Page 39 of Priest and his Anarchist

I expected to see the hard girl who rode the bike on stage, not the girl who’s wearing a knitted sweater and—I pause when she bends to the other side to pick something up from the floor, flashing the black ribbon in her hair that’s tied into a perfect bow, and for a moment, I question myself.

My shoulder meets the threshold of the entrance to her cubicle. The air tightens around me, along with her back. She hasn’t even turned around, but it’s as though she already knew I was there. She straightens lazily as if not wanting to expose how much my intrusion affects her.

Eyes that haunt all areas inside my head land on me.

“Hello, Madness…”

With sharpened poise, she swipes a makeup wipe over her cheek before ending at the curve of her bottom lip. “Took you long enough.”

Kicking off the frame, I turn in time to catch a guy around our age watching a little too hard. I reach backward for the curtain and force it closed.

“We can go ahead and pretend I didn’t know you were here all along if it makes you feel better.” I stop when I’m directly behind her. Even hidden beneath the wool of her sweater, my fingers twitch to touch her skin. Images of her bleeding out while riding my dick flash through my head.

“I’m coming to the ritual, Priest. You didn’t have to come here and threaten me. I know what’s expected of me.”

Her words stop me. I don’t give a fuck about the ritual any more than I do all the events leading up to it.

“You look good.” Her eyes fly to mine in the mirror. “Almost good enough.”

“Fuck you.” Her cheeks don’t turn a shade of pink, nor do those pretty little eyes flicker when the words leave her mouth. Maybe I was wrong. Soft isn’t quite the right word.

“If only you didn’t, hmm?” I graze the back of my finger over the fine hair on the nape of her neck. Bumps swell over her skin, making my lip twitch. Good to know I still affect her the same way I always have.

“Is this from fear?” Agitation curses through my veins the longer I’m near her.

She shrugs me off, but the stain on her cheeks gives her away. I won’t torment her any more than I already have. There’ll be plenty of time for that. For now, I want her to know I am watching. Always.

Always watching.

My steps are heavy when I make my way back through the tent and to where I left Vaden, kissing a random brunette with his hand up her skirt. I brush past him, taking the cigarette out from behind my ear and lighting the tip. Crows gawk through the trees, dissolving my annoyance with the first hit of nicotine.

“Damn, and to think you went four years without, yet here you are, sucking it down like it’s some type of Band-Aid for whatever messed up shit you keep inside.” His face replaces the trees in front. “Something else going on between you two that I don’t already know?”

I glare back at him, flicking the ash off my smoke. “No.”

Lie. My name falling off her mouth as she rode my dick flashes through my mind.

“You let her live…” It’s barely a whisper, as if he’d read my mind and wanted an explanation. It’s no secret how well I keep my hands clean.

“You know who she is to us, Vaden. Stop acting like I grew a heart overnight and decided to keep her out of it.”

The color drains from his face. He probably hasn’t eaten in the past hour. “I mean…it was for four years…”

I need a fucking distraction tonight. Knowing the ritual is in a few days only means I can play like this for one last night before shit changes.

Before it gets real.

“You gonna ever tell the rest of them about Luna?” I stomp out my cigarette and follow him to the parked car. Vaden is my best friend. At times, I wanted it to be War. It made sense to be him, since his dad is the right-hand of mine, but I knew the second I figured out he was obsessed with my sister that it could never swing that way.

I tap on the ignition.

“Or you going to let everyone find out when they find out?” When I don’t answer, he whistles. “Damn. I guess we do that then.”

I shut the door behind myself, cutting off the dim lit alleyway. Lights flicker, paving the path ahead. Luna’s Instagram keeps flashing through my head as I continue down the corridor, reaching yet another door. A suited-up guard bows when he sees me, opening it wide and gesturing inside to the spill of faded pink lighting and cigarette smoke.

Korn hammers through the speakers as I seek out my usual spot. It isn’t particularly busy, but then it never was. Movement catches my attention in the middle of the room as Peter Johnson gently kisses a girl’s hand. The creep prefers them entirely too fucking young. He should have been the one to die in the car crash that killed his wife.

Tinted paneled windows curl around the booth I slide into, offering a false sense of privacy. My finger mimics the beat against the tabletop as a waiter quietly slides over a glass of ice and a whiskey decanter.

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