Page 10 of Tainted Saints

“Your criminal antics are safe with us, Lil’ Lady,” Forest whispers in my ear, his body pressed against mine from behind, our joined hands trapped between us, and god fucking almighty, being between them like this? I don’t know if I'm in heaven or hell right now.

“Time to go, boys,” Landon states coldly, dousing my lust with embers of anger.Why is he such a twatwaffle?

Tears sting my eyes, the realisation that this is goodbye. It’s like having a hot poker driven into my chest, but I don’t understand why. I only met Blaine last night, Forest a few minutes ago, and yet it feels like they are as crucial to me as the lungs that bring oxygen into my body.

It’s just the stress talking, Aspen.

But it doesn’t feel like that when Blaine is looking down at me like I mean something to him. Like he will feel my loss as keenly as I know I’ll feel his.

“Goodbye, Blaine,” I choke out, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. There’s no point in trying to swap numbers. There is no world where I will be able to see him again, no place for anything between us as my future is mapped out in solid black ink and there is no getting away from it.

His jaw flexes, his palm cupping my cheek once more, and for just a moment, I give in to what my body is demanding. Closing my eyes, I nuzzle into it. Then with a deep inhale, I blink back tears and let go of both their hands before I step up to the now open car door.

“I–it was lovely to meet you all,” I whisper, then, stepping into the car, I look straight ahead as Bobby shuts the door, knowing that they won’t be able to see the tears that track down my cheeks as I wait for Bobby to get in and drive us back to my latest hell.

ChapterFour

“Goddess” by Nation Haven

FOREST

“I did not expecther to be so…” I trail off as the Bentley pulls out of the lot, unable to shake the feeling that I just lost something precious before I even had it.

There isn’t a single fucking word that can describe Aspen Buckingham. Sure, I knew she was pretty from the research we did as soon as Aeron Taylor asked us to keep an eye on her, but what are the chances that Lan’s uncle would do the same, though for vastly different reasons?

She’s a fucking goddess, sent down from heaven above to bless us with her presence. Though, by the way Lan is scowling at the car, you’d think she was sent up from below to tempt mankind into sin. Either way, I’m glad we’re the ones who get to watch her.

“You didn’t get your jacket back,” Lan snaps at Blaine, and I turn slightly to see that he’s in just a short-sleeved T-shirt, looking finer than any man has a right to look.

“She caught you good, Big Daddy, huh?” I chuckle while Lan just glares at me, which makes me full-on laugh. “Aw, don’t pitch a hissy fit, son. I’m jus’ messin’ with ya. Look, how ‘bout I let you drive Gerti and I’ll ride bitch?”

The big guy casts his eyes over to the two bikes; Lan’s vintage chopper and Gerti, my pride and joy. She’s a beautiful, deep-red Indian. Lan and Blaine helped me restore her from a rusted piece of shit that had been left to rot like yesterday’s trash, but we brought her back, Lan, Blaine, and I, and she makes my heart sing every damn time I look at her.

“Let’s go,” Lan orders like the bossy son of a bitch he is. I roll my eyes at him.

“Yessir,” I say, giving him a salute, and his nostrils flare. That man is just too easy to rile up sometimes.

We mount the bikes, and I snuggle into Blaine’s hot back, wrapping my arms around him. We don’t bother with helmets, why would we when the life expectancy for guys like us isn’t the same as it is for normal folk? I’ll be doing well to see forty, so why give a fuck about a helmet when I can feel the wind in my hair?

The engine purrs underneath me, and I can’t help the holler that leaves my lips as we peel out of the parking lot, heading deeper into the east side and to the place that we call home. It may not be much and we may not have much, but we have each other and our freedom, so as far as I’m concerned, I’ve got everything I need right here.

* * *

“Panic Room” by Au/Ra

ASPEN

The drive back over to the west side is quiet, Bobby not saying anything, and I’m grateful for the silence. It allows me to pretend for just a little while longer that my heart isn’t breaking. That I didn’t fall in love with a stranger—possibly two strangers—who I can never be with.

I tell myself it was just the stress of the situation, that my connection to Blaine was nothing more than a chemical imbalance in my brain, but my tingling lips make a mockery of my thoughts, and the way my chest aches and the tears that sting my eyes try to make a lie of my denials.

All too soon we’re driving down the tree-lined street that leads to the mansion, the perfectly manicured lawns soon hidden behind high walls and metal gates with guards manning gatehouses like sentinels of old. Within mere moments, Bobby is pulling up outside my gate while the security guard opens it as we approach and nausea swirls in my stomach, my palms sweating as we make our way up the long, winding drive. I can’t seem to keep still in my seat, all my composure that I know I should have gone, fled from the way my eyes shift around like the Ambassador might pop out at any moment and enact some punishment on me.

The Ambassador has a residence in DC, on Embassy Row, but my mother wanted a place just outside of the city, away from the hustle and bustle of Washington. Fairview Heights, the west side anyway, is the most desirable location within ten miles of the city, so here we are. We have an obscene amount of land; there are rolling, well-maintained gardens as far as the eye can see and a beautiful lake that I’ve found some semblance of peace sitting next to.

Despite all of this, nothing about what goes on inside the gargantuan house is peaceful. I swallow, trying to clear the lump in my throat, my hands trembling as we stop outside the front of the monstrously huge, red brick mansion. Both my parents are waiting on the elevated front porch, the Ambassador’s arms crossed over his chest, his face a blank mask, and his suit pristine as always. My mother is a different story, and although not a hair is out of place—he wouldn’t stand for that—she’s practically vibrating with anger.

White-hot terror renders me immobile for a few moments, and I don’t even notice Bobby opening the car door until he gives a subtle cough. Blinking, I somehow manage to force myself out of the vehicle, my bag clutched in my trembling fingers and my knees threatening to give way beneath me when I lock eyes with the Ambassador, my sire. My tormentor.

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