Page 61 of Priest and his Anarchist

I don’t answer. Minutes pass. Metal scrapes against concrete, exposing the ancient mansion on the other side. Pillars as tall as the house line the front porch in a desperate attempt to remain relevant in a world obsessed with ostentation. White cement walls fill the space, where black and gray frames line the Victorian-style windows. Like a hint of time, the hardwood floors line the steps that lead to the patio.

“My surprised face is about the same as my non-surprised face,” Vaden muses, biting a cigarette into his mouth and lighting the end. “But this feels different.”

“Because it is. I’m not supposed to be telling anyone.”

“So you bring me?” He turns, smoke curling around his words. “Not War?”

“Why War? Because my father and his we’re best friends?” When he doesn’t answer, I tear my eyes away from the building. “You and I both know I don’t give a fuck.”

A veil of smoke leaves Vaden’s nostrils.

I shrug. “The moment he fell in love with my sister was when I knew I could never trust him the way I want to. Why do you think Kings have never fucked each other and shit? This is not gonna fly. Ever.” Deep carvings over the front door leave rumors of death. “And besides, he’ll be busy with all of that Malum shitto be around for this.” His pupils dilate every few seconds as if he hadn’t quite adapted to the light.

The fuck.

“And me?” He raises one dark brow. Pretty boy. He’s always had a softness around him that made the girls comfortable to be themselves. We’d tease them when we were kids, saying Stella took all the Vitiosis genes, since Brantley, was a badass motherfucker when he was Vaden’s age, but turns out no.

We had it all wrong.

“You’re not called in for another year. I’m sure you’ve got nothing else to do with your precious time?” I don’t wait for him to answer as I climb the steps, staring back at the front door.

“What’d Daddy B say about this place?” Vaden looks between me and the house.

“Nothing. Was fucking vague as always. Mumbling about it being a Hayes’ secret.”

The key slides into the hold with ease, and I twist it sideways. Tall windows of stained glass reflect onto the wooden floor as the door creaks open onto spiderwebs laced over the corners of every room.

“Jesus. What the fuck?” Vaden slows behind me.

I pull out my Zippo and light the end of my cigarette, magnifying the inside by the burning ember.

Vaden’s face pales. “Holy shit.”

Yeah. Holy shit.

Pretty Girls

I place my brush on the dresser, tracing the artful lines of the marble. The sugary scent of caramel and spice glazes my skin as he grabs my throat. I stop myself from leaning into him as his thumb circles the side of my jugular.

“Draw me a picture, pretty girl…”

I don’t answer, tilting my head to the side to give him more access. My nipples pebble against the silk of my robe as the air tightens around each breath.

“Are you disobeying me?”

My lips part when the metal of his ring traces my jaw. He dips his thumb into my mouth, and on their own accord, my legs part until my robe slips off.

“So needy.”

Using my mouth, he directs my head backward until I’m peering up at him from below. Even from here, he is beautiful. A gorgeous monster of controlled chaos. A diamond skull mask adorned his face, while his lack of shirt exposed flawless skin. The firm bulge in his jeans brush my head as he subtly shifts his hips. My breath catches as he spreads his hand over my cheek.

“If only I could keep you…”

“You could,” I whisper, but it’s desperate. Too desperate.

Leaning down, he skims the inside of my thigh, and my hips buck forward, needing him. Chasing him.

His thumb finds my clit, applying enough pressure to work in slow, curled movements.

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