Page 68 of The Devils of Saint City

How the hell did we get here?

His erratic heartbeat begins to slow the longer we drive, and when I hear his breathing regulate I realize how hard he is under me. He seems to notice too, because with a pained grunt he grinds himself against me.

As carefully as I can, I tug my boots off and lift up to shimmy out of my pants. My head knocks against the roof, but by the time I’m getting back into position, Asher’s ready to sink inside me. Everything else fades as he pushes himself in, surprise lighting up his face when he realizes how wet I am. “Rhea,” he moans, rolling himself deep. “Dripping for me already? Did it turn you on seeing me shoot people?”

I didn’t want to look that fucking closely at it, but here we are. “Maybe. Maybe it was nice seeing you hurt someone else instead of me. How fucked up does that make me?”

“It doesn’t make you fucked up, it makes you ours.”

Ash leans in to suck on my neck as his hands guide me, his teeth and rough sucking surely leaving marks in their wake.

Theirs.

With the violence, the danger, the... everything. The constant fear, the longing, the hope.

The fucking little bastard thinks he owns me.

Maybe he does.

Clenching tighter, I ride him faster, harder as I reach back and place my hand over his wound.

Grunting, Ash flinches away from the jolt of pain briefly before he pushes back into it, and when he comes hard a second later I realize just what that pain did for him. “Fuck.”

He definitely didn’t mean to come that fast, but now I’m two for two. Chuckling, I roll my hips until he’s spent and given me every drop, then lean in to kiss the tip of his nose. “Good boy,” I whisper, chest tightening as reality starts to set in. I always knew they were dangerous, knew they hurt people and didn’t think twice. But they killed people here, and judging by their reactions, it’s not the first time by a long shot.

Does that make them serial killers? And if it does... what in the hell does that make me?

26

Asher

Once again, one of us was grazed by a bullet. How many near misses can a person have before their luck runs out? How many more chances will we have before all of this comes crumbling down and we leave Rhea to fend for herself after clipping her wings? I have no doubt she’ll fly again, but the damage we’ve done and will do when we ultimately give our lives for Ephraim Creed will make it difficult for her.

Those thoughts keep me up that night and the next, and when we all sit down to have breakfast, I can’t stop myself from watching her closely for any sign this is fake.

Things have been good — maybe too good — and although I know Manson and I being nice to her is the cause, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s just biding her time.

“What would you be doing right now if you weren’t here?”

I want to see if anything changes in her when she imagines being free.

It’s hard not to notice when it happens. Her eyes soften in a sad little way, the corners of her mouth turn down. She’s longing for the life we stole from her.

“I don’t know. Be getting ready for work, probably.”

“Do you miss work?”

I feel Manson watching me with a frown and ignore him. If it was up to him we’d all live in this bubble and never think about the outside world, but that’s not how I’m built.

That’s not how the world works, either.

“I—” she glances between us, her expression turning suspicious, almost fearful — “No, of course not.”

She won’t even tell me the truth. Clever little pet realized this was a test, she’s just wrong about what kind.

Nodding, I turn my face toward the tv and pretend it has my attention. It doesn’t though, she still has it all, and even with the flashing lights and comedic banter I catch every nervous movement she makes to my right. Her fingers twitch, legs fidget until she’s curling them under her only to move them right back less than five minutes later. My silence, my troubled thoughts have both of them uneasy with their weight, and I don’t know how to help them with it when I can’t even help myself. So I don’t even try. That’s always been Manson’s thing anyway.

“So some of those clothes we ordered came and you still haven’t tried them on for us.” He reaches over to grip her thigh and steal her attention. “Give us a little fashion show.”

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