Page 6 of Of Angels & Absolution

I am here. I am alive. I am human.

I’m on my way to my next class, dragging my feet and working up my courage, when a familiar hush falls around me. Girls giggle under their breath, dart glances from under their lashes, play with their hair, and cast coy smiles behind me. I tense, dread pooling in my belly, but I don’t look back. Instead, I duck my head and grip my books tighter, quickening my pace.

I don’t make it far before a hand falls on the back of my neck, fingers firm and dominant.

“Running away from me, little sister?” my brother’s voice taunts.

I pause a second, letting my traitorous heart quell for him, and then I steel myself and lift my head. Like usual, Saint is flanked on either side by Heath and Angel—his two best friends, formerly mine as well. I quickly tear my gaze from Heath’s before I can see the hatred in his teal-blue eyes.

“Just trying not to be late for class,” I say, careful to keep my tone even. I don’t have any classes with the three Hellhounds in front of me, which means I only see them when they seek me out. It hasn’t happened since the night in the chapel—except for Saint, who found me at confession. My pulse skips at the memory of last night, the filthy thing we did in that booth. I pray Heath doesn’t know, that he won’t blackmail me into further depravity with the knowledge he has now.

“I bet you are,” Saint says, smirking down at me. “Tell me, when you sit in front of him with your bruised knees crossed like an innocent little lamb, are you really squeezing your sloppy cunt between your thighs to masturbate in a room full of people?”

I gasp out loud, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. It’s clear that Heath and Angel did, but other people are also watching, whispering. Did they hear what he said to me? Do they know it’s true?

“Are you so pathetic as to picture a priest defiling you while you get off in front of him?” he asks. “Or do you think about fingering your crusty panties into that foul hole just to get a drop of your big brother’s cum in your cunt, the way you always wanted?”

Shame shimmers through me, hot as a mirage. I want to tell him he’s wrong, that I hate him, I hate them all, but I have enough sins on my conscience without adding another lie.

“You know that’s the only way you’ll ever get it, don’t you?” Saint asks, his voice harder.

“Get what?”

“My cum,” he says flatly. “I will never fuck that greedy little cunt, let it drink my cum to quench its thirst. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

I swallow hard, not trusting my voice, and try to walk away.

Saint grabs my arm, yanking me to a stop and spinning me to face him.

“Isn’t it, little sister?” he asks, backing me into the wall.

I meet his gaze, even though a shock of pain knocks the breath from me when I see the loathing in his amber eyes, the hard set of his jaw. Heath looms behind him, bouncing on his toes, straining forward like a racehorse trapped in its stall, eager to run.

Saint steps closer, shoving his knee between mine and rocking forward, his muscular thigh flexing against my center in one cruelly efficient stroke. I’m instantly weak, my core trembling, my flesh drenched.

Angel chuckles and looks me up and down, his gaze downright indecent.

“Saint,” I whisper, fighting not to grind on the thigh he’s pinning me with, sending ripples of pleasure through every inch of my body. It feels so good I think I’ll lose control at any moment, ride his thigh until it’s soaked right here in the hall, in front of all these people.

He smirks down at me, heartlessly sweeping a strand of hair off my cheek, sending a rush of tingles through me. I close my eyes to keep them from rolling back at the contact.

“Answer me, my thirsty, sick sister.”

I nod, my throat aching, my heart twisting in pain, my core clenching with pleasure. What is wrong with me? I know he’s torturing me for his own enjoyment, hurting me to give himself pleasure. It shouldn’t affect me this way, but it does.

He scoffs quietly, tensing his thigh harder, forcing my pleasure to rise higher with one last slow, ruthless grind. “Too bad I’m not an incestuous freak like you,” he whispers, so close I can feel his warm breath on my lips like a kiss, one that I’ve hungered for since before I knew what that hunger meant.

He leaves me with that, striding off down the hall with his friends like he doesn’t notice the girls fawning for his attention, the guys reaching out hands to congratulate him on his achievement. Meanwhile, I’m left to bear the humiliation on my own, the stares from the girls that hold a mixture of envy and disgust; resentment and hunger from the guys.

I know the disgust that the girls feel all too well, having felt it for myself for so long, but the envy is foreign to me.

I know the hunger the men feel, but I’ve never felt that other thing they show so clearly, as if they want to destroy me both for my weakness and because they weren’t the ones I chose to exploit it.

I ponder that to distract me from the shame of shuffling to class, trying to hide the change in my gait caused by my swollen sex throbbing between my thighs like a hot ember. My brother is the one who gave in, who touched me, and yet, he is celebrated for his apparent victory, while I have to do the walk of shame to class when I did nothing to invite attention.

When I reach Father Salvatore’s room, I dart to my seat, ignoring the murmur of interest my presence brings. Word travels fast on a campus this small, and some already seem to know about my confrontation in the hall with a member of the revered Hellhounds group.

At least most of them don’t know he’s my brother. I don’t know if I could bear that shame.

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