These Monstrous Ties: New Adult Dark Romance (Unsainted Book 1)

by K. V. Rose

  I don’t regret it, because he sure as hell doesn’t look like he regrets his arm around this girl. But I feel something like guilt. I try to tell myself it’s stupid. Because it is. Me and Lucifer are not together.

  His eyes flick to Mayhem’s, who, for his part, seems totally chill.

  “I’m Ophelia,” the girl pipes up, holding out her hand. “Most people call me O.”

  I glance at her hand and think about not taking it. But this isn’t about her. This is about Lucifer being a shit and me being petty. I shake her hand warmly.

  “I’m Sid,” I answer. “Most people…” I trail off and shrug, dropping her hand. “Don’t call me.” I force a laugh, and Mayhem laughs at my side.

  Ophelia smiles. Lucifer doesn’t. He hasn’t said a fucking word.

  Mayhem pulls us both closer to Lucifer and nudges him. I glance around at everyone, and see they’re still talking amongst themselves but they’re also darting glances at us. Even Atlas has Natalie back down on the ground, and while he’s wrapped an arm around her waist, he’s watching us, his mouth set in a thin line. I can feel the fucking tension in this place, and there’s a few dozen people here. Why should Lucifer’s mood dictate everything?

  “You okay, bro?” Mayhem asks.

  I think that might be pushing it. He’s clearly not okay. He removes his arm from Ophelia, who, for her part, gets dragged into conversation with a giggling girl that was behind her.

  Lucifer stands in front of both me and Mayhem. They’re the same height, and while Lucifer is a little leaner, he looks a little meaner, too. Especially right now.

  I glance at Mayhem. The fucker is actually smiling.

  “Why did you two come out of the house together?” Lucifer asks. The first fucking thing he’s said to me at this party. The first fucking thing he’s said to me since yesterday.

  I laugh out loud and his eyes narrow further. “We both live there,” I point out. “For now.”

  The damn waiter that the Unsaints hired comes to stand by us with a tray in his white-gloved hand, and drinks in black plastic cups atop it. I pluck one from the tray and he flashes me a smile. He’s probably in his forties, with a sleek combover. He nods his head in Lucifer’s direction, but Lucifer ignores him. Where do these kids find these people?

  I start to down my drink as Mayhem takes one, too, and the waiter wanders off.

  “You haven’t spoken to each other since we’ve lived here,” Lucifer says, crossing his arms. His eyes flick to mine and Mayhem’s looped arms, and back up to Mayhem’s face. “Get the fuck off her.”

  Mayhem doesn’t move. He drinks from his cup and I from mine, and then when he’s done, smacking his lips together, he sighs. “If this—” he lifts up our joined arms for a second, “—is what you’re worried about, well, bro, you’re gonna be really pissed when I tell you where I just—”

  He doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

  Lucifer takes the cup from his hand and throws the rest of it in his face, and then he tackles him to the ground. Mayhem unthreads his arm from mine just in time to stop me from getting pulled down, too.

  Lucifer’s fists start flying into Mayhem’s face and Mayhem lays there, taking it. Atlas runs over, Natalie trailing behind him, her eyes as wide as saucers, and soon there’s a giant circle around the boys. People are chanting “Unsaints!” and I’m somehow in the middle of the circle, which means people are looking at me and them.

  Ophelia has the gall to step up beside me. She nudges me. “What the hell?” she asks, in shock. I wonder how often the Unsaints fight. Maybe never?

  I shrug. Mayhem has started fighting back. He flips Lucifer over, his hand around his throat. Lucifer reaches for Mayhem’s eyes and I cringe.

  Mayhem laughs, turns his head.

  Then Ezra steps into the circle.

  He walks calmly over to Mayhem and pulls him off of Lucifer and to his feet. But Lucifer gets off the ground and grabs Mayhem by the collar. Ezra tries to pry his fingers off, but I think they really need Cain out here, the biggest of them all, to put a stop to this shit. Atlas hasn’t joined the fray, but he’s still watching.

  “Back the fuck up!” Ezra says, his deep voice a growl. His eyes find the crowd gathered around and he waves the hand not holding Mayhem toward them. “And fucking find something else to stare at or you can get the fuck out of here.”

  People listen.

  They scatter, as if he physically pushed them away.

  But Ophelia and I stay where we are. Lucifer still has Mayhem’s collar in his fist and he’s yelling in his face.

  “What the fuck did you do? What did you fucking do?”

  Mayhem wipes his nose, which is bleeding, and Ezra puts his hand on Lucifer’s chest, forcing him away.

  Mayhem’s eyes find mine and he grins. Lucifer looks between us as if he’s going to throw us both in the fucking fire and watch our bodies disintegrate.

  “Ask your girl,” Mayhem croons.

  Lucifer’s fists, covered in blood, clench, but Ezra gives him a warning look, still holding Mayhem by his shirt.

  I feel Ophelia’s eyes on me. “Are you and Lucifer…” she trails off, letting the question hang between us.

  I meet her green eyes, my brow furrowed. “I was going to ask you the same.”

  At this, she bursts into laughter, shaking her head. I feel my cheeks go warm, but a smile creeps on my face. And now is not the time to be smiling. Damn Natalie.

  “No, no,” Ophelia says, shaking her head again, her ponytail flying. “No, we grew up on the same street.” I see her white teeth, smooth skin, eyelash extensions, spray tan. I mean, she looks like she comes from money, but compared to me, most people here do.

  My mouth falls open.

  I look to Mayhem. He winks at me.

  That bastard knew.

  Lucifer walks by me and yanks my arm as he does. “We need to talk,” he says through clenched teeth. I gawk at Mayhem as Lucifer pulls me up the porch and into the house, slamming the door behind us.

  Cain is fucking the girl I saw him with earlier.

  “Don’t mind us,” he grunts out.

  We don’t.

  Lucifer pulls me up the stairs instead. He pushes me into my room, flicks on the light, and closes the door. Then he starts to pace, his arms crossed. He’s looking down at the floor. I sink onto the bed, cross my legs, and run my hand through my hair.

  “What happened with Mayhem?” he asks me, his voice low.

  “N-nothing,” I stutter. I’m not afraid to tell him. I just don’t really wanna say it. He’s got blood on the corner of his upper lip, and I want to lick it off, but I force my eyes down to the quilted bedspread underneath me. I clasp my hands together, waiting.

  “Don’t lie to me.” He still hasn’t looked at me. He’s still looking down.

  “We’re not together,” I choke out.

  He doesn’t stop pacing. “No shit.”

  “So why does it—”

  He stops pacing and sinks down to his knees in front of me, his hands on my legs, squeezing hard. “It doesn’t fucking matter, Sid!” He shakes his head and sighs. “It doesn’t fucking matter. You’re right. It doesn’t matter at all.” He lets go of one leg and gestures wildly behind him. “It doesn’t matter if I fuck every girl here, does it? Doesn’t matter at all.”

  Now it’s my turn to get angry. I know I shouldn’t. It isn’t fair at all. It doesn’t make sense. “No,” I force myself to say, meeting his gaze.

  He chews his lip and stands to his feet, glaring down at me. “There’s nothing between us, is there?”

  I shake my head. Suddenly, I wish I had more of Natalie’s pills.

  “There’s nothing to stop me from getting my dick sucked by O, is there?”

  I clench my fists so hard I know I’ve drawn blood. “Be my guest.”

  His blue eyes flash in amusement and my stomach cramps. I wonder, for a second, if he’s going to walk out the door and go do just that.

  I wonder if I
’ll feel better if he does.

  But he doesn’t.

  He shifts on his feet, shaking his head, running a hand through his dark curls. “You know, I spent this past year looking for you. Trying to get back to you.” He runs a hand absentmindedly over his black shirt, and I think about the scars on his abdomen. “I thought, once I found your pretty ass, this would be done. This bullshit between us.” His hand falls to his side as he meets my gaze. “But it’s just getting started, isn’t it?” He cocks his head. “You never were gonna be mine, were you? That night was just a fantasy.”

  “Part of your Lover’s Death, right?” I prod.

  He rolls his eyes. “Lover’s Death gives us an illusion of control. We don’t usually fall in love with our lovers.” He huffs out a laugh. “And you were no exception.”

  He turns on his heel and his hand goes for the door.

  “Wait,” I call out, my voice trembling.

  He rests his hand on the doorknob but doesn’t look at me.

  “Wait,” I say again. I stand to my feet and take a step toward him. He still doesn’t look at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I begin, even though I’m not even sure what I’m sorry for. I see his shoulders tense. “I’m sorry, Lucifer, I…I’ve thought about you every fucking day since that night. Thinking you’d fucked me over.” I take a deep breath, pushing past the fog of the vodka and the pills. “But you didn’t. And I don’t know what to do now.” I tangle my hand in my hair. “I don’t fucking know what to do.”

  For a moment, he still doesn’t look at me, and I wonder if he won’t. If he’ll just walk out that door anyway. Find Ophelia, or someone else.

  If he does, there’s nothing I can do about it.

  But instead, he turns to me, and I don’t see rage in his eyes. I see sadness instead.

  He closes the space between us and wraps his arms around me, pressing his brow to mine.

  “Lilith,” he says, and I close my eyes, breathing him in. “I told you before…we’ll figure this out. Whatever this is…we’ll figure it out.”

  I nod, eyes still closed. “But Mayhem…”

  His breath catches. “Fuck Mayhem,” he growls. “What’s done is done. But for the love of God, please don’t do that shit again. I would hate to break his neck.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Present

  Halloween night comes slowly. The sky begins to darken slowly. I dress slowly, pulling on black, false-leather pants. A black, long-sleeve shirt, a black zip-up hoodie over it. I do my makeup slowly, white and black skeleton paint, a black nose like a cat’s for the fun of it. I exaggerate my skeleton mouth, the teeth inside. I pull my hood over my head, tuck my brown hair behind my ears, splay the bangs from my grey eyes.

  When I look in the cracked mirror hanging above the sink in the old house, I smile.

  It’s beautiful, and terrifying.

  I hope Jeremiah is ready for a reunion.

  I don’t bother to bring a gun. I have a blade in my back pocket instead. Guns are for quick deaths. Knives are for pain. And I need Jeremiah to feel an ounce of the pain I feel at what he’s done to us.

  When I open the door, see the sun just starting its descent down past the trees of Raven Park through a window, Lucifer stands in the doorway.

  And he is Lucifer.

  He’s dressed almost the same as I am, with the same makeup, his haunting blue eyes contrasting against the white and black makeup on his face. He has his arms crossed, and he’s watching me carefully.

  For a moment, we only stare at each other.

  “What are you doing?” I finally ask, trying to calm the butterflies that are swirling like they’re swept up in a tornado in my stomach.

  Lucifer smiles.

  “I’m coming with you, Lilith.”

  I shake my head, my gut twisting. I put my hands in my pockets. “No,” I say forcefully. When I’m done with this, I’m leaving. I had bought a bus ticket to New York. It had taken every penny of the money Jeremiah had let me play with, and I know he’ll be able to track it, too. But I don’t care. I have to get out of here. And maybe I’ll stop somewhere else along the way. Start a new life in a place no one knows my name. My face. My life.

  But I can’t do that with Lucifer. We talked after the night of the party. We kissed, but nothing more than that. Mayhem went back to ignoring me, Atlas really the only one bothering to speak to me besides Lucifer. Lucifer and Mayhem kept a cold distance, but I know they’ll get over it.

  But it didn’t change anything. Lucifer said we’d get through anything. But the only way we can do that is without one another. He has a legacy here. I have a life somewhere else. Or I’m going to.

  “You can’t,” I say to him.

  He steps closer to me, over the threshold of the bathroom. I think of the scars on our legs, the one that must still be on his. I think of his Unsaint’s tattoo. I think of his blood on my tongue. Of tasting him. Of craving him. And then hating him the next morning, believing my brother’s lies. Believing Lucifer had forsaken Lilith, after he promised he wouldn’t.

  I think of how he might have been the devil, but he was my savior, too. For that one night.

  My legs feel weak. I want to tell him to stop coming closer to me. To leave me alone. To forget my face. To accept that he’ll never see me again. I want to say all of that, but he’s staring at me, his chin tilted down, with such hunger in his blue eyes that I can’t speak at all.

  My body is betraying my mind. Again. I want to stop it. But as I had been that night one year ago, I’m powerless against this beautiful, broken boy.

  He takes another step. We’re almost touching. We’re close enough to. But neither of us reaches for the other. I smell him, still. Cigarettes and pine. A scent I never could have imagined would nearly rip my heart out.

  But we’re never going to feel what we did then. A year ago. The optimism. The reckless lust. The wild hope.

  We’re never going to feel it again…and yet…when he closes what little space is between us and reaches out to me, his arms going around my back, I know I still do.

  I still feel it.

  In all my misery, in all this disgust I feel with my own body, I feel it. When he touches me, I light up. I want to melt into him. I want to burn with him. We can burn the whole world if we want. We can burn up hell if we have to. We can destroy everything we touch, and we can do it together, without burning each other.

  A small sound escapes my lips, something somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and his fingers dig into my back, pulling me closer to him. His head is angled down, his eyes on my mouth, but he waits. He waits until I come to him.

  And I do.

  Our mouths crash together, much like they had that first night a year ago. We’re a tangle of anger and despair and brokenness. Our kiss is possessive, urgent, desperate. His teeth drag against my lips and I moan into his mouth. He pulls me even closer, pressing my body against the length of his. And when he bites my lip, I bite back. We draw each other’s blood, and I relish in the iron feel of it on my tongue. Iron and tobacco and mint. I want it all. The dirtiness. The rawness.

  I want it.

  I want this.

  I push him, and we stumble out of the bathroom. I shove him against the wall just above the stairs, my hands on his chest. He’s nearly panting, I can feel the inhales and exhales under my hands. I don’t hear anyone else in this house, although I know the boys are here.

  His eyes search mine. Like he’s waiting for me to pull back. Like he’s waiting for me to not want this.

  I want it.

  I tug up his hoodie and he pulls it off in one fluid motion. He unzips mine and that hits the floor, too. I run my hands down his biceps, his arms bare. He wears nothing beneath that hoodie. The skeleton paint ends at his throat, and I lean in, licking a line from his chest, up past that vein on his neck, all the way to where the paint starts.

  Damn the fucking paint.

  We’re going to fuck it up anyway.

&
nbsp; He tugs on my tank top, and I lift my arms in submission, letting him pull it off of me, scattering my bangs into my eyes. He laughs and brushes them back, and then he reaches around for the clasp of my bra.

  But he doesn’t unhook it.

  Instead, he looks down at me a moment, waiting.

  For permission.

  My hands are trailing down his sides, to his fitted jogging pants. I nod, and he unhooks my bra, brushing the straps down my shoulders. It hits the floor, and I tug on the waistband of his pants.

  His eyes linger on my neck.

  For a moment, I forget why.

  Then I remember. The bruises. There’s probably more from Mayhem, too. His hand goes to my throat, and he gently strokes circles on my neck.

  “I’m going to kill him,” he whispers, leaning down, putting his brow to mine.

  I don’t know who exactly he’s talking about, but I smile thinly at him, some of the lust leaving my bones. Some of the fight, too. But I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to end this. Not right now. Later, maybe, when I’m on that train headed north, I’ll regret this. Maybe then I’ll curse myself for being so stupid. But not right now. Right now, I want him. I want this moment.

  “Don’t worry, Lucifer,” I say, smiling. “I’m yours tonight.”

  At that, his hands tighten gently against my throat and he snarls in my ear, that urgency back in his hands, his mouth, his teeth. It’s back in mine too.

  This is where we thrive.

  In the angst. The chaos. The toxicity. These are our own monstrous ties forming. Ties that will have to be broken, have to be severed like a limb. But for now, I don’t care. I’m falling fast, and nothing is going to stop me from hitting the ground.

  When we’re both naked, he picks me up in his arms, cradling me to his chest, and carries me to his bed, lying me down gently. I stare up at him, through the little light that’s still left in the sky, streaming in through the open window.

  Every inch of him is beautiful. Every inch not covered in paint is smooth and pale and cut, save for the tattoo on his thigh, and the scars there. Even the scars on his torso are beautiful. Especially those scars. And the black and white of Lucifer makes his blue eyes all the more devastating.