Page 163 of Priest and his Anarchist

“Good.” He bites the back of my neck. “All the more hate to fuck me with.”

My brows pull in, the pest of Priest shoved to the back of my mind. “Nate—” The floor gives out from beneath me in a blink. I fall.

I feel weightless as the light above me shrinks the deeper I get. I quickly maneuver to the front position, arms tucked, and hands spread. I’d rather break my hands than my—the force of the fall knocks the wind out of me when I hit the ground, and my chest explodes. I roll around to my back, the taste of silver fillingmy mouth. Blinding pain radiates all the way to the back of my head as vomit spills out of my mouth.

“Fuck!” I groan, crawling to the side. The scraping sound of metal against concrete snaps me back into focus.

Two fractured wrists.

A cracked rib.

Fractured collarbone.

Possible broken tit.

I’m going to live.

I fly to my feet, reciting the same numbers over and over, and back up as quickly as I can. I hit a wall. Cold, concrete. Wet.

My eyes close. The smell.The smell.Oh no. The decay of metal mixes with the stale odor of mold.

Dripping water splashes against the ground. The sound of metal once more.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t Little Miss Madness.”

The room tilts to the side again. I know I’m shit out of luck if I try to fight right now. There’s no way I’ll be able to. I was never good at combat with one sense.

Shit.

“Who are you?” The words feel as though they shatter whatever’s left of my ribs. “Why are you hiding?”

He steps out from the shadows, the handle of a machete squeezed tight in his hand. Fresh bloodstains drip from the rusted metal, and just like that, I’m back in this room. Not under the floorboards hiding and reliving it in the midst of my triggers of small places.

I’m right here.

Maybe I was wrong. I’d be able to fight…

Or maybe I’ve got a damn concussion.

“Show your face.” I try the words out loud, the pounding of my head refusing to let up. I slide to the side when he takes another three steps closer to me. Without moving my eyesfrom him, I take in the surroundings. My boots slide against the ground when I counter his steps. Dirt floor. The stream of soured waters.

“I should, Darling…I really should.”

Darling…

I freeze, and the corner of his mouth curves up in a smirk. “Tsk tsk…has she figured it out? The final puzzle?”

What puzzle? Smoke clouds the memories that lie beneath the surface.Cold, ice, snow…blood.

Wait. He thinks I am Darling. Darling would know what the fuck he’s talking about.

He clucks his tongue, a tune playing over from his mouth. God. There’s something so…taunting….

Carnival lights, lilac tent, naked, murder—blood….

I swallow past the bile rising in my throat.

“It took you far too long, but that leather sure suits you.”

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