The Stains Beneath Our Skin {mxm}

All Rights Reserved ©

Deliciously Crimson

Casper was there at nine in the morning. Of course he was. No matter that he had psycho nutjob for company and a leash around his fucking neck, what kind of idiot would he be if he actually turned down a chance to get outside? Maybe something would go wrong. Maybe he’d be able to run. Probably it’d all go smoothly because Cain was like control freak supreme, but it was worth it anyway ’cause he’d be outside.

A breath of pollution to freshen his lungs.

Casper was slouched against the front door smoking a cigarette when Cain got there at ten to, and old nutjob actually did a double take seeing him. Totally reasonable seeing as Casper didn’t think he’d ever gotten up early by free will in his life, but he’d woken up at five with a nightmare two hours after getting to sleep so here he was.

Neither of them said a word to each other as Cain lead him to a detached garage. Except when Cain let him in, Casper burst out laughing.

“Didn’t peg you for a sports car guy.”

That deliciously crimson lambo said otherwise. Cain probably would’ve made a joke about that usually, but he just stalked across to wealth-on-wheels and slammed the door behind him when he got in. Casper, for lack of anything else to do, followed.

Cain drove at fifty down the driveway and one-twenty the rest of the way. Traffic seemed to split around him just the way the Red Sea had proffered up its salty bed for Moses, the parting of the waves recreated in stalled cars and violent lane changes. It was the most terrifying and exhilarating car journey of Casper’s life, even if it only got that title for the exhilarating part.

The most terrifying had been when Jack drove them at a hundred down the wrong side of a freeway, screaming angry and so high he couldn’t look straight. Call that the Norns at work that they hadn’t both died, those three sisters stringing out his thread so that he lingered long enough for this fresh hell.

Casper told Cain about the trip with Jack on a barren stretch of road where the needle ticked at one-fifty and the trees went past so thick and fast they smeared. Casper told it with his scratching voice a sardonic whisper amongst the moan of the engine and a grin twisting up his face. Cain didn’t look at him, but the needle edged down and didn’t go above ninety again.

The air inside the car hung black with sulphurous smoke and words that should have gone unsaid.

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.