Page 87 of Soulless Saint

An odd smell filled my nose, made it wrinkle. Acrid like bleach. Tangy like a copper penny.

Was I asleep? Or awake?

I wasn’t sure.

“What the fuck is she doing back there?” That angry voice from earlier asked in a haughty, accusing tone.

The voices grew more and more distant until they were gone again.

The empty abyss of my sleeping mind shifted, the sound of it opening up like a shovel in dirt. But the tape was skipping.

Rewinding.

Fast forwarding.

The shovel sound played again and again. The shhhk of steel burying into dry dirt followed by a thump, the looping soundtrack of my existence, until finally, blissfully… silence.

I quietly turned Becca’s key in the lock, only to find the door to Becca’s shared apartment already unlocked.

Idiots.

I adjusted her limp body in my arms and clenched my teeth, a shiver of anger ratcheting up my back. Even if Toby and Kate hadn’t spent the better part of the night taking a hacked up body down from a fucking billboard and burying it six feet under, they couldn’t be naive enough to think leaving their door unlocked this close to The Row on a Saturday night was a good idea.

I exhaled low through my nose as I pushed inside, finding the apartment dark save for a blue-screened television humming in the living room.

In front of it, Toby was passed out half on and half off the couch. Kate’s shoes were discarded in the middle of the floor, and I assumed the door that was ajar across the living room was hers.

Becca sighed to herself in her sleep, pushing her small nose into my chest as I carried her toward the other door, but I knew without even turning on the light that it was Toby’s. It smelled of his cologne.

I left his door open as I carried Becca down the hall instead, to the only other bedroom. I used the toe of my boot to push the door open, finding a sparse room bathed in the warring cold and warm hues of the moon and sun still sleeping beneath the horizon line, its light seeping into the pre-dawn sky.

I set her down on top of the covers, turning to leave, but being unable to.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I lifted it out, seeing a message on the dirt-streaked screen from Kaleb.

Kaleb: What the fuck is taking so long? Tuck sleeping beauty in and get back down here. We need to figure out our next move.

I ignored the message, sliding the device back in my pocket as I folded myself into a seat at the end of Becca’s bed, studying her face in the moonlight.

Fuck, she was perfect. Maybe not in the traditional sense. With her permanent scowl and her dark, thick eyebrows. But to me…

There would never be anything more beautiful.

I undid the laces on her heels, lifting her legs one at a time to unwind them from her calves and slip the shoes from her feet. She stretched out her legs and her dress rode up, revealing the angry bite mark on her thigh. My cock twitched at the sight of it, but I buried the urge to take her again.

Not now.

Not yet.

I stalked to the kitchen, washing my dirt caked hands in the sink before finding a glass and filling it with water. I carried it back to her room, setting it on her nightstand. I took her phone from her little purse and plugged it in, frowning when I saw a message light up her screen. The content blocked from view, but the name was decidedly fucking male.

Decidedly… Irish.

Aodhán.

I stored that information for another day, trying to tell myself there were hundreds of immigrants in SoCal and three times as many with Irish ancestry. It was only a name. And as soon as I had a free fucking minute after the shit was done hitting the fan, I would find out exactly who this fool was. Make sure his name never crossed her phone screen again.

Ibuprofen. She would need some when she woke up. I fingered the nightstand drawer open, my lips parting in surprise at the fucking vault of sex toys filling the small space. I glanced between her and the fucking treasure trove, tugging out a flogger, unable to keep a smile from pulling my lips wide.

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