Killer Crush - Kiss. Kill. Repeat. #1 - Epilogue - Cade (Patreon)

This was not included in the original story so I hope you enjoy. There will also be a bonus epilogue but I'm still editing it. And this hasn't been edited or beta'd yet so if there's some inconsistencies, no there's not.

Three months later

The smell of coffee and syrup filled the apartment, mixing with the faint hum of Tris’s music playlist. Cade leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Tris perched cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on his thighs and a plate of half-eaten waffles teetering dangerously beside him. His tongue ring flashed every time he licked whipped cream from his fork.

“You rebuilt the contracts app,” Cade said finally, though it came out more fondly baffled than reprimanding. “The Heartstopper app.” 

Tris didn’t even look up. “Rebuilt is such a harsh word. I elevated it. Made it sexy. MajorTom loves it.”

Cade shook his head. Everyone invited to the app was assigned a name. Cade’s was PrettyDeadly74. They weren’t given the option of changing it. MajorTom ran the place. Hell, he invented the place. He confirmed the kills, he doled out the payments. Somehow, Tris had not only found his way to the head of an app for contract killers, but he’d sweet-talked him into giving him back-end access.

Tris thought the world hated him, but Cade watched people fall to his charms almost daily, himself included.

“Sexy?” Cade echoed around a laugh. “It’s a dark web contract board.”

Tris shook his head, clicking something with unnecessary flair. “No, it was a boring, dusty dark web contract board. Now it’s a real murder game.”

“A murder game?” Cade echoed. 

“Yeah,” Tris said like this was a perfectly normal conversation. “It was your idea. You kept calling killing a game. So I made it one. The old site wasn’t at all user-friendly. MajorTom is hella smart but he was too old school. He doesn’t truly understand the ins and outs of coding. That’s why he let me handle updating the system.”

Cade stared at him, a bit awestruck. “So you could turn it into an actual game?”

Tris still hadn’t looked at him, laser focused on the screen in front of him. “Look, most of the guys on the site are old. They don’t have a lot of time left. If you want to recruit new blood, you need to make murder more enticing.”

“Money isn’t enticing enough?” Cade asked, unable to hide how absurd he found their conversation.

“Money is fine,” Tris said absently. “It’s necessary even. But what used to be a contract message board is now a money-making machine.”

A money making machine? What the hell did that even mean?

“And how exactly did you manage that?” Cade asked, sounding as baffled as he felt.

Tris grinned, finally making eye-contact. “Because now, it’s a dead pool.”

Cade’s heart kicked, but not over the dead pool. It was just the way his body reacted when Tris looked at him with that wide smile and those stormy eyes. 

Cade’s brows rose. “A dead pool? Where people bet on who dies next?”

“Yeah, let me explain.” Tris’s voice picked up speed, the rhythm of excitement. “On the surface, Heartstopper looks like an underground app for high-stakes bettors who gamble on the outcomes of real-world ‘accidents,’ crimes, political assassinations, gang wars, celebrity deaths.”

“Morbid,” Cade drawled, setting down his coffee cup and moving Tris’s plate to slide in behind him, wrapping his arms around him from behind. “But go on.” 

“It operates on the darknet, obvi, and is invite-only just like it used to be. But now the accounts are tied to crypto wallets or offshore accounts, no traceable info.” When Cade opened his mouth, Tris cut him off. “I already converted your accounts and stored your passwords in a safe place.”

Cade blinked. “So safe that even I don’t know them?” he asked. “How did you even get a hold of that information?”

“We’re married, dummy,” Tris said as if that explained everything, holding up his left hand like Cade might have forgotten their impulsive courthouse wedding two weeks after they met. “And you’re shockingly lackadaisical for a contract killer.” When Cade opened his mouth, Tris cut him off a second time. “It’s all in the safe.”

“Do I still have access to the safe or did you change that too?” Cade murmured, lips brushing his neck.

“No, I didn’t change that, too,” Tris mimicked, voice high. “Do you want to hear this or not?”

Cade gave a longsuffering sigh he didn’t mean. “Go ahead, explain your evil genius.”

Tris wiggled in his arms like a happy puppy. “To the outside world it’s just another illegal gambling network. But to the players, it’s so much more. It’s a gamified kill economy. Every target has a bounty pool, funded by bettors wagering on their deaths. Live odds. A leaderboard of top assassins, kill streaks, heartstoppers, etc.,” he said as if this all made perfect sense.

“You did all of this?”

“I’m not done,” Tris said. “When a target dies, the app’s AI verification system cross-checks dark web chatter, police reports, and surveillance leaks to confirm the death. Whoever claims the hit first–by uploading proof–wins the bounty and gets Heartstopper points for ranking and perks.”

“Perks?”

“Higher-paying targets, anonymous upgrades, safe-passage credits. That kind of thing.”

Cade’s head was spinning. He thought he’d married an exuberant absent-minded angel with ADHD, but instead he’d married a criminal mastermind with a minor in hacking.

“Oh, and I didn’t tell you the best part.”

“I’m all ears,” Cade said faintly.

“The app has a social layer.”

“A social layer…” 

“Are you just gonna keep repeating everything I say?” 

“Are you just gonna keep pausing for me to speak when I have nothing to say yet?” Cade countered, sinking his teeth into Tris’s bare shoulder. 

Tris hissed then turned around sticking his tongue out. Cade didn’t waste the invite, closing his mouth over it and drawing him into a filthy kiss. When they parted, Tris’s pupils were dilated and his breaths were coming faster. 

Cade smirked. “Go on.” 

Tris blinked, like he was trying to remember his place. When he turned back to his computer, he sounded less excited and more turned on. “It occasionally pairs users with complimentary profiles for joint missions.”

“Meaning what, puppy?”

“Mutual interests. Firearms, creative dismemberments, enemies of the state.”

Cade huffed out a breath through his nose. “You made a Tinder for murderers?”

Tris nodded eagerly. “Yeah, but the pairings are algorithmic and totally optional. It’s only been forty-eight hours since we launched and the match feature’s already popular because pairs can pool bets, split bounties, and build kill streaks.”

Kill streaks… 

“And the money now comes from gambling pools?”

Tris nodded. “Every kill listed on Heartstopper now exists because someone bet that person would die. Bets can be placed anonymously by anyone with crypto–governments, gangs, corporations, even regular people with access codes. Heartstopper takes a house cut–ten percent–two percent of which is now ours–and distributes the pot to the killer or killers, the top bettors who wagered correctly, with a small percentage going to the Morgues for obvious reasons.”

The Morgues were not–despite the name–actual morgues. It was a series of hidden bars throughout the US that had been declared neutral territory. That wasn’t new. But the way Tris had set this up was about to yield this chain of speakeasies a huge financial windfall. 

Cade kissed behind his ear. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Look.” Tris revealed a color-coded dashboard with icons and scrolling stats. “Everything’s streamlined now. No more boring spreadsheets. Plus, it has dark mode.”

Cade frowned. “You added emojis.”

“They’re efficiency icons,” Tris corrected, tone borderline pissy. “💀 means high priority, 🔥 means time-sensitive, and 🍆 means–”

Cade pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Tris grinned. “Motivation. For you.”

“Tris.”

“What? Before it was a silly little murder app. Now, it’s a real game. I’m just gamifying your murder habit. It’s called productivity.”

Cade stared at the side of his face for a beat, warmth and disbelief colliding into something soft under his ribs. He leaned in to lick a bit of syrup just beneath his bottom lip, lingering just long enough for Tris to go still.

“BugReport404,” Tris murmured, pulling away to turn back to his laptop, tapping a key like a tiny signature. “Patch notes drop at midnight.”

Cade laughed, low and genuine. “You’re impossible.”

Tris kissed him, quick and sticky with sugar. “And you’re mine, PrettyDeadly74.”

The sound Cade made in reply lived somewhere between a chuckle and a promise. “Then keep the app polished, BugReport. I’ll keep the syrup handy.”

"My hero."

Cade leaned in once more, peering at the screen. “You renamed the clients, too.”

“Rocco Albertini was boring,” Tris said. “Now it’s Operation Snaccrifice.”

Cade snorted, shaking his head, unable to hide his fondness. “That’s not even a word.”

“It is now,” Tris said smugly, taking another bite of his cold waffle.

Cade sighed, sliding his arms around Tris’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder, the faint smell of syrup and coffee clinging to his skin. “You realize you’re an accomplice now, right?”

Tris shook his head, mouth still full. “No, I’m the gamemaster. See?” 

He pointed to the corner of the app where BugReport404 — Gamemaster blinked.

“I’m not sure if I should be alarmed or impressed.”

Tris chewed and smiled at the same time, voice muffled as he said, “Why not both?” When he swallowed his bite of waffle he added, “Also, your passwords were embarrassingly easy to hack. I fixed that, too. You’re welcome. You had so many unsecured endpoints, I’m surprised no one had hacked you yet.”

Cade’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know what that even means.” 

“You’re so lucky you have me,” Tris said, once more wiggling happily between Cade’s thighs. 

If he didn’t stop that, they were going to lose the whole day in bed. Or on the sofa. Hell, bent over the counter. There was no place off limits when Cade wanted to prove to Tris just how much he was wanted. “Do I even want to know how you learned this?” he asked to distract himself. 

“The internet. Coding was my hyper-fixation for like two years,” Tris said vaguely.

Cade chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “Good to know.”

They stayed like that for a while, Cade scrolling through his phone, Tris typing furiously. Occasionally, he would mutter something about UX flow or murder logistics while Cade refilled their coffees. The rhythm was absurdly domestic, keyboard clicks and caffeine instead of gunshots and blood.

Domesticity wasn’t something Cade had ever imagined for himself. He’d always been motion: kill, clean, move on. But Tris had slowed him down, somehow, while simultaneously making his life absolute chaos. He found he didn’t mind. Tris was entropy wrapped in sugar. And Cade–God help him–liked the mess.

Cade brushed his thumb along Tris’s jaw. “You know, most people wouldn’t want their boyfriend managing a murder app from the living room.”

“Most people are boring,” Tris said, turning his head to press a quick kiss to Cade’s wrist. “Besides, I improved your workflow. You should be thanking me.”

“I am,” Cade said softly, meaning it.

Tris smiled. “Good. I also uploaded last night’s proof of kill to the app so you could get paid. You earned 2,500 points, which has you sitting in the number two spot.”

“We have a rank no—Number two? Who’s above me?” he said, jealousy flaring beneath his ribs. 

“OldSpice45,” Tris said, glancing back and watching him carefully.

Cade’s nostrils flared. “I’m being outranked by a dude called OldSpice? Find me a high-value target right now.”

“See?” Tris said smugly. “Look how motivated you are.” He turned back to the computer. “Oops.”

“Oops?” Cade asked. “Oops what? Don’t say oops when you’re on the murder app.”

Tris gave him a tight smile. “I meant to send a thumbs-up emoji to one of the assets but accidentally sent the eggplant emoji.”

“To a killer?” Cade snapped.

“It was an accident,” Tris said meekly.

Cade peered over his shoulder. “Show me.” Tris’s shoulders shook with laughter. “What? What’s so funny?”

“I was just kidding. There’s no DM’ing the assets. And the eggplant emoji is just for you.”

“It better be,” Cade grumbled, when Tris beamed at him, he shook his head. “You are chaos incarnate.”

“And you love it,” Tris said, craning his neck back to kiss him.

Cade caught his mouth, deepening the kiss once more, and when they finally pulled apart, Tris’s cheeks were flushed, his grin soft.

“No more boats though, right?” Tris murmured.

“Never again.”

“Good. Because if I have to choose between Titanic roleplay and throwing four hundred pound traffickers into the ocean, I’m picking waffles.”

“That makes no sense at all.” 

“It makes perfect sense,” Tris said, before haughtily adding, “If you’re me…” 

Cade laughed quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “My life was so boring before I met you.” 

Tris beamed at him. “My life sucked before I met you.” 

For a man who claimed he couldn’t feel anything, Cade had never felt more alive than when he was with Tris. “I’m glad you were horny enough to swipe right on my picture.” 

“It was down to you and one other guy…” Tris taunted, letting it hang between them. 

“What other guy?” Cade growled. 

“I hardly remember,” Tris said wistfully. “But I think his profile handle was…OldSpice45?” 

“Oh, that’s it.” 

Tris squealed as Cade knocked him onto his back on the sofa, pinning his arms above his head. “Look who’s got jokes,” he murmured. “Didn’t anybody ever warn you not to taunt a killer?” 

Tris stared up at him, enough love bleeding from his eyes to steal Cade’s breath. “I’ve never really had a great sense of self-preservation. I once met a guy on the docks in the middle of the night.” 

Cade dipped his head, scraping his teeth just beneath Tris’s ear. “Sounds like a lunatic.” 

Tris gasped, grinding up against him, letting his legs wrap around Cade’s waste. “Yeah, but he was a real animal in the sack.” 

“Is that so?” Cade asked, rocking his hips against his, pleasure shooting along his spine. 

“Mm,” Tris said. 

The computer dinged. Tris’s gaze darted towards his laptop, his response almost pavlovian. 

“Don’t you even think about it,” Cade warned. 

“Or what?” Tris taunted, taking Cade’s hand and leading it to his throat. “You’ll kill me.” 

Cade massaged his throat. “You’re fucking unhinged.” 

Tris darted his tongue out to lick over Cade’s lower lip. “But you love me, anyway.” 

But that wasn’t the truth. He didn’t love Tris in spite of it. He loved him because of it. Cade never realized how black and white his life had been before Tris had shown up splashing color everywhere like he was Jackson Pollack. Now that he had him in his life, he could never go back. 

“I really fucking do.”