Page 32 of The Devils of Saint City

“R-Red,” he finally admits when he catches his breath. “Red told us. He — he said we could pinch some and Creed wouldn’t know. We never took a lot. Come on, guys. You going to say you’ve never taken any for yourselves?”

“Do we look like junkies to you?” Manson growls, and I realize a split second too late what’s about to happen. Blood spurts from Cal’s wound as Manson pulls his hand back, throwing his body weight at Luc. “Do I?” he screams, slamming his fist into Luc’s face over and over.

These three had to be the biggest idiots in all of Saint City. They all might have walked out of here with a broken nose at best, but instead they individually signed their own death warrants. The last person in the world Manson wants to be compared to is his junkie, piece of shit father, and the insinuation that we’re cut from the same cloth pisses me off too. I’m angry, but while I came home from school and found my dad murdered, Manson had to sit next to his abusive father as he overdosed. He watched that man deteriorate and splutter his last breaths. Manson might’ve gotten some form of relief from it, but it’s still heavy as fuck for anyone to witness.

So no, I won’t stop him from taking all that out on a thief. I’ll revel in it. “Another one bites the dust.”

He doesn’t stop until long after Luc goes limp. There’s nothing recognizable about his face as Manson pulls back with blood dripping from his knuckles, but his eyes look clear. “We got what we needed. Call Creed, tell him what we learned andthat when Harvest Day is over, he needs to send his guard dogs to clean this mess up.”

“Will do.” I step in closer and breathe deep until our breathing synchronizes, and I watch my best friend slowly come back from that ledge. It’s a scary place, somewhere he’s pulled me back from a dozen times. I may not return that favor as often, but I need him to know I’m here. I’ll always be here. “We need to make sure they didn’t stash more around here first. You want to help me, or you need some air?”

“Don’t move,” he says softly. “It can wait.”

It can. Everything can, so I nod my head at him once and stay put.

He meets my eyes until his heart rate steadies, then admires his mangled knuckles. “Shame we didn’t get to use Sway. I fucking love that shit.”

I huff. “Me too. The fucking look in their eyes, huh?”

We seem to get the same idea at the exact same time. “She’d hate us,” he reminds me, but what’s the difference?

She hates me 100% of the time already and him 75% of the time, so will anything really change?

“What if she enjoyed it though? Hear me out. When she’s in an episode she can’t remember shit, but this could give her firsthand experience to one of her episodes while actually being awake.”

“We did that when we filmed it and made her watch.” Again with the logic. “You were right earlier though. There’s no way back from where we are, and look at this. Look at what we did here. We might as well do what we want.”

That’s one way to look at it. “Might as well,” I agree. “We’re already on the highway to Hell. What’s another fun pit stop along the way?”

“It will be fun. We’ve got six doses, we could keep her down for a couple of days with that.”

Instantly I imagine how much cum we could get inside her in that time and I feel myself harden. How broken does someone have to be to be able to get a boner around three dead bodies? Because apparently that’s how broken Manson and I both are.

“Shit... yeah, let’s go. I’ll call him in the truck.”

I nearly forget to search the place for more drugs, but once we’re done with everything and on our way home, that boner is in full effect once again. There’s no question Rhea is going to hate us more for this, but I also know that isn’t going to stop me. I’ve tasted her hatred for years, and the flavor of it haunts me day and night — by now I’d be fucking lost without it.

12

It’s been hours and I’m still not sure how to feel about what happened earlier. I doubt I’ll ever be able to reconcile the two halves of me — the one who hates them, and the one who wants them — but what Idoknow is that things are changing. The more we interact, the harder it is for Asher to hold onto his grudge. The more I give in, the more human I become to Manson. Things will almost certainly get worse before they get better, but I have hope after today.

Maybe that makes me delusional.

Sometimes, delusion is the key to survival.

So when I hear the Maverick pull in and the engine cut off, I shut my laptop and make my way to the living room to wait for them.

My wrists are chafing from the cuffs, but I try to keep a sweet expression on my face as they unlock the door and come in. If I’m positive and sweet, maybe they’ll realize they’ll get further by treating me like they did this morning.

Manson smiles when he sees me waiting. “Hey, pet. We’re gonna try something new today.” Asher moves toward me before I can ask what. “We need you to relax and—”

A pinprick of pain in the back of my arm makes me cry out.

Manson sighs. “Well, fuck.”

“What? We were gonna do it whether she agrees or not,” Asher growls.

I drop my eyes to his hands to see what he did, but all I can see are the thick spatters of blood coating his clothes. Were they in another fight? Manson’s hand looks like it went through a meat grinder, but as I take a step toward him to get a closer look, my legs give out.

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