Page 94 of Priest and his Anarchist

“And if I said I can’t?”

He holds my stare. “Then I’d tell you that I know everything you think I don’t. That I know the kind of training that goes into building the side of this society that is never talked about, and I’d finally say that you better pray I don’t find out that that’s where you learned to throw those fucking stars, or I’ll start a war.”

“You’d rather I was with Archer Thorn all those years than be with people who cared about me?” Like the wound on my thigh, I can’t seem to gain control of my emotions.

“Care?” Priest rears his head back. He’s about to answer when his face falls. “So you were?”

“No!” My answer is clipped, and I fold my arms in front of myself. “No.”

“And the hit last week? Which, if I even need to mention, was not sent by me.”

My eyes close. Fuck. I forgot about that. Who sent him to collect that night? I hadn’t even had a moment to talk to Nate. “I was trained, yes, but not as you’re implying.”

His phone lights up in his hand again and I see a name flash over the screen when he answers.

My mouth turns dry, and suddenly, I want nothing more than to crawl back into the hole I came out of. I focus on the flurry of greenery. This is a marriage of convenience. Worse than that. A marriage of survival. But I’ve spent my whole life walkingalong a desolate path. I know what comes from what I do, and I’ve always understood. Even when I signed the marriage certificate before I could understand its importance, I knew what would always be expected of me.

“What?” His tone is cold. Nothing at all like the one he used moments ago. “When? Why didn’t he call me?” He cusses under his breath, kicking his foot up to rest against the chair opposite us. “Little late for that now. But you can tell him that she had a pretty view all the way down to the bottom of the cliff I threw her off of.” His arm brushes mine when he lowers it.

I lean my head back against the chair. My eyes barely close when his fingers force my head toward his, keeping his phone pressed against his ear.

I stop breathing. The hold he has on me too strong.

With a gentle swipe of his thumb, he returns to the caller. “I told them I didn’t want one, nor do I need one—” He pauses. Goose bumps spread over my skin, my hand scrubs at my arms to warm them.

“Fine. For now.” He must end the call because the car falls silent.

I should probably text my parents. It’s not their fault. This world balances on all lines, testing every inch of whatever you have to give.

“Madness…” The strain in his tone has my eyes snapping to him, that same prickling of fear rolling through me.

I shuffle up my chair. “What is it?”

He doesn’t turn, so my fingers curl around the edge of his hoodie, part of me afraid he’ll stop my movements. When he doesn’t, I lower it to the back of his neck, bringing my hand to his cheek and forcing his eyes onto me, and my breath hitches. So many thoughts racing through his head, none of them bringing him peace but more war.

“Where were you?”

My throat swells, the guilt suffocating. “A safe place. I wasn’t anywhere bad.”

Seconds pass, and when I don’t think he’s going to answer and I’m going to pass out by the tight invisible hold he has on me, he lifts his hand to my face, the cushion of his thumb kindling the edge of my lip. “If you’re not with me, Madness, everywhere is bad.”

The world as I know tilts by the power of his words. How can darkness be so hauntingly sweet? As if death himself needed a reason to breathe.

“They’re words, Madness…” he whispers, snapping me out of my trance. Am I weakening that much around him that I can’t even hide my emotions? His fingers crawl to the back of my neck. “They don’t mean anything.”

I don’t kiss him back when his lips brush mine. Not when he nibbles along the edge of my jaw, but when his hand finds my thigh and the linen of my dress slides between us, my legs part slightly, my tongue swiping against his.

The skin on the back of my neck tightens as he forces me further into his kiss. It’s a torturous ballad, one that rhymes with death and love. Lifting me by my hips, he places me on top of his lap, my knees sinking into the leather as I chase the hard line of his shaft. Images of last night flick behind my eyes as his touch stings the same way it did then. Butterflies explode in my belly as if they’ve swallowed gunpowder, leaving the taste of coins stuck to my throat.

“See this?” I almost moan, that’s how good it feels to hear the laze of his voice. With a circle, he plays with the new cut beneath my skirt. The one he so bravely made last night. “You know what it means?”

He’s so close that I taste every word against my lips. The chisel of his features distracts from the beast that lurks beneath the surface.

I shake my head.

He smirks, sending quivers down my spine. “It means you’re mine. Madness and all.” Before I can say another word, he catches my lips with his and deepens the kiss with a turn of his face.

Burying my hand into the thick mane of his hair, I force it back until his lips are off mine. It’s bittersweet because he’s an addiction I never want to cure. In a natural hue of candy pink, his lips curve, setting fire to every organ inside my body.

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