His chest rumbles with something close to a laugh. I don’t hear it so much as feel it, the vibration under my cheek where I’ve curled against him like a cat that found fire and decided to love it anyway.

And for a moment—just a moment—we’re still. Covered in blood. Surrounded by death. But safe. Anchored in each other like we’ve both found home at the center of the storm.

He hums.

And then⁠—

Footsteps.

Wet, squelching, too-light-for-comfort footsteps.

“Well, well, well,” Johnny sings. “Look who’s getting in one last round of worship.”

We turn as he saunters into view, shirtless and grinning, dragging something grotesque behind him like it’s his latest toy. A ribcage. Still bloody. Still twitching.

“For you, my queen of carnage,” he says, tossing it like a bouquet at my feet.

“Aww, Johnny,” I coo. “You shouldn’t have. No, really. You shouldn’t have. Where the fuck did you get this?”

“Off a guest who just couldn’t keep his organs to himself.”

Alaska appears behind him, on two legs now, hair a mess, face wild. She’s holding what looks like intestines wrapped like a scarf.

“Best night ever!” she yells.

“I know, baby,” Johnny croons, petting her head. “You did so good.”

Bjorn growls softly beside me, but not in anger. It’s that low, content sound he makes when the world’s burning just right.

Indie and Lux arrive next. She’s got blood streaked across her jaw, a whip coiled at her hip, her leather corset half-undone. Lux has one arm slung around her, watching us like a king satisfied with his ruined court.

“Looks like the gods feasted,” Indie says with a smirk.

“They fucking better have,” I mutter, still catching my breath.

Johnny leans in toward Bjorn.

“Be honest—do they ever get tired of blood? Or do they just keep snacking like it’s a buffet?”

“They don’t tire,” Bjorn says, grave as always.

“But do they… you know, come?” Johnny grins.

Bjorn’s glare could peel skin.

“Don’t mock the gods.”

“Oh, baby, I’m not mocking. I’m just wondering if they got off as hard as she did.” He gestures to me and I wave.

Everyone laughs. Even Alaska.

But Bjorn?

He just wraps his arms tighter around me. His little death.

And for one fleeting, blood-drenched moment—I swear the gods laugh with us.

chapter fourteen

bjorn

Where Is My Mind - Safari Riot, Grayson Sanders

The smoke still clings to the air like a ghost that won’t let go. Sunlight is bleeding through the holes in the canvas, soft and orange, brushing against the ruin we’ve made.

We’re all standing together now. What’s left of the tent groans in the wind behind us, torn and blood-soaked, but still upright—like it’s too stubborn to fall until we give it permission.