Page 23 of Of Angels & Absolution

“Exactly,” I snap, jumping up and pacing the room again. “Why are we suddenly getting her off and eating her out? I thought we were supposed to be making her pay and then leave campus in shame.”

“She’s paying,” Saint says. “You can scare her if you want. But no one takes her virginity.”

I scoff. “Why? You think she’s pure? You saw the Master fuck her with that statue of the Virgin Mary. She came all over it. Hell, she squirted us all in the face.”

“That was hot,” Angel says, lazily rubbing his dick through his jeans.

I throw an arm out in his direction. “Today she came in front of the whole school at the thought of a priest busting her cunt wide open. She’s not your innocent little sister anymore, Saint. She’s a fucking nympho slut who’s probably getting herself off to the thought of all twelve of us running a train on her, starting with her very own brother. I think we should make her dream come true. Except I go first.”

“That’s what you want?” Saint asks. “You want to give her to all the guys?”

As much as she deserves that punishment, I have to admit the thought of anyone touching her besides us makes me feral, and not in the good way.

“No,” I grumble, flicking my tongue against my lip ring in irritation. “They don’t deserve her tears. I’m the one she fucked over. I want revenge. I want to be the one who punishes her—the only one. I want to know she’s lying in bed quaking in fear every night, wondering when I’m coming for her, if I’m coming for her. I want to hear her scream when rip into her. I want to hear her whimper with every step she takes, every fucking day, because I’ve fucked her bloody the night before.”

The others stare at me a second, and I realize maybe I went too far, said too much. Sometimes even they get freaked out by the dark places my mind goes.

“No,” Saint says quietly, simply.

“Fuck you,” I say, punching a stupid ceramic vase off his desk. It flies across the room and hits the wall, shattering into a million pieces, white and blue shards raining down on the hardwood like junkie needles.

“Cut it out,” he snaps. “You’re not so fucking special. Everyone feels like an outsider.”

I snort with laughter. “That’s a good joke, a great joke even,” I manage. “The golden boy on campus, who every girl wants to fuck, and every guy wants to be, feels like an outsider. Outside what, Saint? You’re not just the norm in every single fucking way, you’re the goddamn standard it’s all based on, the prototype we’re all supposed to aspire to be.”

“And you don’t think that makes me feel like an outsider?” he demands. “Yeah, my dad’s a rich prick, big fucking deal. I hate him. I hate all of it. It doesn’t mean shit. What youtwo have—” He gestures between me and Angel. “That means something.”

“Can y’all go back to almost fucking?” Angel asks. “That was hotter than watching two privileged assholes compete in the trauma games.”

“Fuck off,” I say. “Your family’s loaded too.”

“Speaking of money, I’m off to work,” he says, rolling up from Saint’s bed. “I’ve got a shift at the club tonight. Come by if you want to see Magic Mike.” He winks and starts for the door before calling back over his shoulder. “That’s my dick, in case you were wondering.”

When the door closes behind him, there’s a beat of tense silence while Saint and I adjust to the new dynamic.

“I’m going to the gym,” I mutter. “Sorry about the mess.”

He shrugs. “The maid will clean it up. I’ll come with.”

I wish he wouldn’t, but I don’t own the fucking gym, so I shut my mouth all the way there.

When we walk in, we stand there a second before I nod to the treadmills. “I’m doing cardio.”

“Weights,” he grunts, turning and heading that way without looking back.

I jump on, turn up the speed as high as I can handle, then keep pushing it further until I’m drenched in sweat and my muscles are on fire and my heart threatens to explode.

No matter how fast I run, though, it’s not fast enough to outrun all my demons.

*

“Hey, kiddo,” Charlie says, looking up from under the hood of a ’93 Hilux when I stroll into the open bay of the best garage in all of Faulkner. “How’s it hangin’?”

“Hey,” I say, heading for the fridge in the corner. I pull out a couple Buds and return to the truck. “What you workin’ on?”

“Sexy beast that someone treated like a piece of shit.”

“Fuck off.”

---