Page 50 of Unholy

“And their bodies?”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t need to know,” he tells me before doing his best to kneel next to me. I see him wince, and I know he’s still in pain, but he doesn’t let on at all. Instead, he slides to the floor and grabs me, pulling me into his arms.

“You’re hurt,” I whisper.

“No more than you are.”

“You were shot twice,” I remind him.

“You were beaten. I’m sorry, Ash. I should have been there. I should have been there to handle that shit.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is, though, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Stop saying that. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“You’re right. And just because you’re being a brat, I’m going to spank your pussy and force you to come more times than you can actually count.”

“You think you can with a bad shoulder and leg?”

“I’m the devil incarnate, didn’t you hear? I can do anything I want.”

“What about love me? Can you do that?”

“Isn’t that what I’m already doing?”

“Yeah, you are. I love you, Tristan.”

“Love you too, Little Nun.”

Chapter 23

Tristan

Sometimes, I sit and wonder how it would feel to let go. Sometimes, I find myself back at the gates of hell where I belong. Others, I find myself hiding in plain sight.

Most days, I know who the fuck I am but others? I don’t know shit. I’m struggling again. Not because I killed those fuckers, but because taking on Ash has been hitting me hard.

She’s changing, and it isn’t that I don’t like it; I do, but she doesn’t know who she is anymore. Doesn’t know where she belongs, and she’s doing everything she can to fit in. And a part of me hates that shit.

“You don’t have to fucking fit in, Ash! How many times do I have to say it?”

“Apparently, more than one.”

“Why do you want to fit in so badly? Huh? I don’t fucking fit in, and I could care less,” I remind her.

“I want to have friends, Tristan. I want to go out and be a damn twenty-two-year-old girl!” Yeah, she celebrated her birthday by riding my cock with a candle up her ass, and she enjoyed every fucking minute of it.

“Then go!”

“I will!” She roars before grabbing her jacket and storming out the door. I chuckle and walk over, waiting for her to come back, which she does seconds later.

“You know what? I hate you.” Now I laugh harder.

“No, you don’t. You hate yourself.”

“Why would I hate myself, Tristan?”

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