Page 6 of Priest and his Anarchist

I move away from him, rolling my eyes. “You could at least pretend that you’re interested in me.”

“Why the fuck do you care?” he answers flatly.

Agitation simmers to the surface when he doesn’t move back into me. My teeth clench. “Because I don’t like losing.”

He chuckles. “We haven’t even fucking played yet.”

My pen starts beating the desk again. “I’ll never be her.”

The tension in the air tightens, as does the grip I have on the pen. I’ve never brought up her name. I’ve never told him how it feels to be with a man who will always love another woman. Another girl. Woman, girl? What the fuck is she even?

Oh. I know what she is…

“No. You won’t. Get her out of your fucking head.”

“Lun—” My scalp burns when he buries his hand in my hair, yanking my head back until I’m looking up at him from behind. Even at this angle, he’s beautiful. So fucking beautiful. A dark prince with demons so rogue that not even love could save him.

The muscles in his jaw tighten. “Say her name, and the next thing to leave these lips, will be your last breath.”

He shoves me away, the prickling of his rage still burning my scalp.

Without waiting for him to disappear, I press the pen to paper.

Dear Diary,

Luna Nox Hayes is dead. Wanna know how I know?

Because it was me who killed her.

Chapter One

luna

present

Midnight Mayhem. The circus for adult entertainment. The smell of caramelized popcorn replaces Chanel No. 5 and gasoline. Where laughter is exchanged for soft gasps as they watch us get fucked from strange places. I used to think it was great. That Mom made a mistake in not allowing me to tap into this side of my family. When I was a child, I’d ask questions. Like why couldn’t I spend more time around everyone else? And why they never had the same rules when it came to the Kings.

Two paths were created for me. Midnight Mayhem, where the final act is riding dick, and the Elite Kings Club, where people feared you more than they liked you.

Two-stroke engines ring out in the distance as I finish up my makeup. With one final swipe, the color of red wine stains my lips. Clipping the lid back on, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. If I had been able to choose, would I have really chosen differently?

No.

A group of girls bounce through the door, unzipping their outfits and laughing with each other. One of them stops when she sees me, her smile falling. I am not offended that none of them speak to me. I prefer it that way. It will be easier for when I have to leave. Because I will leave. I know that much for certain.

“Sorry, Luna…” she whispers, bowing her head. Scars mark her body, telling a story of her past. At least they have something to do while they are here. Something that makes them smile the way they did moments earlier.

“Don’t say sorry.” My eyes burn when I don’t blink. Afraid that if I do, I won’t finish the sentence. I’ll go back to being the weirdo who runs the circus but who doesn’t engage with any of them.

They all stare at me with a mixture of shock and confusion.

I use my pinkie nail to clean the edge of my lips. “Saying sorry implies that you’ve done something wrong. You say that to the wrong person, and they’ll see it as a weakness. Are you weak?” When there’s no answer, I find them in the mirror, raising my brows.

All three of them shake their head with a round of mumbled no’s.

“Good.” I smack my lips. “Get ready for your next set.”

They scramble off in silence, the opposite of how they arrived. Clipping the buckle on my ankle, my phone lights up beneath the desk.

---