Page 16 of Unholy

“Anytime you want to talk. When you’re ready, I’ll give you my number.” She smiles at me before stepping out of the dressingroom and leaving me alone to gather my thoughts. I gather my clothes and head to the register, where she gives me a bag for my old ones and her number. As I walk out of the store, a new sense of confidence engulfs me. I’ve never felt like this. Never had this much self-esteem. I think I like it.

I hop back in the car and just drive around with a huge smile on my face. I’m sure if anyone saw me, they would think I was crazy, but I don’t care right now. I’m living in the moment.

Taking the risk, I drive over to where I saw Tristan at that warehouse, but I don’t see his bike. I park the car and climb out, heading to the door to see if it’s unlocked, and strangely, it is. I step inside, close the door behind me, and start to wander.

Just like at home, the walls are black, and there are paintings hung everywhere. Mostly of fallen angels, which intrigues me.

I keep looking around until I hear him clear his throat.

Chapter 7

Tristan

I press my tongue into the side of my cheek as I look at her. She’s afraid, I can tell. Hell, I can practically smell the fear coming off her. She’s dressed differently, almost like me, in dark-colored clothes I would have never thought I’d see her in.

I stand here with my knife in one hand, pressing it into the tip of my finger as she watches the blood slowly bloom on the surface and then eventually drop to the floor.

“I should go,” she whispers.

“You should stay,” I tell her. She shakes her head as she looks around the room for a way to escape, but there isn’t one. She’d have to go through me first, and I don’t think she’s willing to do that.

“I think I’ll go,” she repeats.

“Why are you here?”

“I … I just want to leave,” she murmurs, but I shake my head this time. She isn’t going anywhere until I get the answers I want. She starts toward the door, but I step in front of it to block it.

“You know what I think?” I ask her, pressing the tip of my knife into my temple. “I think you like me.”

“I don’t like you. You’re … strange.”

“Intriguing?”

“No. Just strange.”

“Is that a Godly thing to say about someone?” I ask, taunting her.

“It’s a statement.”

“Hmm. I suppose it is. So, back to my original question. What are you doing here?”

“I made a mistake.”

“Such as?”

“Why are you questioning me? Just let me leave,” she nearly demands. I pull the knife from my temple and point it at her, watching her wince as I do.

“You came into my space when I wasn’t here. You came into my fucking lair, and you think you’re just going to walk back out of it? I don’t think so, Little Nun.”

“Tristan, just let me go.”

“Why are you here?” I roar louder this time, watching the way she jolts. She’s afraid for her safety, that I’m sure of, but now isn’t the time for fear. Now is the time for fun.

“I was just looking around.”

“At what?”

“Your stuff.”

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