Page 23 of The Devils of Saint City

To my surprise Manson chuckles, making Ash roll his eyes and stomp off toward the linen closet. “He’s grouchy about it.”

“I’m not fucking grouchy,” he calls back. “I’m fucking pissed.” He slams the door, returning with a black towelette to clean up the blood. “Take off your pants, idiot.”

Manson reaches for the buckle with his gaze on me with a weird smile plastered on his face. “Can you help me? I think the medicine is kicking in.”

“So sorry,” I say with a fake smile. “I have to keep an eye on dinner so it doesn’t burn.”

“It’s in a crockpot,” Ash calls from the sink, squeezing out the cloth before he joins us again and takes over.

The way they move together tells me this isn’t their first rodeo. Sure, Asher is angry right now, but there’s no panic on his face as he peels off Manson’s ruined jeans and begins to clean up what looks like some sort of thick cut. If I had to guess, I’d think it was a bullet graze, but what do I know?

They should’ve aimed a little better if that was the case.

“I know where it’s at. What happened to him?”

Ash ignores me completely, but Manson seems to be in a much chattier mood. “Someone thought they could get one over on us.”

“Mans—”

“What? She lives with us. Can’t really keep many secrets now, can we?”

“We can if you shut up.”

It’s my turn to ignore him. Stepping in, I sit gently on the couch and take Manson’s hand. “Who did this to you?”

“The one with the scar.” He smiles down at our hands and slots our fingers together. “Some people just don’t want to go out. It happens. Fight or flight, you know?”

“Go out? Like... die?” I ask, realizing this is more serious than I thought. “Did you kill someone?”

He laughs. “No, like go out on a date. Fucking homophobes.”

Asher stops what he’s doing to stare at him like he’s an alien, and I think we’re finally on the same page about something.

“You... tried to ask a man out and he shot you? You did this in front of Asher, who is clearly the love of your life?”

Both of them laugh this time, and I don’t know if it’s at me or at the ridiculous words that just came out of my mouth. I’m so fucking confused.

“Shit is strong,” Manson says after he catches his breath. “I can’t even feel the leg at all. Cut it off if you have to.”

“It’s a scrape, Manson. You’re fine.”

He flicks it before grabbing a bandage, but Manson’s attention is back on me. “What’s for food? It smells good.”

“Barbecue chicken,” I mutter. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Hard day at work,” Ash responds. “Don’t worry about it. He’ll sleep it off.”

Maybe that means I’ll sleep tonight, too. “Asher, what exactly do you two do for work?”

“I don’t have an answer that will make sense so we’ll keep it simple, yeah?” From how he sounds, I’m not the only one that needs some decent sleep. “We work for the Provost.”

It takes me a second. “Wait, of that kinky school across town? St. Andrew’s?”

For the briefest moment, I’m not the step-sister that he hates, we’re just two people sitting way too close after too long of a day. “Yeah,” he chuckles. “The kinky one.”

“So you train people to have sex?” God, it comes out sounding jealous and I know that — but they’re fucking me without condoms. I thought I was the only one. “How long?”

“How long? You know how long it is,” he jokes — fuckingjokes. Who the hell is this guy? “No, we don’t work at the school, we just work for him. It’s completely unrelated to the kinky stuff.”

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