Elias Kane sprawled on Karlee's lumpy couch, the duplex's dim light casting shadows over the beer can sweating in his hand. Karlee lounged across from him, legs kicked up on a busted coffee table, her own beer halfway gone. The TV muttered trash in the background—some asshole yelling about cheating—but it was white noise to her grin, sharp and teasing. India had crashed out upstairs, leaving them to the night, and the air buzzed with old vibes and new edge. His phone sat heavy in his pocket, 65% charge humming, Juliana's ghost a low growl he couldn't shake.
"So," Karlee said, tipping her can at him, "city life, huh? Spill it, E. What kinda mess chewed you up?" Her eyes glinted, dark and hungry, like she'd eat the truth raw if he gave it. He smirked, cracking his beer open with a hiss, letting the lie settle like armor. "Big mess," he said, voice rough. "Too much noise, too many freaks. Needed out."
She laughed, low and throaty, leaning forward. "Freaks, huh? C'mon, you're holding out. Gimme the dirt—kinky shit, fucked-up shit, all of it." Her tank top shifted, a flash of ink peeking out—some snake coiled under her collarbone—and Elias felt the pull, old heat flaring up. He took a swig, stalling, then let loose just enough to keep her hooked.
"Alright," he said, leaning back, grin turning dark. "City's a playground if you're twisted. Saw a guy in a leather mask choke a chick while she begged for it—consensual, but damn, the sounds. Clubs where people fuck in the shadows, all sweat and chains. One night, stumbled into some backroom deal—dude got a knife to the throat over a bag of pills, blood everywhere. Fucked up, but you don't look away."
Karlee's eyes widened, then narrowed, a wicked spark lighting her up. "Shit, E, you into that? The kinky part, not the stabbing—though knowing you…" She trailed off, sipping slow, watching him like a cat with a bird. He shrugged, playing it cool, but his pulse kicked—truth dodged, lies spinning. "Not my thing," he said, half-true. "Just watched. Learned a lot—people are animals when you peel the skin off."
"Yeah?" She shifted closer, beer dangling from her fingers, voice dropping low. "What'd you peel off, then? You're too cagey for just 'burned out.' Spill something real." Her knee brushed his, a jolt of heat, and Elias grinned wider, deflecting with more city grit.
"Fine," he said, leaning in, matching her vibe. "Hooked up with this bartender once—tattoos head to toe, nails like claws. She tied me to a chair, blindfolded, did shit I can't even say. Next morning, she's gone, my wallet too. Hot as hell, till it wasn't." Karlee cackled, slapping her thigh, and he let the laugh cover the lie—Juliana's face flashing instead, her wild eyes, the app's red buzz, the cop's cuffs.
"Fuck, that's gold," Karlee said, wiping her eyes. "You're a magnet for crazy. What else? Gimme the darkest thing you saw." Her grin was all teeth, daring him, and Elias took the bait—just not too far.
"Darkest?" He paused, beer halfway to his lips, letting the silence stretch. "Caught a guy pimping out junkies in an alley—girls too strung out to fight, him laughing while they shook. Wanted to smash his face in, but I walked. City's full of that—rots you if you stay." His voice dipped, rougher than he meant, and Karlee's grin faded, a flicker of something real cutting through.
"Damn," she said, softer now, leaning back. "That's heavy, E. No wonder you're back." She didn't push, but her eyes lingered, digging, like she smelled the bullshit under his scars. He shrugged it off, swigging hard, the app's weight a silent scream in his pocket—65%, enough to twist her if he wanted. Juliana's ghost snarled—keep it alive—and he shoved it down, focusing on Karlee's smirk returning slow.
"Anyway," she said, kicking his shin light, "you're here now. Red Devils ain't pure, but it's ours. What's next—gonna chase tail or just drink me dry?" Her wink was pure filth, and Elias laughed, low and dark, tension coiling tight.
"Both," he shot back, voice a growl, letting the heat simmer. Outside, that limo's engine purred faint through the walls—Sal's shadow, India had said—and the app buzzed once, sharp: Signal: Unknown. His grin held, but his grip on the can tightened. Karlee didn't notice, cracking another beer, but the night felt heavier now, Red Devils closing in.
Juliana's chaos was his—he just wasn't spilling that yet.
Elias Kane stumbled up the creaky stairs of Karlee and India's duplex, beer buzzing in his veins, the night thick with her teasing and Red Devils' grime. Karlee had passed out on the couch mid-laugh, TV still blaring, while India's door stayed shut upstairs—silent, judging, even in sleep. He kicked off his boots, dropping onto a lumpy spare bed that smelled like dust and old weed. Phone hit the nightstand—65% charge, red glow faint under the cracked screen—and he flopped back, staring at the ceiling's water stains. Sleep didn't come easy. Juliana did.
Her face slammed into him—wild hair, scarred skin, eyes like a storm he'd drown in. First time he met her was a punch to the gut. Dive bar, city edge, air thick with sweat and cheap whiskey. She'd leaned on the counter, ripped jacket, knuckles bruised, smirking like she'd just fucked up someone's night. "You look lost," she'd said, voice rough and low, and Elias—half-drunk, all restless—shot back, "Maybe I like it that way." Two hours later, they were in her shitty apartment, tearing at each other—no romance, just raw, desperate need. Her nails raked his back, his hands gripped her hips, and the bedframe groaned like it might snap. She laughed mid-thrust, wild and free, and he was hooked—hard.
Next day, she dragged him to the lab—her gig, some off-the-books tech hustle. "Found this," she said, tossing him the shard—alien, cold, humming like it was alive. "Make it do something." He did. Nights blurred—fucking and working, sweat and solder. She'd straddle him on a stool, all heat and chaos, riding him while he wired circuits, her moans mixing with the buzz of tools. "Faster," she'd growl—sex or tech, didn't matter—and he'd deliver, high on her edge.
They built the app in a haze—her scars spilling out between thrusts. "Foster dad broke my nose once," she'd mutter, post-fuck, sprawled on the floor. "Mom sold me for a bag—twelve years old." He'd listen, gut twisting, then pull her close, mouths crashing, drowning it out. She'd grin, wicked, when the app first worked—janitor dropping his mop, her laugh sharp as glass. "We're gods, E," she'd said, climbing him again, nails digging in, their rhythm a victory lap.
Days were grind—tweaking code, charging it to 100% on his laptop, her pacing like a caged beast. Nights were fire—her on top, him pinning her, walls shaking. Once, she tied his wrists with a cable, blindfolded him with her shirt, edged him till he begged—dark, filthy, perfect. "You're mine," she'd hissed, and he didn't argue, lost in her storm. They'd crash after, tangled in sheets, her scars pressed to his skin, the app glowing red beside them—25% to lock, 10% to break, their fucked-up baby.
Then she snapped—not all at once, but slow, brutal. A barista groveling wasn't enough— Juliana wanted blood. Professors caved, cash flowed, and her eyes got darker, hungrier. "They deserve it," she'd snarl, mid-fuck, riding him harder, like she could screw the pain out. Elias saw it—cracks widening—but he didn't stop her. Couldn't. Last night together, she'd pinned him down, breathless, whispering, "We're unstoppable," and he'd believed it—till sirens screamed, cuffs bit her wrists, and she was gone, laughing into the void.
Now, Red Devils' silence pressed in, the duplex creaking like it knew. Elias shifted, hard just thinking about her—her taste, her rage, her everything. Phone buzzed once—Signal: Unknown—and he ignored it, hand sliding under the waistband, chasing her ghost. Juliana wasn't here, but she was everywhere—scarred into him, the app, this mess. Karlee snored downstairs, India loomed above, and outside, that limo's shadow waited. Sleep wouldn't come. Not tonight.
He was still hers—fucked up and all.