Page 5 of Chill
I’m glad of the foresight seconds later when Val turns, his mask tilting as he slowly scans the trees for what I’m sure is me.
“What are you looking for?” I’m close enough to hear Harrow’s words as he obscures my view of Ravage, but when he keeps moving, I see Ravage’s shoulders rise and fall in a shrug that accompanies his huff.
“You won’t believe me when I tell you. Hell, I’m not sure I believe me. But…” He rounds on the man lying on the ground with his eyes on the two of them. As if he’s waiting for a chance that definitely won’t come. “Work first. Play after.”
The fact he considers whatever is happening here just another day at the office, judging by his tone, should bother me more than it does. But I don’t move, and the rush of fear and unease in my chest goes away just as quickly as it had appeared.
They’ve really fucked me up.
But that’s why I’m here.
Quietly, I shift until my knees are pressed to the ground, wincing at the stiffness in my legs and the press of gravel against my skin. My eyes are glued to Ravage, and the way he swoops in to grab the man’s chin when he starts to threaten, and a snarl comes from his throat that does nothing but interest me more.
Embarrassingly, it sends a rush of heat between my thighs as the violence trickles down my spine.
Was I always like this? Deep down?With my mind half on them and half on my sudden existential crisis, I don’t hear the exact words from the man on the ground. But I don’t really care; I’m a little more interested in my new moral conundrum.
What if I’ve always been like this, and it just took the two of them to drag it out of me? I’ve watched true crime documentaries all my life, sure, but not because I get off on the murder or the violence. And certainly not the droning of ‘experts’ or investigators who puff out their chests or talk in voices that obviously weren’t made for television.
So why now?
It also makes me wonder if I could’ve gone the rest of my life without discovering my little problem. If I’d just gone to the correct haunt that night, I might’ve been able to live a happy, normal, boring life. The kind I’vebeenliving for the last two decades and change.
The man screams as Ravage pounces. I hear the masked men laugh and my eyes jerk upward, gaze affixed on him as he cuts and tears andripsat the man with the blade flashing in his hand.
Or at least, it flashes until the knife is covered in dark, obscuring blood. Finally, I can’t tell where his hand ends and the knife begins, and in some ways it seems like my lover is tearing at the man under him with his bare hands.
The thought is hotter than it should be.
But I’ve already decided I’m fucked up enough that no amount of therapy, meds, or a lobotomy will fix me.
Eventually, the man is still and silent on the ground, perfectly laid out in a band of moonlight that shines down on both him and Ravage crouched over him. The latter pants, shoulders heaving, and I belatedly wonder how much of his workout routine is geared toward ripping someone to shreds.
I’m too busy staring at him, however, to notice my own shift forward, or the way the moonlight reaches for me as if with insidious intent. Like it’s playing a trick on me while I’m too distracted to notice. At the same time, Harrow turns, just enough, and I’m too slow to shrink back behind my hiding place.
For a few tense moments he looks in my direction while I remain still and the moonlight gradually fades behind a cloud once more. I expect him to say something. Todosomething. But he just turns back to Ravage and the corpse on the ground, his strides easy and long as he closes the distance between them to reach out and rake his hand through Ravage’s hair.
“So much for restraint.” I hear him chuckle. “One might think you were putting on a show.” His voice is loud enough to carry, and I lean my weight against the tree, my cheek following to press against the bark. It certainly isn’t comfortable, but I’m tired enough from my aggressively long drive and run through the woods to not really care. As interested as I am, I would like to sleep sometime in the next few hours.
Maybe even before I confront the two of them, though that would require me getting out of here and away from the campground before they’ve seen me.
Ravage, at least, knows I’m here already. Meaning I can’t getthatfar away without interruption, I’m sure.
“Maybe there’s someone here worth putting on a show for.” The soft purr comes from Ravage as he stands up, and in a surprisingly affectionate gesture, he nuzzles his mask against Harrow’s throat like a cat. It feels strangely intimate, and I can’t help but drop my eyes.
Maybe I shouldn’t watch this, if it’s going to become something…else. It feels rude, and definitely voyeuristic, especially as Ravage presses his body to Harrow’s and lets out a needy, excited sound that Harrow meets with a soft growl from behind his mask.
They really are different people like this.
Ravage says something that I miss, though I blink up at them to see he’s stepping back with the knife back in his hand.
“No.” Harrow seems amused, but adamant, and before Ravage can step around him he reaches out to grip the front of his jacket. “You did most of it last time. I know you like the chase, but you’ve already had yours tonight.”
“I won it fair and square,” Ravage snaps in reply. “Besides, it was duringmychase, so it’smine.”
I have no idea what in the world they’re talking about, but I feel uneasy all the same. I shift to the balls of my feet, completely off my heels, and notice the building ache in my back from being hunched over for so long.
“Thisis yours.” Harrow shoves him back and gestures to the mess of body parts behind him. “So take responsibility. And hurry up. I won’t wait for you.”
