Page 52 of Priest and his Anarchist

His head tilts, allowing me to glimpse the tattoo that curls from the back of his neck. “Go upstairs.”

“What?” I slide my now empty glass toward the sink, crossing my arms in front of myself. It’s bad enough he’s within arm’s length. He can’t come any closer. “Why?” It’s not the time that's passed between us, because it never feels like it does when it’s him and I, but because even after all this time, he still thinks he can throw orders around and I’ll listen.

I hiss at the connection of his fingers curling around my chin as he forces my head back. I don’t like this angle. Now he has direct access to my soul.

His brows drop inward as his frown deepens, but then he grabs me by the arm and forces me through the main foyer. If he wants to do something, he’s going to do it. I learned that a long time ago.

We haven’t even reached the stairs when the lights flicker back on, exposing the familiar sense of being watched. It doesn’t take long for me to find her. The redhead from earlier whohad her hands on Priest. She watches me with cool regard. It appears desperate since it’s obvious she’s talking herself into not reacting.

She sees a girl with her hair half tied back in a ribbon, innocent black stockings, Docs, and an oversized knit sweater, and thinks…huh. She’s not his type.

Loosening the grip on his biceps, my fingers slide down the rippling muscles of his arm. I didn’t intend to take it far, but then my hand landed in the palm of his. Shit. This is risky. He could retract— and her eyes drop in time to see his hand close around mine protectively. Her eyes whip back up to my face, balling her fists at her sides. The corner of my lip curls up in a slow declaration of triumph.

River steps into my line of sight, not bothering to hide the smug smirk as she rests her glass on her chin. Before I can see what happens, we’re already up the stairs and he's dragging me down the hallway. Ornate frames decorate the wall, even more than I remember. Passing the teacup and black sunflower, I try to slow to check out the art that wasn’t there when I left, but he forces me past the room I spent so many years in, around a sharp corner, and down to the only door on this side. He kicks it closed once we’re inside, and suddenly the room is too small, despite its size.

“When I tell you to do something, Madness, fucking listen.” He tosses his wallet and keys onto the blacked-out bedding.

“Why?” My feet carry me closer to him, and I lose my train of thought on the teasing of a tattoo that sneaks out the back of his neck. I wish I could see what it was.

I reach up to touch it, but he spins around and stops me with his hand. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

He nudges me away. “No, you’re not.” When the bedroom door slams closed, I’m sucked back through the vortex of time…

It isn’t that he admitted he hates me. I already know that. He doesn’t need to say the words for me to feel it.

“Why’d you kill her?” I lift my foot out of the puddle at my feet, wiping the residue of blood off my hand and onto my dress. There’s something about murder, as if it holds a haunting truth. As if their pulse continues to pump through the blood that stains your skin.

He pins me in place without lifting a finger. “You know why.”

Copper clings to my tongue when I chew on my bottom lip. “Do you kill people at every party? With so many witnesses?”

He reaches forward, swiping something from my chin. “Only when the lights go out.”

Pushing myself out of memory lane, I run the palms of my hands over my arms when the temperature drops. The California king bed looks out over the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s a room decorated with simplicity. Tinted windows fade the radiant lights of Riverside as my fingers dance over the black dresser, grazing the cologne sitting on the top. Floorboards creak to the side, and my movements halt as shivers billow down my spine.

I try to shut the memories of him out. All that makes Priest Hayes the monster he is, but the sound returns. The door farthest away and hidden in the corner widens on its own, exposing a darkness that swallows everything whole. A single light flickers against the depth of the hole, only enough to offer an endless path.

The plush carpet transforms into hard concrete as I creep in further.

The door slamming shut causes me to jump, and I spin around to find my way back. Absent of life, the room is void, suffocating anything that resembles light and replacing it withthe invisible weight of evil that marks you the second you walk through the door.

The temperature drops to the familiar level needed to help preserve his secrets.

“Fascinating.” A voice echoes through the concrete. I stop walking. Why the hell did I think it’d be a good idea to find my way back down the rabbit hole?

In a sad attempt to find my balance, my hand lands on the wall. “Who is that?”

Laughter crows through the dark, and it’s enough to force my foot back a step, with the urgency to run, clawing its nails up my back.

Run now.

And fast.

“I’m kind of insulted, Luna Nox…”

As soon as my middle name leaves her mouth, the blood drains from my body. My fingertips quake with unrelenting electricity, and I shift forward again, the internal battle of running and facing who knows me enough to say my middle name. In all the years I’d been in his room of terrors, none of them so much as knew my first name, let alone my middle one.

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