18. Psycho

Micah launched through the entryway with stealthy precision, stiletto elevated and ready for attack. My arm barred upward, blocking the heel from gashing into my flesh, the shoe scattering to the ground.

I stared directly into her amber eyes, blazing with the intense power of a thousand stars, the red-stained streaks over her face highlighting the cold-blooded frenzy that had overtaken her. It called to me, lured me in, seducing me into their depths. I was on the precipice of pure and utter destruction. One word from her and I'd burn this place to the ground. One heated look and I'd destroy the fucking world.

To create a semblance of distance in the confined space, I reversed until my legs hit the monitor. Exposing my back, I turned, dancing my fingers over the keyboard to complete my final task. I corrupted all footage from the last twenty-four hours and subsequently shut down all security cameras across the whole asylum.

No one would know what transpired tonight. No one would have the visual of my golden girl transforming into the breathtaking predator that now stood at my back. Her deadly metamorphosis was for my eyes only, stored in my memory bank with fond appreciation.

Micah stepped up to my side, processing the entire wall of tv screens, which transitioned from a buzzing grey to clear, blank nothingness.

Her hand slipped into mine without ceremony, our fingers interlocked. Squeezing lightly, I could feel the tiny shards of glass penetrating her palm. When her face eventually tilted my way, her emotionless expression had dropped. Her features were open, eyes filled with so much acceptance and trust that I almost buckled under the severe weight of her stare.

Without a word I cleared the room of evidence, stole Fern's swipe and left his corpse in the corner, the identity of his killer to forever remain a mystery. Holding her shoes in one hand and her palm in the other, I led Micah through the corridors. It was easy to manoeuvre undetected through the madness. The alarm had ceased and security reinforcements had barricaded the asylum perimeter, containing the inmates and guiding guests to safety.

I stole a first aid kit along the way to my room and barred the door. No one would disturb us. The two that would've dared were both dead.

I switched on the UV lamp in the corner, trudged into the adjoining bathroom and thoroughly washed Fern's blood from my murderous hands, Micah following noiselessly.

From the first moment I'd always considered her a goddess, and tonight she personified the Goddess of Death; blood hardened over her entire front, her brunette hair a tangled mess down to her waist and a soft, purple glow silhouetted her frame—a vision of unadulterated sin and wickedness.

She remained standing in the bathroom doorway. "Are you sad she's gone?" Her first words were toneless, impassive.

At first I didn't know who she referred to, until my mind replayed the scene of Katsy's death.

"You think I care for that bitch?" I approached her in reverence. "I only wish I'd done it sooner."

"I'm sorry I took that from you."

"Don't be. It's the sexiest thing I've ever fucking seen." I lifted and kissed her injured palm, her skin cold to the touch. "To know it was your hand that dealt the blow, that avenged my dignity. Baby, don't ever be sorry."

As I stepped closer, she pulled out a necklace hidden beneath her dress collar. A gleaming silver chain with a distinguishable oval pendant attached, the letters A.M. engraved in the centre.

My legs faltered and a rushing took precedence in my ears. It was an out-of-body experience as Micah clipped the necklace around my neck and stretched higher to press a soft kiss to my cheek.

"Ava passed on those two keepsakes, and a message." Micah cleared her throat as if she was about to make a huge pronouncement, her tone scarily similar to my sister. "Hurry the fuck up, Psycho, before these women do all the work for you." Amusement sparked over her features before she disclosed everything without my having to ask: where Ava was hidden, how she was found and the thorough plan for our joint escape.

My hand raised of its own accord to cup Micah's cheek as my forehead pitched forward to press against hers. Completely dazed, I breathed her in.

I was simultaneously awestruck and terrified. How could I ever be worthy? Micah was so valuable, I couldn't even comprehend it.

But I wanted it. Oh, how I desperately wanted her.

"I'm right in front of you. Take me, August."

And when I looked into her eyes and saw nothing but commanding resolve, I realised that's exactly what I'd do.

I'll take it all.

I liftedher to sit on the bathroom counter and pressed between her parted legs. Grabbing a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit, I gently pried the broken fragments of glass from her torn palm. It was intricate work, a constant trickle of blood obscuring the view. She never flinched or made a sound, even when I had to go digging under her flesh for wayward shards.

With her breathing even and muscles relaxed, she leant her head back against the mirror, eyes lapsing shut. I froze, catching sight of the underside of her chin. A small fluorescent tattoo in the outline of a skull glowed like a beacon, reflecting off the purple light filtering from the adjoining room.

"Ultraviolet?" I whispered, my mouth voicing the word before my brain could even compute.

Her eyelashes fluttered as she raised a finger to trace the incriminating symbol, the motion casual and unthreatening, as if I didn't just find out she was a member of one of the most prestigious and notorious assassination groups in the world.

I'd only ever encountered one, and it had been the closest I ever came to dying. I didn't know he was Ultraviolet until his lifeless carcass was dragged to the infirmary for investigation. Tattoo ink invisible to the naked eye, made visible beneath the radiance of blacklight.

"Does that scare you?"

I shook my head. "Nah, baby. If anything, this makes complete sense." Everything clicked into place. Her ability to infiltrate Oakview and her resilience to any chaos that was thrown her way. Also, her capability to manipulate those around her to get what she wanted. A true professional, and a specialist in her trade.

"Micah King," I said with pent-up awe. "Who are you?"

She leant forward, raising her injured hand to my jaw. "A sister, a daughter, a criminal…and yours." Then she closed the minute distance between us and kissed me with her full, wet lips.

My pulse stuttered from her declaration. I didn't deserve her. I would never measure up.

It didn't matter. I was a selfish motherfucker, and I was more than willing to take whatever she was ready to offer. Only she mattered now, my tumultuous mind zoning in on one primal possessive belief. Mine.

I took my time, savouring the welcome feel of her tongue swiping my own. My hands tightened on her waist, pulling her forward until her centre was directly lined up against my growing length.

Slow down, boy. Savour her. Feel her.

Pulling back, I was caught by her all-knowing gaze. Micah was right there with me, fully present and consumed in the essence of us, as an overwhelming necessity of electrifying static sparked in the space between.

Within her, I found all the answers. Everything I'd never asked or searched for…yet, everything I'd ever want or need.

My survival. My lifeline. My home.

MICAH

August stood frozen as I peeled his shirt up over his head and traced the tattoos laden over his chest.

The distinct gladiator helmet stamped over his right pec, displaying his allegiance to the Ludus Maximus. The rest was a transient montage of tortured wraiths and faceless ghosts, each on the verge of death from a specialised weapon. Anyone would find the images disturbing, whereas I found a certain kinship with them. Death, a regular visitor who always welcomed me with the fondest hospitality.

"What do they mean?" My mouth pitched forward in gentle exploration, his warm skin heating beneath the light pressure of my lips. "They look like screaming souls begging for mercy, begging for their lives."

August's rib cage expanded beneath my hands. "That's because they are. What do you know of the Gladiator Games?"

"The Games are a biyearly event that the Ludus Maximus are renowned for. Only one survives. And you, Psycho, are the most famous gladiator of all." My tongue flicked against his nipple, sucking it between my lips. He surrendered a shudder and I repeated the process on the other side, his restrained growls nowhere near close enough to what I desired.

I needed it, fucking craved it. To make him act as crazy as he made me feel.

My head tipped back to catch his stare. "Each person can choose one weapon to take into the death match. What was your weapon of choice, Psycho?"

Without a word, he lifted his hands to bracket my neck, fingers constricting around my throat. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, his gruff voice intoxicating my mind.

"Observant as ever, baby. I have a tattoo for each gladiator I defeated in the arena. I never needed a weapon, ‘cause I killed them with their own."

"I wonder…did you kill them out of mercy, or power?"

"You're cute to think I ever had an option. Only one person makes it out alive, and the finale always comes down to Maximus or a special guest. I only ever saw one signal from my time in the games." He lifted a fist and tilted until his thumb was pointing down.

The mark to kill.

"I chose this path. I chose to take life to compensate for the protection of me and mine. If I had to do it all over again, I would still choose to be exactly where I am right now. With you."

August and I were marked by the greatest sin, death's willing companions, overrun with darkness and immorality. His words washed over me with purpose, holding no remorse or regret.

We were truly aligned.

Pushing him to step back, I slipped off the counter, his thumbs stroking against my jawline.

I kissed the centre of his chest as my hands settled on his waistband. "I want to see," I whispered, pulling his pants and trunks to the ground, his body left open and on display.

August hissed at the sudden exposure, but he didn't stop me.

I gathered to my knees, his dick beautiful, long and hard, begging for attention. Shifting my focus, my eyes and fingertips traced over the expansive tattoos that lined his muscular legs.

Too many souls to count.

My fingers stilted upon a disguised tattoo on the side of his knee. "Don't tell me, is that a—"

"Yep, it's a dildo," August snickered. "One challenging gladiator thought he'd be funny and chose a huge plastic dick as his weapon. To ‘fuck me up the ass,' he said, or something along those lines."

"I can't believe you got that tattooed on you," I huffed, half in amusement, half in disbelief.

"In spite of his foolhardy boast, he fought hard. Simply not hard enough to beat me."

"Did you use his own weapon against him, then?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want an answer to." His tone altered from teasing to straight masculinity, his eyes shifting to a hunter's gaze. "What about you? What's your weapon of choice, Golden Girl?"

I refused to look away, raising one hand to settle around the base of his cock as I proceeded to lick the precum leaking from his tip. The appetiser lingered on my tastebuds, inflaming my ardour within.

My tongue stroked up his shaft, exploring, playing and searching until my lips wrapped around his balls, massaging the aching spot with my salivating mouth.

"Fuckkkkkk." August's thigh muscles spasmed beneath my hold as he hyperventilated, his features swimming in wonder and desperation.

"Micah," he choked. In warning or encouragement, I didn't know. Either way, I was ready to give him what he needed. What we both needed.

Humming in satisfaction, I suckled the head before guiding his length into my wanting mouth, his unrestrained groan sending waves of lust directly between my legs. I was stretched wide, his girth large and imposing, filling me to the brink.

With renewed hunger I pushed forward, adapting to his size as it hit the back of my throat. Our moans and sighs tangled together as my core throbbed in perfect synchronisation with his thrusts.

August continued to curse under his breath, never quite finding the words he was looking for. When my throat muscles relaxed and his cock fully settled inside me, his expression transformed into a feral monster, eyes predatory and savage.

Grasping onto my hair, he took control of my movements. "You're gonna fucking get it now." Pulling at my roots, he pounded into my face so hard that my eyes lined with tears, the sharp sting of pain making me wet with longing.

"Micah! Fuck, you're too good." I increased my efforts, his words inciting my demand for his release, for his surrender.

When he grew desperate and deranged, I bared my teeth, scraping against his tender flesh. With a mighty groan, he released inside me, his cum saturating the lining of my throat as I swallowed.