by Lana Kole
What they found was nothing of use but trouble, nonetheless. The preppy dicks that had been ahead of them in line at the beginning of the night were stuffing little zipper bags into their jeans. A guy in a hat, not previously with them, cursed and bailed, running down the alley and disappearing around the corner like his life depended on it.
“Well, look who we have here,” the tallest one drawled, who still was only even with Truth’s height.
But even as they were matched, it was five against two, three if you counted Daria, but she wouldn’t be much help in a fight. Sure, she knew some basic defense moves, but she’d sure as hell never had to use them.
As Misery and Truth stepped in front of her, she tried to pull the club door back open, but it had locked from the inside. Useless.
The guys, obviously drunk, or maybe high on whatever they were into, lurched forward to crowd around them. Panic swelled in her chest, a heavy pressure that she wished she could ease away.
“Gentlemen,” Truth started. “I don’t think we want to get into anything tonight, so if you wouldn’t mind… ”
Daria smiled to herself at his polite tone, but knew this was only going to end one way. These assholes were about to get the shit kicked out of them. Or end up in a weeping pile of agony, via Misery.
“Well, look at surfer boy here, with manners. Guess they show beach bums how to talk nowadays, don’t they?”
Daria didn’t know what the fuck he was on about, and wrapped her hand around Misery’s wrist and fisted her hand in the back of Truth’s shirt, adrenaline beginning to course through her.
“What? You two gay together or somethin’?” one of them slurred.
Truth’s shoulders stiffened, but before he could speak, another answered, catching her eye between Misery and Truth’s shoulders. “Nah man, it can’t be that. Else, why’d they have this sweet thing back there with ‘em?”
“That it, then? You all a threesome then?”
When Misery glanced at her, it was with worry on his face. Then he shared a look with Truth, and they seemed to come to an understanding. Before she could figure out what it meant, they leapt forward to attack. Drunk, the idiots stumbled back, not ready for the speed of their movements, but they recovered quickly enough.
Drunks: they might be sloppy and uncoordinated, but with their senses dulled they were stubborn to take down.
And with five against two…
The asshole Truth launched at took two punches to the face before he even stumbled, shook it off, and doubled back for more.
Misery was holding his own against a pair of them, more powerful than she’d given him credit for. Even without using his namesake. Why isn’t he using his power? This would’ve already been over.
She remembered the look between the two of them and wondered what silent communication they’d had. Her heart pounded behind her rib cage and that tension still throbbed in time with it, harder and more intense, until she winced.
Refusing to be a hindrance, Daria tried to slink against the wall, go unnoticed, and look for a weapon amongst the trash, but the alley was empty. Before she knew what was happening, one of the drunks broke off from the pack. Grabbing both her upper arms, he dragged her to the other side of the dumpster and slammed her into the brick wall.
Not wanting to distract her demons, she kept her grunt of pain to herself, and focused on finding a weak point in the asshole whose breath smelled like a brewery.
“Is that it, hmm?” he mumbled as he leaned into her, his breath rank enough to make her hold hers. “You with them? Both of them?”
Daria didn’t say anything, refusing to take the bait and counting down the seconds until he backed up enough for her to slide her knee between them.
“You one of those sluts that take it up the ass?”
Daria almost rolled her eyes. These guys were real original.
He leaned in, his breath hot on her neck as he said, “Tell ya what, when my buddies take care of your pussy friends, we’ll show you what it’s like to be with real men.”
The scoff tumbled out of her before she could stop it, and he leaned back with a scowl on his face. She took the opportunity to slam on his instep with her boot and then bring her knee up into his balls. An ungodly squeal came out of him before he stumbled back and to his knees.
Yeah, she was wearing Doc Martens with a club dress. What of it?
“Daria!”
She jerked around at the sound of her name, only to find Misery tackled down by the two guys he’d been fighting. They were all bloody and bruised, and her heart pounded with adrenaline as she feared this may not be as easy as she first thought. Truth was still standing, but the grim expression on his face made her pause.
He motioned for her to run, but she refused to leave them here.
And regretted the decision two seconds later when the bastard she’d nailed in the balls grabbed her arms from behind, interlocking his arms with her own to trap them uselessly behind her. Her legs flailed in the air as she tried to dislodge herself, but it was no use.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Truth, distracted by her, took a shot to the face that snapped his head to the side and slumped his body to the brick beside him.
Panic swelled heavier, the pressure bearing down harder, and she wished there was something she could fucking do. Daria despised feeling helpless, but she couldn’t escape it then, it seem—
Like a breath released, the pressure behind her rib cage shattered, and something jolted her captor behind her and a shower of dirt sprayed over her. He released her so quickly she stumbled forward, slamming into the pavement and skinning her knees. Cursing, she glanced up at the sound of a shout, and just in time, saw one of the guys ganging up on Misery slip on a… a fucking banana peel and land on his ass with a groan.
Then, right before her fucking eyes, a window opened on the second floor of the building above them, and a bucket dumped water and ice over the assholes attacking Truth, who miraculously stumbled away in time. They slipped and fell too, unable to find purchase on the cubes beneath their feet.
Bewildered and wondering what had befallen her own attacker, she glanced back, finding him passed out cold with a broken terracotta planter on the pavement beside him. When she looked closer, she saw ropes that seemed to have come undone, clearly meant to hang the plant outside one of the windows from above.
Truth grabbed Misery up off the ground, steadying him before they took off toward her. She grabbed Misery’s hand as she ran alongside them, glancing back at the chaos in the alley just as they rounded the corner.
What the fuck just happened?
BETRAYAL
A growl tore from his throat as he watched the assholes give Misery and Truth trouble in the alley below.
And Daria.
He hadn’t meant to run into her here, had actually meant to avoid her completely. But when he’d decided it was time to leave, he wanted to avoid the crowd as best as he could. To do that, he had to leave out the back. Where he’d promptly crashed into this long-haired brunette in a short black dress and combat boots.
Hot as fuck.
And of course it’d happened to be the one person he was supposed to avoid. He didn’t want to lead her back to the cult—too dangerous. Truthfully, he should have apologized and walked on, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn away. Sure, Death had mentioned that she hadn’t died, but hearing it and seeing it were two different things.
After steadying her with a hand on her arm, he couldn’t resist slipping his palm down to graze over the pulse in her wrist. Her big blue eyes had been wide, nervous, at his appearance and he’d enjoyed it a little too much. She didn’t seem to recognize him, and then he remembered she’d already been dead by the time the demons had become corporeal.
Her lips had stuttered her first words to him, and he’d resisted the grin that threatened to twist his lips. She was so sweet and innocent looking, even in the dress that bared miles of soft creamy flesh to his greedy gaze.
> He wanted nothing more than to take her with him, just disappear, but the trackers the cult had inserted would tell them right where they were, and he couldn’t risk her like that.
As she continued to stare, he told her to get back to Misery and Truth.
Before I take you with me, he’d thought.
Before he knew what he’d done, he’d slipped his loose hand in his jeans pocket to pull out his coin, flipping it in the air and catching it with the ease only experience brought him.
Fuck.
Almost nervous to look, he glanced and saw that it’d landed on tails, and he sighed at the sense of relief that filled him.
It was for the best. She didn’t need someone like him fucking with her anyway.
It was simple, she’d go back to Misery and Truth and he’d return to the cult and let them know his turn to ‘experiment’ had been a bust.
Releasing her wrist, he stepped away as she mumbled a goodnight, and slipped out the alley. When he met the mouth of the alley, he glanced to the left and saw the sign next door, and suddenly felt famished.
Betrayal couldn’t get enough of modern food. It was all processed deliciousness, and this taco joint called his name. He slipped inside, the artificial light harsh compared to the darkness outside, but ordered anyway. Then he slipped out the side door and took the stairs all the way to the fucking top.
Cult bastards could just wait a minute.
And now he wished he’d just left. Because he had the urge to stomp back down to the ground and teach those bastards a lesson. Especially when one of them jerked Daria away from the pack and pushed her up against the wall, closer to her than any of them deserved.
He wanted nothing more than to step forward, save the day, wade in with fists and anger burning hot within. But that need, that impulse? Fuck that. He’d learned the hard way that he couldn’t trust himself. Couldn’t trust that his choices were his, and his alone.
Betrayal reached into his pocket, desperate for an answer. The warm metal was a comfort in his palm, the beveled grooves catching in the dull moonlight.
He couldn’t be trusted, couldn’t trust himself, but the coin—well, it’d never let him down, even if sometimes he yearned for different outcomes. The coin was always impartial.
With a flick of his thumb, he sent it spinning, and watched, chest tight, muscles tensed, for the inevitable fall.
Tails.
He turned his back, conscience pricking at his chest. Fuck these feelings. Feelings had gotten them into this mess. He had no fucking business feeling things again.
He rubbed the coin between thumb and forefinger, his eyes clenched tight.
Tails meant they’d have to sort this shit out themselves.
He’d learned too long ago he couldn’t be trusted with decision-making. That shit never ended well.
Fuck.
As he watched the fight below, he fought down a growl. They were just humans, so Misery and Truth should’ve been able to take them, especially Misery. But for some reason, he wasn’t using his power to stop them, and Betrayal frowned again. Were his powers on the fritz?
Betrayal slammed the coin back into his pocket, frustrated and pissed he couldn’t help.
The moon shone above him in the dark, the night lights not bright enough to hide it from view. And he seethed. He stood on the rooftop of the building, glaring down at the happenings in the dark, before he blinked.
“What the fuck?” he mumbled.
Daria had nailed one of the humans in the balls, causing even Betrayal to wince, and he’d finally recovered, only to go after Daria again. He locked her arms behind her back by entwining his own, and was jerking her back down the alleyway.
She grunted and screamed, but that wasn’t even what had caught his eye. Off the balcony of one of the apartments below him, some hipster had hung a bunch of dangling terracotta plants, strung up in some mess of roped decoration. As he watched, one of the ropes thinned, and then broke, the pot falling two stories down to land on the head of the asshole that’d grabbed Daria. She stumbled forward, and Betrayal’s gaze followed hers to the dicks ganging up on Misery. Then out of nowhere, one of them slipped on a banana peel lying in the alley, taking the other guy down as he fell and landed on his ass, a groan echoing even up to where he stood.
And then, the attendant from the taco joint leaned out the window to dump a contaminated jug of half melted ice below, not even registering anyone in the alley. Sure enough, it landed on the guys Truth was up against, and they also fell to the asphalt below.
Misery and Truth shared a bewildered glance but didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and grabbed Daria as they ran.
Betrayal didn’t miss the glint of confusion in her face as she glanced back one last time.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he smirked. Seemed he had some good news for the guys after all.
DEATH
Death turned when the door to their rooms opened, arching a brow as Betrayal walked in.
“Made it back to us, I see?” Death murmured in a low voice.
In answer, Betrayal spread his arms wide in what most would consider an impressive show of self-confidence. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Barely, from what we heard,” Hope teased.
“What? I wanted tacos,” Betrayal sneered at them, before he marched over and sprawled out in a recliner that’d been provided by the chaopadós. All he’d wanted was to finish his damn tacos, but the cult asses couldn’t even wait that long. They’d come after him as if he’d been trying to run away or some shit. But a black eye was the least of his worries.
Death saw right through him, but he wanted to wait until the guards weren’t listening. The room was probably bugged either way, so they’d have to choose their words carefully. Death continued his match of cards with Hope, who had no real chance of winning anyway.
Death always won.
So, when he picked up an ace, he kept his face blank and waited to see what Hope drew. The disappointment showed on Hope’s face before he even laid the cards down, and he sighed in defeat, breaking over twenty-one with his eight of spades and seven of hearts on top of the ten of spades he’d first drawn.
Death laid down his ace, pairing perfectly with the king of diamonds from his first draw.
“How the hell do you keep doing that?” Hope grumbled as he gathered the cards up to shuffle them.
“He cheats,” Betrayal answered matter-of-factly.
“Death does not cheat!” he called over in response, making the outrage plain on his face.
“Please don’t refer to yourself in the third person. I thought we talked about this,” Hope chastised with a hidden grin twitching his lips.
“Whatever.” Death resisted rolling his eyes and played another round with Hope. This time, he drew a card even though he knew it would send him over twenty-one. And it did, and he lost, but the grin on Hope’s face was worth it. It wasn’t like they were betting cash or anything anyway.
Eventually, Betrayal decompressed enough to share how his experiment went at the club, so they dealt him into the next game.
“So how did it go?” Death prompted while he shuffled.
“I didn’t get to wreak any… chaos, as it was.” As if to clarify, he pulled out his silver coin and slammed it on the table. They knew he depended on the coin, but they didn’t know quite why. It was his story anyway. Though if you asked Death, something a little deeper led him to depend on the piece of metal. Either way, letting a coin dictate your actions wasn’t very reasonable. But it wasn’t his place to say.
They all had their demons.
Chuckling at his internal joke, he dealt the cards out and laid the stack face down.
“I did see so many hot babes though. There was this one, she had super long brown hair and blue eyes. But, truth of the matter, she looked miserable.”
Death flicked a glance to Hope, who’d also caught onto the words but showed no sign of recognition. Guess he has a poker face after all.
> “Oh yeah? You show her a little fun while you were there?”
Betrayal tapped the coin again. “Nope. Couldn’t.”
Death frowned at that, wondering just what mess they’d be in if the coin had said otherwise.
“Though I did end up watching her leave. Nothing but chaos in her wake.”
Stiffening, Death stared at the cards in his hand, trying not to let anything show on his face.
Death always has secrets…
“What about that?” Death grumbled out and picked a card off the stack. The total in his hand landed him at sixteen.
“Yeah, quite a mystery if you ask me,” Betrayal grunted, the sound forced from the depths of his chest until Death had no choice but to glance up at his glower. “Weird when you consider the last brunette I met died. Makes me wonder if there’s something... wrong with my choice of women.”
Shit.
“Or maybe those women were just different,” Death mused.
“How do you figure that?” Betrayal grunted with a pointed look.
“Maybe that’s not for us to know,” he answered. “Besides, there’s nothing wrong with enjoying something a little different.”
In not so many words, Death was telling Betrayal he knew something was off with Daria, but he didn’t know quite what it was.
“Damn, who’s keeping score? I need a pencil and paper,” Hope suddenly interrupted.
By the door, he grabbed a pen and paper off the console table and returned. Before they could write anything down, Death grabbed it right out of his hands and wrote his own words down.
Not here.
Hope took the paper from him anyway, scribbling with an urgency they all felt. They pretended to play a few cards and then passed the pad around.
It’s my turn tomorrow. I can lead them to us. What are they gonna do, kill me?
Death turned a droll stare on him, knowing damn well the answer to that question.
Scribbling something back, he sought within himself for the death timer of the person they needed most. All he had to do was think of a specific person, or look at them, and he would see the date, time and cause of their death. Daria’s wasn’t that hard to find, and he grimaced.
