The Society

by Michelle Brown

  Shutting the door at her scalding glare, I kiss her cheek and rush past. She’s dressed in an apron. It’s weird. She never cooks. Ever.

  She’s hands-on with most things, but she’s not a cook whatsoever. That’s what Esme—our housekeeper—is for. She’s been around for our lives more than our mother and father. It’s sad really.

  I sit near Rusty, just to piss off Atlas. It’s his fault he’s here.

  “Who’s this?” Dad asks when he appears out of nowhere. I grind my jaw, wondering what the fuck my parents are doing home and why they give a flying fuck. They’re not usually home, let alone in Silvercrest. Not unless someone dies, Grim or the Society brings them home, or if Atlas and I do irreversible damage.

  We did.

  Do they know? That we slept together? Breaking a bond deeper than blood?

  Shit.

  I eye Atlas, seeing the same questions filtering through his head.

  He’s always in tune with me.

  “Rusty Johnson,” Rusty introduces himself like the good little charitable boy he is. It takes a lot not to roll my eyes at the way his voice sounds mature and put together.

  Atlas doesn’t hold back though. His eyes nearly roll back, and it has me hiding my smile in my fist.

  “Oh, Sally and Tom’s child?”

  “The one and only.”

  Ew. He’s such a loser.

  “Nice to meet you,” our father says to him and grasps his shoulder. He’s being modest. Society members don’t care about the middle class, but Dad is a historian, so maybe that’s why he knows the name.

  “What brings you home?” I question pointedly at my dad. He studies me, not giving anything away.

  “Can a father not visit?”

  “No.” It’s a single syllable, but I just let it breathe out of me.

  “Well, it’s just that, son. And business.”

  I scoff, fisting my palms, my nails biting the flesh. “I’ve got shit to do.”

  “Language, Kenjington Grim,” Mother scolds from behind me. I turn to her.

  “Nice.”

  “It seems I’ve come at a bad time,” Rusty mutters.

  I grip his knee softly but no less commandingly. “No, perfect timing. You know where Atlas’s room is. We’ll meet you there. We only have so many hours before we have to be elsewhere,” I add, so he knows it’s time sensitive.

  Rusty stares at my parents and their unwavering faux kindness and then at Atlas all the way back to me. “Okay, I’ll see you in there.” Nodding at him, he walks down the long corridor to the stairs. He’ll find his way.

  “You’re acting immature, son,” Dad sounds out as soon as Rusty is out of sight.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Dad. Forgot you had a heart in there,” I say dryly, knocking on his chest twice. “Oh look, not hollow after all.”

  “Enough,” Atlas barks at me, stopping my next words before they’re here.

  “Fuck you,” I spit. “You can pretend they’re the best thing when they’re home, but we both know where their love ends. They’re here for business, then they’ll fuck off like every other birthday of ours. You and I both know it.”

  “KJ,” he warns, his hands balled. “Not now.”

  “No!” I yell, my voice rising with each breath. “They haven’t been home for a birthday in five years. Five fucking years, Atlas. I’m sick of their shit.”

  He stalks toward me, gripping my shoulders. Squeezing my bicep, he raises me, dragging me down toward the playroom. Mom and Dad don’t say a word as he hauls me to the room we avoid. It’s easy to do when the last memory in here is of my brother telling me I’d lost my bet. That day could have been worse, but it’s also the first time I stopped being his best friend. He opens the door, and it slams against the doorjamb, rattling the little bobble. I want to laugh, to muster something other than hatred, but I don’t. I can’t.

  “You’re really fucking shit up, Rischio.”

  “Don’t call me that to calm me,” I implore, feeling my walls tumble with the softness of his eyes.

  “Please just let me handle them. You’re volatile when they’re involved.”

  “Because they—”

  “I know, baby.” He softens more, like melted chocolate, a soft caramel drizzle that soothes me. His words always work, his attention, affection, the love only he offers me.

  “I know they’re a big disappointment. They always have been,” he continues. “But within the Society, they have jobs, rules. As we grew older, I realized they weren’t avoiding us on purpose. Like us, they have a role to play.”

  I nod, not understanding, but wanting him to know his words make sense.

  “They’re killers, KJ.”

  I’m almost gawking at his response as he shuts the door, peering outside it once more. When he’s happy with whatever is seen, he locks it. Does he not realize we have to see Rusty soon? Even if to send him away. We can’t hide in a fucking arcade, even if that’s all I currently want.

  My brother and me.

  Just us.

  “They aren’t like us. It took me a long time to understand that they sacrifice their relationship with us so we’re not forced to take all the Grim assignments. Imagine if we had to do what they did at the age they did? We’d be teen serial killers. All for a cause that doesn’t make sense.” I’m trying to understand. Really, I am. But how the hell are our boring parents these crazy killers? “Doesn’t it make sense? The bloodlust we have, the desire for each other while others die at our feet?”

  “Shit,” I mutter, biting the inside of my cheek. Blood coats my tongue as I pinch too hard. “So, they don’t hate us?”

  “Not that I can tell, but I think it’s because I take jobs that you’re not privy to that I understand now.”

  “Wait, you… kill?”

  “Often, yes.” He says this as if it’s not a huge fucking deal. He just admitted to being a serial killer.

  “What the fuck?”

  “I’ll explain more later; we’ve got a lot to discuss. Like the fact that you’re not going to touch that prick downstairs, and I’m going to make him leave.”

  “Tomorrow,” I mutter. “Tick, tock.”

  “Exactly why this can’t happen tonight. We can’t have them home.”

  “Why not? Maybe they’ll join.”

  “Gross. No. We can’t have them culpable for a non-book murder,” he hisses, almost as if he’s privy to rules I know nothing of.

  “Because an on-book one is acceptable,” I snide.

  “Jesus. Let’s just call it a night, no? Blowjobs?” he attempts to joke, his tone lighter. He’s always aware of what mood and sounds I need at the time.

  “Blowies,” I confirm.

  “I’ll kick him out and we’ll shower.”

  “Together?” My voice is hopeful as my chest beats rapidly. Seeing him naked, touching him, being with him again, it’s all I want.

  “Unless you’re too scared…” he taunts, his lips tilting in a smirk.

  “Bet.”

  “Fuck yes.”

  Chapter Ten

  Atlas

  Fuck. Telling him as much as I did was a risk. The biggest rule of the Society and Grim: don’t divulge intel. Whether it’s to a lover, family, or friends. It’s against the rules and is an automatic mark, if not death. Unforgivable actions can get me killed. No matter my bloodline.

  KJ seems satisfied with my avoidance. He’s probably not aware that I’m avoiding him and his questions. Mom and Dad, as fucked-up as it is, do love us.

  They have a mission.

  They want to protect us.

  We’d be worse off if they didn’t take the burden from us.

  Kenji can’t understand—he hasn’t taken his first life yet.

  I walk slowly, pondering what brings our parents back this time. When I round the door to my room, I hear grunting and am on alert for it.

  What the fuck?

  Turning the brass to open my door, I’m shocked what’s on the other side. Naked on the c
enter of my bed, Rusty lies, his hand fisting his dick.

  Shit.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I bark, gripping the door so I don’t explode and kill him right there. Once again, he’s naked on my bed, using my shit like it’s his to use.

  “Waiting for you. Wanted to be ready for that big cock that Jeremy talks about often.” Fucking Jeremy Prince. He can’t ever keep his mouth shut.

  “I’m not—”

  “What the fuck?” Kenji growls, shuffling past me. I can feel his rage as it fills the room. Just with his brief passing, I felt it on my skin, in my bones, running through my veins like poetry.

  “He thinks I’m going to fuck him.” I balk, trying to understand.

  “Logan says his cock is huge,” Rusty explains, like that makes it okay.

  “Oh, it is,” Kenji hisses derisively. “But you’ll never see let alone touch it.” The words are so hollow and enraged. Even while numb-sounding, it’s in the emptiness that his anger rises through. Fuck. It’s so hot seeing him bent out of shape over this loser.

  I’d never touch him.

  Especially now that I’ve had Kenji. My dick doesn’t even jolt for Rusty’s nakedness.

  Kenji stalks the bed, grabbing Rusty by the arms. “He’ll never fuck you, Rusty. Because that cock,” he explains, pointing at my junk, “is mine.”

  Rusty’s eyes open wide. It’s comical really, how big they get.

  “That cock that’s huge, pierced, and veiny as fuck,” Kenji continues, “is only allowed in my ass, mouth, and anywhere I deem fit.”

  “W-what?” Rusty asks stupidly, not getting the picture.

  I saunter to my brother and tongue fuck him without preamble, making sure Rusty feels the lust cemented between us. My cock stiffens and jolts as Kenji grips it.

  “This is mine,” Kenji barks. “He is mine.”

  I chuckle at how horrified Rusty is. Too bad he’s not moving. He knows our secret. Which means he’s not getting out of this room alive.

  “You’re disgusting,” Rusty hisses.

  “Yeah, well… once you’ve had this…” KJ grips my shaft, rubbing it sensually, staking his claim. “You’d understand. Too bad that’ll never happen for you.”

  “You shouldn’t have told him, baby,” I chastise. “Now he has to die.”

  Kenji fucking smiles. His whole face morphs with glee, and it’s intoxicating. “That’s why he’s here. Wanting to end it where it all started.”

  We kiss again once as Rusty seems stuck in place. His erection is still hard, which only proves he’s as twisted as us. There’s no depravity like depravity itself.

  I grip Rusty by the throat and gesture to my closet. “Duct tape and chair is in there.”

  “Why?”

  “Told you, this isn’t my first rodeo. Now go be a good boy and get prepped.”

  He takes no time to get the supplies. By the time he’s back, Rusty is shaking from head to toe.

  “Unfortunately, we’re short on time,” Kenji sounds out, glaring at our final bet, and we tie up Rusty to a spare chair I have in my closet. We tape his mouth closed and smile at each other, then close the closet.

  “Guess tonight is going to be extra special,” I say, bringing KJ in for an intense kiss. We make out, groping, all while moaning. Our dicks are hard and rubbing against each other with mere material between us. If we don’t leave soon, I’ll be inside him and unable to leave.

  Fuck the ball.

  “We’ve got to go or we’ll be late,” he mentions against my lips, nibbling on my piercing, tugging it gently.

  “Boys!” Mom’s voice sounds out thirty minutes later as we’re digging for our suits. “You’re going to be late if you don’t leave soon.” Rusty’s loud cries echo in the room, but Mom doesn’t bat an eye.

  “I remember my first ball,” she reminisces, her eyes getting this faraway look. “It’s how I met your father. Then at our second one, you two were conceived.”

  “Gross,” we both say in unison.

  She waves her hand in the air. “Oh, hush. Well, as soon as you two were born, I fell in love.” There’s this distant look in her eyes, filled with memories and happiness. Something we have few and far too little of. “Then when we brought you home, you were inseparable.” Eyeing us then, she gives us a knowing look. “You grew even closer, so close that when you turned eight, I knew I couldn’t risk separating you.”

  My heart pounded, knowing what she’s bringing up. The Grim Battle. It’s marked in the history book as one of the most gruesome battles between Grims. The women versus the men. The women won. Mom, Adeline, and several other Grim mothers fought for their children to not bear the same fate as them. While it worked for the second children, like my brother, one heir had to carry the Reapers’ burden.

  “But I did what I did,” she eludes to what I know, “so you two could live together. Be together. No boundaries.” The no boundaries, the wry look, and the knowledge in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. She knows. About me and KJ.

  “What now?” I whisper, swallowing my fear. Because for the first time ever, my life feels like it’s in the hands of its creator.

  “Now, you go to the ball, and when you come home, we can talk.”

  “Okay.” I nod, but KJ stares at us both with confusion. There’s no time. No fucking time.

  “Trust, Atlas. You’re my map for a reason.”

  Not understanding her reference, I nod. She comes to me and kisses my forehead, hugging me like it’s the last time. Then she does the same to KJ and leaves.

  “What the fuck was that about?” he questions as soon as she leaves.

  “We’ll talk tonight,” I repeat her words and head for the closet, ignoring the foreboding gliding through me.

  I stand above Sam James—the fucker who thought touching my cousin Elena without consent was okay. It’s not. She banged him up a lot, there’s blood, it’s dried and caked on, along with sweat, dirt, and piss. But there’ll be more bloodshed. Removing my suit jacket, I unbutton my cuffs and roll them up my elbows. KJ stands near me, his face unreadable in a way. It seems almost awestruck or proud, with a hint of confusion. I’ve had Sam locked in the boat house for two weeks while getting everything in order for the end of his story.

  “So, this is what you do?” he questions, folding his arms across his chest. I pull a joint from Sam’s pocket—knowing where he keeps them—and grab his lighter too, bringing the smoke to my lips. This wasn’t planned or intentional; the Reapers haven’t even approved of this killing, but fuck it, Sam hurt one of ours.

  Lighting the end, I take in a long inhale, enjoying the burn as it bubbles inside me. Usually, I’d bring my own shit; it calms me when I’m forced to dismember the body. It’s not my favorite type of disposal tactic, but it gets the job done.

  “Don’t ignore me, Atlas,” KJ mutters, closer to me now. He takes the joint from my fingers and takes a long drag. I wasn’t ignoring him, more so in my thoughts than present.

  “Yes, this is my Grim duty,” I answer softly, not wanting him to change what he thinks of me. My phone rings in my pocket, and I pick it up.

  “Kinda busy, Tris,” I say to Tristan as he lets out a heavy breath on the other side of the phone, like he’s fuming, wanting to kill this fucker himself.

  “He fucking tried raping her, Atlas. He needs to be gone.” The calmness while I know he’s furious is almost scary. He knows Sam has been gone from school since the party, but he must know without a confirmation from me or The Reapers, Sam isn’t dead.

  “We protect our own. I’ll handle it,” I hiss to Tris. “Consider him buried.” Sam lies motionless—getting hit over the head with a crowbar would do that to a person.

  “What are you going to do?” Kenji asks as I take my smoke back. His face doesn’t tell me much, but that’s why I protected him.

  “Kill, clean, make him vanish,” I mutter absently, kneeling down to see how best to take this course of action.

  “Why
do you do this?”

  “Business, KJ, just drop it, okay?” I turn to look back at him, show him it’s not up for discussion. He needs to stay away from this shit, be himself, go places, and not be bloodied by our family legacy. Instead of listening to me, he closes the distance, crouching near me. His hands cup my face, stubbornness lacing every inch of his face.

  “What are you hiding, Atlas? Is this what the Society is? What we are meant to do?” Nodding, I take another drag and blow it in his face, wanting to bring our lips together as he breathes heavily. “Talk to me.” It comes out more of a plea than a demand, and I find it more convincing than anything.

  Unable to resist, I place a small kiss on his lips before standing, hoping he’ll take this better than I did at fifteen. “The Grim legacy isn’t exactly wealth and power. It is, but that’s the veneer.” He stands a moment later, and we’re face-to-face, so close we’re sharing oxygen.

  “Tell me. I’m a grown boy.” He tries to lighten the mood, rolling his eyes.

  “It’s not that,” I argue softly, shaking my head. “For years, I took on doctorates, to help you avoid the darkness that plagues me.”

  “Is that why you stopped being my best friend?” His question comes out much sadder than I wish it did.

  “No,” I deny, biting the metal in my lip, tugging until it hurts, allowing myself to feel anything. “I fucked up, daring you to do shit, not being honest about how I felt about you and us. It fucking scared me, Kenjington.” His eyes darken, heating with that intensity he’s only ever shown me.

  “I’d have been yours,” he bites out harshly. “Fuck, Atlas, I’ve always been yours.”

  I nod sadly, bringing the smoke back to my mouth to get so high in hopes that maybe the pain isn’t so present underneath my rib cage. “And I’m yours, but this—this fucked-up legacy—you don’t need any of it. We kill, we destroy evidence, and when we’re done? We wipe them off the earth like they never existed. It’s messy, insane, and sullies the soul. I don’t want that for you.”

  His hand reaches for me again, cupping my face harshly, the darkness in his eyes—the one that seems to grow more and more intense—it’s harrowing, troublesome even. He’s supposed to be safe from this shit.