Page 64 of Soulless Saint

Oh god. Oh god.

Kaleb’s arms flexed hard, shaking with determination. “Come on, baby!”

The NOS started to wane, slowing the car a second before it would’ve pushed him the extra few yards he would’ve needed to win.

Kaleb gasped as the black Impala crossed the finish line, unmistakably beating us by a negligible amount.

“I’m going to kill that fucker!” he shouted in a display of rage I’d never seen from him before. Didn’t even knew he possessed. I recoiled from him in the seat, forced to brace myself on the dash as he hit the brakes, sending us skidding to a slow stop, the smell of burning rubber strong in my nose as it filled the cabin.

Grey braked next to us, but my gaze was still fixed on the car ahead, specifically, on its faintly glowing red tail lights as it continued to drive down the road, away from the valley. Away into the night.

It felt like sleepwalking.

Leaving the house to go to the shed, tearing through the shelves in the dark to find what I was looking for. Jacking Kaleb’s bike and riding into the city, past the sleeping streets of the shopping district and out to The Row.

Kaleb was practically fucking inconsolable last night after the race. The crowd cheered for him, but it was without the same mirth as was usual for a win. They also whispered. Talking animatedly about the black car that sped through the finish line only half a second before Kaleb did, with Grey right behind him.

We still had no idea who the bastard was. I’d been quick to check the plates as he barreled down the straightaway, my hand around the butt of my gun, ready to jerk it from the waistband of my jeans if I needed to. I’d only managed to catch the first three digits. ANR.

So of course Kaleb spent the night making calls, trying to find the son of a bitch who stole his glory and ruined the one night a month Kaleb truly looked forward to.

While he fumed and drank himself into a rage in his bedroom until finally passing out, it seemed I would have no such reprieve.

Sleep eluded me as it had for the last four days. Every time I closed my goddamned eyes, there she was. And after tonight?

Becca was still pissed at me for what happened last Sunday night, when I pulled her into my den, ready to have my way with her. And it was starting to tickle something at the back of my mind. The only reason she’d still be this openly angry about it, instead of just ignoring me, was because she cared.

If she didn’t, she’d forget about the whole thing. Move on.

But she wasn’t.

She was dead set on getting an apology from me, something I rarely gave, even to fucking blood. And yet here I was, about to give her what I refused everyone else.

Why?

Because I couldn’t fucking stand it anymore.

Couldn’t stand watching the way she smiled when she was with her roommates. The coy way she regarded my brother, like she wanted to fuck him and hit him over the head with a brick at the same time.

The gleam of adrenaline in her eyes when she stepped out of my brother’s Mitsubishi, her cheeks stained pink, hair a windblown mess that I wanted to tangle my fingers in, use to hold her down while I—

I gritted my teeth, towing the kickstand down from Kaleb’s bike as I pulled up alongside Death Before Decaf, the sack on my back heavy with my loot from the shed. The cafe wouldn’t open for another couple hours, and I had it on good authority from Kaleb’s little rat that she wasn’t in until the late morning shift anyway. Plenty of time.

This level of obsession is unhealthy, Hardin, my old psychotherapist’s voice replayed in my mind. You know how you get when you latch on like this. It can become… unsafe for those around you.

My skin bristled, but I shut out the voice, stuffing it in a box, burying it down deep, throwing away the key. I would have Rebecca Hart. It was only a matter of time. She could either come willingly or—

…and especially dangerous for those you try to latch on to.

“Fuck,” I hissed to myself, covering my mouth as a shuddering sigh escaped.

No.

It wouldn’t be like that this time. Not with her.

And besides, she could take it. She could take me.

I could see it in her. That same twisted broken thing that craved the dark, yearned to be close to it, to get right up alongside it, stroke its sharp edges.

---