Page 47 of Priest and his Anarchist

Blood rushes to my dick, only deepening the grip I have on my cigarette. Seconds pass. I round her body until I’m directly in front of her, squinting around the harsh smoke.

She’s a little thing. All five-foot-fucking-nothing, which makes it easier to bend her into the trunk of my car.

“Never,” she hums, and my eyes fall to her lips as if they moaned my name.

“Mmm, I don’t believe you.” I’m teasing, but when her eyes turn to slits and her arms cross in front of her chest, it’s obvious that she’s that same kid. Easy to torment.

“I don’t care what you believe, Rabbit. Fuck you.”

The careless use of her nickname for me has me stiffening in place. Little fucking Madness. Still knows how to drive me mad.

“Watch it…” I warn, my lip curling. “Wouldn’t want a repeat of the last time you were left begging for your life.”

“I don’t beg anymore.” She drags her eyes away, and the rebellion catches me off guard. I remember her. The soft-spoken girl who always kept to herself. It made her an easy target. This side is different. It clouds my brain, causing my logic to slip like butter.

“Is that so?” I challenge, brushing off my moment of confusion. What the fuck am I doing? I don’t give a shit about girls, or boys, or fucking anyone. I fuck who I want and don’t give a fuck if I wake up to them dead.

Because I often did.

Very often.

Almost always.

In fact, Vaden ran statistics. Getting fucked by me leaves you with a two percent chance of survival, and that two percent only exists if he finished you off and not me.

So.

Here we are. Standing head-to-head with little Luna Nox while thinking of all the ways I’d love to fuck her ass into a new statistic.

Literally.

When my boot meets the tip of her heels, I lean down with a smirk, the tip of my nose touching hers. “I don’t believe you, Madness.”

She doesn’t cower, her defiance clear when she uses this time to search my face. “Good thing I don’t care.”

“Priest!” Vaden calls out from behind me, breaking the tension igniting between us.

“Saved by the damned?—”

She levels me with a glare.

I smirk. “Once again.”

* * *

I trace the borders of the window that looks over the bright streets of Riverside. Once upon a time, this view was a reminderof how much I’ve got to hold, but tonight, it only serves as a reminder of everything I must protect. Not because I have a heart, but because it’s my one purpose.

The Watch Tower is sacred to our generation. Absorbing the light from everything instead of mirroring it, its sharp edges tower through the sky in a blunt reminder of who sits behind the tinted glass. With a modern kitchen and boundless living spaces splayed out with an array of oversized couches, it’s our playground for business. A dimly lit bar hides in the corner, close enough to the main table.

“How do you feel, son?” Dad’s reflection in the window catches the corner of my eye when he exits the elevator. The house was finished long ago, hidden in the deepest mountains of Riverside. Dad decided to keep it from Halen for as long as possible, since we all know how quick she is to throw her toys out the cot if I get something before her. Now that they all know it’s here, I wonder how long it’ll take before they throw their first party.

“Lighter than I thought.” I swirl my whiskey, staying fixed on the glowing streets down below. “If it’s the gavel that you’re referencing.”

Dad laughs a little, his shoulder brushing mine. We’d not long come back from the ritual, and as eventful as that was, whatever shit he’s going to say is only going to either annoy or bore me. Dad and I are different. At times, I thought we might be too different, but the way his jaw sets, hardening the darkness in his eyes when he looks back at me, I think I may have had it wrong.

And I’m never wrong.

“What?” I ask, standing straight. I hate when he does this because nothing good ever comes from Bishop Hayes being aloof. He always has some shit to say. Can never be the quietest in the room because he’s been raised to think he needs his voice.

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