to match years of intensive training. If you ever manage to hit me, it’s because I let you for your pride.”

He held out his hands for her gloves and she pulled them off with surprising reluctance.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you the way back to your room. You need a shower.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly.

But a tiny flicker of gratitude wormed its way through her chest as she followed him back to the elevator. The exercise had cleared her head. She felt soothed, the tightness in her chest dissipated. Rook undoubtedly had ulterior motives for helping her, but he still could have let her drown in her own rage until she did something stupid that he’d gleefully punish her for.

Instead he gave her a much needed outlet.

She didn’t know how to feel about that.

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Part 8 here

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Rook raised his eyebrows at her, clearly surprised at her answer.

“After you,” he said with a little bow, gesturing past him.

 “Such a gentleman,” she said as she walked past.

“It’s so I can shoot you in the back if you try anything.”

“Of course it is,” she muttered.

By the time they returned to the king’s study, breakfast was already spread out on the table.  What mess she made on the carpet yesterday had disappeared, as if it had never happened. But judging from the cautious smile on Aris’s face, he hadn’t forgotten either.

“Good morning, Val,” he said, pulling her chair out for her. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” she replied with a side eye glance at him. As if she wouldn’t recognize his Politician Voice a mile away.

“I slept like shit,” Rook piped up. “Thanks for asking.”

Val choked on a laugh and covered it up in a bite of toast.

“You always sleep poorly,” said Aris. “It’s because you don’t shut both eyes.”

“The last time I slept with both eyes closed, someone nearly shot my hand off.”

“Well that’s what happens when you don’t shut your mouth before going to sleep,” Val added, taking an innocent sip of coffee.

“You’re fucking hilarious,” he snapped.

She smirked. “Thank you.”

“Is this going to be a pattern?” Aris asked, somewhat exasperated.

Val and Rook shrugged in unison and then shot each other wary looks. It was eerie how different they both were and yet could act in unison without a second thought.

Aris gave them both a speculative look. “I see,” he said, before settling his attention back on her.

For the rest of breakfast, they made painfully awkward small talk. Val refused to engage fully, giving Aris terse answers and not contributing anything in between digs at Rook. If he wasn’t such a bastard, she suspected he sniped at her for the distraction. She could almost muster up some gratitude for him.

“And what are your plans today, Val?” Aris asked.

By then they had eaten most of the spread. Rather than answer, she turned to Rook instead.

“Can I talk to him?” she asked.

He gestured to Aris. “Nothing is stopping you.”

“Alone,” she added.

He went still at that, his gaze sharpening, eyes roaming over her features. It felt like getting scanned with a laser.

“My king?” he asked, looking over her head.

“It’s fine, Rook. Meet us in the hallway, if you would.”

Rook slowly stood from his chair, the languid posture disappearing for something dangerous and predatory.

“Only because her right hook sucks,” he added, the joke at odds with a warning look in his eye. Almost like a professional courtesy.

The door shut with a soft click and just like that Val was alone with Aris for the first time since her kidnapping. The last time it happened, he had just been Eugene, her good-hearted, intelligent, disorganized and vaguely infuriating boss. The last time it happened she was chasing him out of his pajamas as he languished at the breakfast table.

That moment felt like years ago.

“Val,” he prompted softly.

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat and held up her wrist, the tracker humming every so faintly against her pulse.

“Is this my life now, Eugene?”

He tilted his head, brow furrowed. “Is that what had you so angry yesterday? It’s only temporary.”

“Yeah, I know. I can earn my way off of it if I act like a good little girl and follow the rules. Because if I don’t you put me in time out until I learn my place to be more obedient.”

Bitterness oozed from her tone like venom. She couldn’t have stopped it even if she wanted to.

She didn’t want to.

All night those words looped around her head. The fucking audacity of him.

To his credit, he winced in response. “I — I didn’t mean it to sound so —“

“Condescending?” she offered. “Disrespectful? Infantalizing?” She narrowed her eyes and leaned over the table.  “I had to pick out your socks for you so they would match. I had to remind you of your own birthday. I organized every fund-raising event you ever had and I made sure you didn’t mix up the donors’ names. You were a fucking mess without me and you think you can talk to me like that? After everything you have put me through in the last several days?”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t even look at her. She knew prolonged eye contact made him uncomfortable sometimes and so she did not let up her laser focus on him until he could meet her gaze again.

“You’re right,” he said simply. “I have no defense, not really.”

“I’m not going to buy your lip service,” she warned. “I know when you’re bullshitting. You say that now, but I have to wonder if you really think so little of me when I’m not calling you out for it. I thought I had your respect.”

She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, biting her cheek down to stop an errant tear. She would not cry in front of him.

A flash of pain crossed his face. “You do have my respect. . . . And my terror. I need to know if I can trust you or not and no way to get an honest answer.”

Her mouth fell open. “You are worried about trusting me? Are you fucking kidding me?”

His fingers tugged at a thick lock of hair — a compulsion driven by sudden discomfort or anxiety.

“I may have lied to you about where I came from, what my goals were, my past lives. But you know things about me no one else does,” he admitted softly. “Not even Rook. You have seen me when I had no mask on. You know my quirks, my mannerisms, my fears, my faults. You can read me like a book. I could be glamored to look like someone else and I bet my entire treasury you would still be able to clock it was me in minutes or less.”

Val had to roll her eyes. “You make me sound like I can read your mind. I was just your assistant, Eugene. I’m not that important in the grand scheme of things, especially since you have literally hundreds of servants at your disposal for the kind of stuff I did for you.”

He let out a bark of harsh laughter. “You have no idea. I was a mess without you. I’m disorganized with a horribly unreliable memory. I can’t focus my full attention on something for more than five seconds at a time. I get overwhelmed at tasks with more than two steps and you have to put a gun to my head to start my own laundry. And yes, I have servants that can take care of some of those things, but no assistant has ever compared to what you could do.”

“Now you’re just kissing my ass,” she said, leaning back with her arms crossed.

And gods help her, it was working, if only a little. Eugene had never been ungrateful when she worked for him, but never had he acknowledged her skills to such a degree.

“I’m being honest,” he countered. “I am in the most crucial and potentially vulnerable part of my plans. And you are the one person who could bring about its downfall. You know the most important leaders in every category. You have their personal contact information, for Gods’ sake. You know exactly who to go first to warn of an invasion, you know exactly how to organize against it, and you have enough information about me and how I think to give them everything they needed to stop me. If you were to escape it would ruin everything.”

He dragged a hand over his face, another tick that showed his worries. Maybe he was on to something.

“You’re so dangerous, in fact, Rook had been nagging at me to execute you since you dove into the car,” he continued. “And in all honesty, it’s the smartest choice to make. But I can’t do it. Not to you.”

“So this is your solution?” She shook the tracker at him. “Imprisonment for crimes that I could do instead of anything I have done?”

He pinned her with his gaze. “Would you stay if I took it off? Or would you leave for home at the first opportunity?”

Of course she would run. She would give anything to be far far away from him and this whole mess. Not that she could.

“You’ve made it impossible for me to go home,” she spat.

This time he leaned over the table, eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t force you into that car, Val. You can blame me for a great many things, but not for that. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for a choice that you made.”

Val chewed at her lip, unable to argue this and hating it. Her choice was based on her feelings and he wasn’t responsible for either. That was on here alone.

Godsdamnit.

“What would you do if our roles were reversed?” he asked, head tilted. “What other solution is there?”

She snorted. “Have you thought about moving on? It’s been a century. This is the way things are now.”

Aris stood from the table so suddenly it shuddered, the vase of flowers nearly tipping over. She jerked back reflexively as he slammed his hands on the table. Fury sparked in his eyes, more than she had ever seen, running hot enough to make her gaze flinch away.

“They murdered me, Val!” he shouted. “They murdered me and stole my home from me and then they’ve systematically destroyed it for their own gain.”

She had never seen him raise his voice before. His fingers dug into the table cloth, his gaze a brand upon her, as he continued in a softer voice that shook.

“The Coalition is in shambles. You saw it when we worked together. The bribes from lobbyists are what drives laws. Family ties rule the senate and parliaments just as iron clad as a dynasty. The wealth disparity is a chasm while trade stagnates in Three and roads are impassable in Two and we’ve sat through three drinking crises alone in One in my first term alone. You can accept it because you have no conception of what things were like before. But I cannot stand by and accept that this is the way things are now.”

His words finished in a growl, his breaths heavy. Val swallowed, trying to calm her own racing heartbeat. He had never shown any signs of violence in the time she’s known him, but neither did she ever witness a loss of temper like this.

Could she have taken him on in a fight? Maybe. If he didn’t have a gun on him. But not Rook, who waited just outside and undoubtedly heard all of this.

“And you think you can fix all that?” she finally dared to ask.

Because he wasn’t wrong. Which she also hated.

He stood up  and took a few deep, calming breaths, fingers combing his hair back. Putting himself back together as if he had never lost his temper.

“I know that I can,” he said as he sat back down, his voice even again. “Those sorts of problems don’t exist here.”

“That’s because your political infrastructure never really changed,” she pointed out and if he threw another fit, oh fucking well. “You have to change a hundred years of laws and politics to model it after here.”

He nodded. “I am aware. I’m under no delusion that it would be fast or easy. But it can be done. And I will do it. Even if it takes me ten lifetimes.”

“You know, there’s a certain kind of word for someone who starts running a country and then never steps down.”

He rolled his eyes at that.

“I’m going to give you grace for the conclusions you’re drawing out of ignorance and youth. But if you are so concerned about what I’m going to do to our home, then why don’t you help me?”

From prisoner back to assistant? Her suspicions rose like hackles.

“Help you how? Match your socks again?”

“I’m the king. If I were mismatched socks no one would dare comment on it save for Rook. And now you. I’m more interested in your mind. Your organizational skills. Your guidance. Your knowledge and experience.”

“I thought I was young and ignorant.”

She would not be tempted by this, she would not.

“I am going to unite the Coalition back under my rule, Val. It is not a hope but a certainty. You have the choice to watch helplessly from the sidelines or help me create an end result we can all live with.”

“I . . .” A cocktail of complicated feelings twisted and writhed in her gut.

He was right about so many things. But he also knew how to twist the truth with his own ideas. She’d seen him do it countless times, to run circles around lobbyists and constituents and other politicians. It was impossible to know what she could trust.

“I would have to think about it,” she said finally.

He smiled then, a small quirk of his mouth. “You have some time. Now, is there anything else you would like to rightfully scold me for or can I call back in Rook before he has a stroke?”

“I’m done for now.”

“Excellent. And — one more thing, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“What?”

He gave her that crooked smile again. “Call me Aris.”

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He moves through the room like a shark, silent and powerful, his eyes scanning for prey. He’ll know them when he sees them.

A peal of carefree laughter announces her as too confident. Hunched, defensive shoulders declare him too wary. But there are, as the saying goes, plenty of fish in the sea, and Anson is nothing if not patient.

He smells scotch, and champagne, and expensive perfume, and below it all he smells blood in the water.

He almost smiles when he sees her. Female, late 20's. Small in height, small build, small personality. Blonde, but not the polished glossy blonde that is bought and paid for in high-end salons. Blonde like cornsilk, innocent and limp, coerced into an updo that’s already wilting. Pretty enough, at least in whatever sad little town she’s originally from, but no one who would catch anyone’s eye amid the glittering beauties of the city, and she knows it.

She’s perfect.

Now he lets himself smile. Lets it crinkle the corners of his eyes so it looks genuine. Takes two flutes of champagne from a passing tray, then sidles up next to her. “Do you always feel as awkward at these things as I do?”

Warm. Conspiratorial, even. The two of them against the world.

She startles, pale eyes widening, the  looks him over. “Always,” she admits, chuckling. “It’s supposed to be a good way to meet people here in the city, but…” She nods helplessly towards the rest of the party, at all the people putting on a convincing show of knowing what they’re doing. “Where do you even start?”

“I’ve been here an hour and I still haven’t figured it out,” he “admits" with a self-deprecating chuckle, then hands her one of the flutes. “I’m Anson. You’re new to the city, then?”

“Oh! Um. Lily,” she says, taking the thin glass stem with hesitant fingers. “And yeah. Just got here a little over a month ago.” She toys with the glass but doesn’t sip it, looking uncomfortable.

His smile deepens, grows amused. “Would it make you feel better if I took a sip first?” he asks, nodding at the glass.

She blushes. “Oh! No, I wasn’t – I don’t think you would – I mean, everyone warns you, but- sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” She takes a small sip; a moment later, when there seem to be no ill-effects, she takes another and her shoulders relax by an inch. “Sorry. It’s good.”

He laughs quietly and shakes his head. “No, it’s good to be cautious! Not everyone here has good intentions. But yeah, they really went all out with the refreshments for this thing.” He watches her lips as she takes another sip. Pretty. Too thin for true beauty. Done up in a color that no doubt looked good in the tube but makes the rest of her face look washed out. He wants to bite them. Patience. “So what brings you to the city, Lily?”

She colors again. “It’s not what you think. I know; ‘small-town girl runs away to the big city trying to be rich and famous.’ I’m not an idiot. I know I’m never going to be a movie star or anything like that. I just… had to get out, you know?” She searches his face. “A dead-end life in a dead-end town, no one who truly knew me, no one who even cared enough to notice when I left. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but at least here I have a chance to figure it out.”

No one to miss you. No attachments to worry about.

He nods, feigning understanding. “That’s brave, though,” he says, his voice laced with admiration. “To take a chance like that, not knowing how it’ll turn out? I think that’s beautiful.”

Lay the groundwork. Make it easier for her to take more risks tonight.

“In fact,” he adds, draining his glass, “you've inspired me to be brave too. I think I’m going to ask a pretty lady to dance.”

He holds out his hand to her; it takes her a moment to realize he means her  but when she does she ducks her head, hiding a smile, before carefully placing her hand in his.

He leads her out, her fingers light and fragile where she grips his. He imagines squeezing them, imagines the fine bones of her thin wrist grinding together under his hand.

“Oh!” She smiles, looking charmed, and nods to where the light from their bracelets mingles against their skin. “It’s funny, you’d think it would make purple. But it’s just red and blue light. It’s pretty.”

“Like flowers on your arm,” he suggests with a smile, and pictures leaving red and blue marks to replace them once the glowsticks fade.

He leads her through a dance. She’s not skilled, but she’s surprisingly graceful, and she picks the steps up quickly. Only once does she truly fumble, tripping over her own feet and falling against his chest, laughing at her own misstep.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have given you that champagne after all, he teases, whispering the words into her ear as he steadies her.

“Oh, shut up,” she whispers back, blushing and barely hiding a smile, before stepping back into the dance.

They dance through two more songs before he leads her to the side again, his heart pounding with anticipation. This is the moment he loves, the moment where it could all go wrong or all go right. Everything that follows will be sweet, but this is the heart of the hunt, this moment here. He makes a show of biting his lip, of looking shy. “So… I had a thought, and maybe it’s a silly thought. But… do you want to get out of here?” He gives her a hopeful glance. “Just you and me I mean?”

She hesitates. She glances around as the party swirls around them, and for a moment he’s sure he spoke too soon, that he hadn’t gotten her on the hook yet and now she’d be lost to him.

But then her eyes sparkle, as if she can’t quite believe her luck. “I’ll… call a Lyft,” she says, breathless, as relief and a different, darker anticipation wash over him.

Outside. The night air is cool and quiet compared to the soiree, and he wraps his jacket over her shoulders. Got to keep up the charade a little longer, after all.

She turns to him then as the lights of their ride approach down the dark street. “I… thank you,” she says softly. “You didn’t have to do this. To be nice. But you made tonight really special. Thank you.”

She lifts her face to his, her eyes luminous under the streetlamps. Innocent. Inviting. Trusting. He thrills to see it. He leans in, slowly, as if unsure of his welcome, and just like he knew she would she closes the distance herself, pressing those pretty lips to his.

He kisses her as the car pulls up next to them, kisses her and lets himself enjoy it. Her lips are softer than they look, and he’s amused to realize he feels almost dizzy. Like a schoolboy with a crush. As if this were real.

Wait. No. No, he’s actually dizzy.

He draws back, confused, and stumbles. His lips tingle; his legs feel like jelly. “Anson?” Concern in her voice, but distant, as if she were far away. “Are you okay? Look, the car's here, sit down.”

Hands move him into the backseat, her grip stronger and more forceful than it had been during the dance. She slides into the seat next to him and he struggles to focus on her. She looks… different. The way she holds herself. The way she smiles.

“Home, Miss Lily?” the driver asks, and she nods.

That’s wrong. This is a Lyft. “How… how ds'he…” How does he know your name, he tries to ask, but his tongue feels wrong and the words don’t form. His heart starts to pound and he struggles to sit up, but his limbs won’t respond.

“Oh, shh, baby, don’t worry about it,” she replies. Her voice is soft and sweet as ever, but as she leans solicitously over him her eyes are cracked ice. “Everything’s fine. You’ll see. I’ll take good care of you. We’re going to have such an amazing time together, just you and me. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

She smiles, and it isn’t soft and it isn’t pretty. Her hand comes up to caress his rapidly-numbing cheek with self-assured ownership. “You’re never going to have to worry about anything ever again.”

“How long has salt been around?” Adam asked blithely. “I don’t know. Probably at least a thousand years or more. Did the Romans use salt? You’re the history nerd, not me.”

“Don’t mock me,” Ben snapped. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Do you really want to know?”

What fucking kind of question was that? But Adam tilted his head to the side, the look in his eyes deadly serious.

“Because if I tell you,” he continued, “that could implicate you. Once you know, you can’t un-know. And Heroes have ways of making you talk. There’s no way they’d believe you didn’t help me all this time.”

So consumed with the fear of Adam himself, Ben never thought to be concerned with anyone else. Now a new fear dug its roots into him.

“There’s no way they’d believe it now,” he said, heart thudding again.

“They would if you were genuinely clueless.”

Or if I turned you in Ben thought. That was the other thought that had plagued him the last few days.

Now that he knew, what was he supposed to do about it?

“But I don’t intend on you talking to anyone about this,” Adam added.

Again, Ben’s hackles raised at the certainty in Adam’s voice. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“How would you stop me?”

He didn’t mean it as a taunt. He knew Adam was dangerous, but not how. Did Adam have powers or weapons? What plans did he have for Ben?

“You don’t want the answer to that question either,” Adam replied softly. “But know that I would, if I had to. I’m capable of anything when I know it’s my best option.”

The lump was back in Ben’s throat, making it hard to swallow. He could stomach the lying, even understand it a little. How do you tell your roommate that you’re the one behind all the recent robberies and arson?

 And Ben could handle the crimes, for the most part. This city ate people alive and anyone not obscenely wealthy had one bad accident standing between themselves and homelessness.  So far Adam’s crew had only targeted places  with large payouts. They took hostages when necessary but had no casualties so far.

But the threats? The knife at his throat? The lack of hesitation before launching to dark promises of violence hurt Ben the most. Even without his stupid crush, they had become friends the last three years. Their lives had become enmeshed with each other’s in a domestic intimacy that went beyond two people who simply shared a space.

 Adam knew his allergies and what restaurants to avoid because of it. He knew Ben’s parents and siblings. He knew Ben’s failed dreams and useless history degree. They shared shampoo and lonely holiday dinners and a Netflix account.

Ben thought he knew Adam the same way. But now all that had unraveled, and though he never harbored the hope that Adam could return his affections, seeing how easily Adam could threaten his life as if Ben never meant anything to him . . .

The knife would hurt less.

“What . . .” Ben swallowed again, his voice coming out choked. “What do you want me to do? I can move out. Leave the city.”

Adam’s eyebrows shot up. “Leave? You can’t leave!”

 Hope rose ever so slightly without Ben’s permission. But when had it ever listened in the first place?

“I can’t afford this apartment without you.”

And there it went, dashed on the rocks.

“Haven’t you been . . .earning extra income,” Ben asked hesitantly.

“Not enough to cover your portion of everything for more than a month or two. Besides . . .I only get a small percentage of the cut. I need you.”

Boy, would Ben have loved to hear that in literally any other circumstance.

“But I’m a liability now,” he protested.

“Are you?”

Adam got a certain look in his eye anytime they played strategy games. It didn’t matter what kind — Among Us, Monopoly, chess, Street Fighter. His mind always worked five steps ahead, thinking of contingency plans for contingency plans, and Ben knew when that glint showed up in Adam’s eye, he was about to lose. That he had lost long before he even realized it.

“Here’s the way I see it.” Adam leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “You hate living with your parents and you don’t want to leave the city. I can’t leave because I’m . . .in the middle of things. If either of us were to move out, we’d both have to find another roommate and the odds of us finding people that work as well with us as we do with each other is impossible. We would both be miserable.”

“You think I would be more miserable with a person who didn’t threaten me with a knife?” Ben asked.

And the answer to that question was yes, but Adam didn’t have to know that.

“What if they never turn the light on when they piss at night and get it all over the toilet?” Adam countered. “What if they eat the last of all your snacks or move their obnoxious girlfriend in or never empty the dishwasher before sticking their dirty dishes in?”

Objectively speaking, Ben would rather have a knife to his throat one time than deal with any of those on a constant basis.

“We know how to live with each other. We’ve developed a routine that has worked for years. This doesn’t have to change anything. It’s not like I haven’t been doing this for months while you had no clue anyway.”

“You will never trust me not to snitch,” said Ben.

“If I’m in jail, then how are you going to still live here with any kind of sanity? Better yet — if I’m thrown in prison because you ran your mouth, how are you going to be safe from retaliation from my boss or crew members? How are you going to avoid your own prison sentence for being an accessory? Is it worth your life to put me away?”

That last question hit him hard. He knew it was cowardly and stupid beyond measure, but he couldn’t bear the thought of blowing up the little life he’d carved for himself here. It didn’t amount to much, especially to his parents, but he loved it all the same.

“No,” he told Adam softly. “It’s not worth it.”

He loved his life and he loved Adam and he loved his life because of Adam and it all fed into each other like one writhing ouroboros.

Adam leaned back again, looking devastatingly smug. “I didn’t think so.”

“So . . .what now?” Ben bit at his lower lip, the nervous tell that always gave him away in poker.  “What do you want me to do?”

“Eat your soup for starters.” Adam nodded at the bowl in front of Ben. “And then give me your phone.”

“My phone? What do you want with my phone?”

Adam leveled a flat look over the table. A look he shot at Ben frequently over the years when Ben made a particularly bad pun. He used to love making Adam give him that look. Now it felt tainted with an undercurrent of a threat.

“Eat your soup, Ben.”

Ben ate his soup. It came out great, almost as if they had just ordered it from the restaurant that inspired it. Adam didn’t cook often, but when it did it outshone Ben’s rudimentary skills. And when they both finished, Ben cleared the table, almost on autopilot, because the person who didn’t cook did the dishes. It was one of the first routines they established.

Usually Ben hated washing dishes which was why he volunteered to make dinner so often. Tonight however it offered a soothing distraction, much more effective than the shower Adam insisted he take. Right up until he felt Adam’s hands on his thighs, sliding up to the edge of his front pocket.

“What are you doing?” he yelped, dropping the spoon with a clatter.

“Looking for your phone.” Adam’s voice pressed right against the shell of Ben’s ear.

His fingers wriggled their way into the pocket, tight in old jeans Ben should have thrown out when he graduated. His breath stuttered in his chest at the intrusion, which lasted only a few seconds, and at the triumphant snort against his ear when Adam slipped the phone out.

He swallowed thickly, throat tight for a very different reason than before. Adam stepped back, the heat of him gone just as suddenly as it appeared. A glance over his shoulder showed Adam leaning against the stove, brow furrowed as he typed in Ben’s password. Because of course Ben had given it to him, thoughtlessly, for vague future emergencies.

“What are you doing to it?” he asked, nerves fluttering in the pit of  his stomach. What if he didn’t get it back?

“Precautionary measures,” Adam replied distractedly. “I’ll give it back in the morning.”

“The morning?”

He spun around, soap dripping from his hands. Adam leveled another flat look at him.

“Do you want this to work or should I get another knife?” he said.

The blood drained from Ben’s face. His eyes darted over to the knife block, sitting just inches away from Adam’s hip. There was no way he could reach it in time — not that it would matter if he could. Clumsy and inexperienced, he’d only hurt himself and save Adam the trouble.

“I just . . .want to know what’s happening,” he said, eyes prickling for the second time that night, goddamn it. “You don’t have to keep threatening me.”

The cognitive dissonance of having Adam so carelessly threaten him, pulling a knife on him — Adam, his best friend that he lived with for years — felt like it could split his head apart. Life was starting to not feel real anymore, like he was in a video game instead. Or a nightmare.

Adam’s expression flickered, looking almost stricken, before Ben turned away. He rinsed what was left of the suds from his hands and then turned the water off.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, even though it was barely dark. “Keep the phone.”

Then he walked straight down the back hall to his bedroom. Adam called his name, almost too softly to hear, but Ben ignored him and shut the door.

He locked it too, for good measure. Not that it mattered. Sleep did not accompany him much that night.