Page 39 of Ride with the Devil

“The other day, you wanted to see what’s under my sleeve.”

I did. “Uh-huh.”

He takes a deep breath, shuddering it out. “Okay. You can look?—”

I want to, but now I’m not so sure I should. “Luca…”

“It’s okay. If anything, it might help you understand why I’m so fucking twisted up inside. Because…fuck. I want you, Kylie. Don’t ever doubt that. Those glimpses you’ve given me… I don’t give a shit if Iamsinning. I mean, I’m a Sinner, right? But before I was a Sinner, I grew up in a church that really screwed me up. Inside and out. Go on. I mean it.”

How can I refuse?

Still holding his hand, I use the other one to shove his sleeve up to the crook of his elbow.

And then I see motherfuckingred.

I look at life as if everything exists for my entertainment. I always have. The only time the rage wins, I do things so incredibly reckless, they changed my life forever. That’s why I’ve learned to control my rage, taking the world as a big joke.

But when I look at this?—

“Kylie?”

Shit. I’m squeezing his hand so tightly, I’ve jabbed my nails in his skin. Good job, idiot. Why not hurt this poor man some more?

Quickly, I untangle our fingers, dropping my hand in my lap. It’s either that or run my fingertips over the bump to see if it feels as hard and lumpy as it looks.

It’s an old, pink scar. That much is obvious. Stretching nearly the whole length of his forearm, I can tell exactly why he’s been hiding this from me. Because it’s not just a scar.

It’s abrand.

Those are third-degree burns that just healed wrong. I get the idea that that was on purpose. Someone branded him with a Christian cross, sizzling his skin until it bubbled up and turned into this horrifying mark.

Underneath the left part of the shorter side of the cross, I see four lines intersected with a fifth. Under the right part, there are three more. Those are obviously tattoos, done in black ink. I don’t know what they mean, and I barely pay them any attention since I’m too disturbed by the terrible brand.

Finally ripping my gaze away from it, swallowing the fury that has me trembling in place, I look at Luca.

His expression is blank.

“Did Devil do that?”

If he did, he’s adeadman.

“My parents did it,” he says, his tone as emotionless as I’ve ever heard it. “Using fire and an iron that they just so happened to have to brand their only son.”

I hiss through my teeth. “I’ll fucking kill them.”

Both of his eyebrows go sky-high. “What was that?”

Shit. Fun-time Kylie doesn’t get murderous. And since Luca can’t know that I’m the Hummingbird…

I shake my head, sending my loose curls dancing around my face. “Nothing. I just… what the fuck, Luca? Why would they do that to you?”

He moves his arm so that I can see it from his angle. “Look at it this way. It’s upside down, right? You know what that means?”I shake my head again, and he tells me, “It’s the mark of Satan, they said. Bullshit. Anyone raised in a Christian church knows it’s the Cross of Saint Peter. But the prophet who ruled our sect insisted that those teachings are wrong. That the symbol is anti-Christian and satanic. My parents agreed.” He huffs, shaking out his arm. “Even though they branded the cross the right-side up when they were looking at it, they claimed the devil’s influence was working on me once the mark was on my skin. When the prophet said I had to go, they agreed. The cross didn’t take, they said, and then they disowned me.”

The fire inside my rages higher. I still want to kill them—and this prophet, too—but I know better than to say so out loud again.

Instead, I just stay quiet.

Luca is glancing down at the burn. “They thought I was working with the devil. That I was a demonic son. Look at me now, Kylie. I am.”

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