Page 76 of The Devils of Saint City

“Blair, we have to go. Now,” I rush out, standing and grabbing my purse. “Get up, let’s go.”

“The food didn’t even come yet!” she argues. “Why are you freaking out? What’s going on?”

The man stops several booths over from us with his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face. My blood runs cold when he winks at me. “I’ll explain in the car, let’s just go!”

I grab her by the arm and haul her out of the booth, dashing for the door as people gasp and our waitress tries to flag us down. All we had to eat was bread, I’m sure they’ll be fine — and I’ll find a way to pay the bill once we’re safe.

Suddenly, I’m glad our dining room is decorated with weapons. Without Asher and Manson around to do the killing... I’ll have to protect myself. And Blair now, too.

What the fuck?

30

Asher

When we were teenagers, Rhea made me watch this dumb movie about vampires and werewolves. I don’t remember the name, all I remember is it wasn’t the first in the series or the last so I was lost as fuck, but what I do remember is this scene where the main girl got her heart broken.

I didn’t get it.

She sat stoically in the same chair for months, staring out the window like she was waiting for him to return, and I couldn’t understand why she didn’t just move on with her life. She sat there for days, weeks, months, withdrew from her friends and obsessed over this vampire until she hallucinated his presence, and I remember thinking wow, this shit definitely isn’t real. No one has that much of a hold over someone... it’s fucking impossible.

I think I get it now.

I’m not sitting and staring out the window, but now that I understand how it feels for a person to leave with your heart, I get why she didn’t want to do anything else. Mundane tasks feel like I’m running against the wind, and every time Manson gives me that disappointed look, I want to disappear into nothing.

Was that girl actually waiting on her man to come back? Or was she simply waiting for death because it was preferable?

When we’re not working, we’re both staring at her location and arguing about whether we did the right thing, and each time we do the air around us turns sour.

I don’t know if we did the right thing, but if she wanted to come home, I think Blair would have told us, so I use that knowledge to stand my ground every time Manson beginschipping at my armor. “It was never real, Manson. I want it to be fucking real, and if she comes back to us, then we’ll know.”

“You gave her fifty fucking grand!” he pushes. “You used to understand that she needed a goddamn reason to be here, that’s why we did all of it. The collar, the cuffs, stealing all of her shit. What reason would she have to come back now?”

Love.

I can’t even make myself say the word, so I just lean forward to brace my elbows on my knees and drop my face into my hands. “I thought I didn’t care that it wasn’t real, but I do. And you do, too. Don’t feed me that bullshit when you’ve got the biggest heart out of all of us. Deep down you know we had to do this.”

“No, deep down I knew we were fucking getting there.” He tugs on his hair, pacing back and forth in front of me. “We should’ve waited. A few weeks of kindness wasn’t enough to erase the shit we did.”

“No, it wasn’t. That’s exactly why we had to do this,” I argue. “She gets to choose now.”

“You’re missing the goddamn point. Why would she choose to come back when we barely showed her the good?” He pivots, facing me with a wild look in his eyes. “I don’t fucking want her to come back.”

“What?”

He’s not making sense, and I don’t have it in me to figure out what he means.

“This shit will never end. Real, not real. How are we gonna handle it if she comes back then fucking leaves again?”

“She won’t.” I stand to stop him from his useless pacing. “That’s my fucking point. If we didn’t do this we’d never know if one day she might decide she’ll never love us and leave, but if we gave her the choice and she chose to come back in spite of havingall the money to start new, we’d know she’s 100% choosing us. That it’s real.”

“When did you start having faith?”

Good fucking question, and I’m surprised I already know the answer. “The moment I let myself believe she might learn to love me.”

Manson’s face softens as he reaches out to take my hand. “I’m glad you have it, then. Cause I sure as fuck don’t. I wouldn’t love us if I were her.”

Sadly, I lace my fingers with the only person who has ever chosen me and nod. “If I was her I’d run as far as I could from me. I’d come back for you, though.”

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