Page 6 of The Sinner and the Scholar
I steel myself and open the door again. Mercy shouts and pitches a long, purple, vibrating dildo at my head.
Three
Thea
“Hey!” Mercy shouts, scowling at me through thick lashes. “Some of us are trying to orgasm here!”
I clench my jaw and point at her. “Don’t you throw your vibrator at me.”
“Don’t you point your severed hand at me!”
“You’re testing my patience, Mercy.”
“Yeah, well, join the club, missy.” Mercy sighs in defeat and blows a kiss at the screen. “Laters, babe.”
After slamming the laptop lid shut, she glares at me. I expect a lecture. Everyone knows Mercy needs heralone time, but we all have our crosses to bear. Her overactive sex drive is why she was handpicked from foster care at fourteen to come here and train. Who knew she’d excel and become one of our best assassins?
No one came to claim her.
No one came for any of us.
A little nervous, I focus on the cot and sigh in relief at the small collection of trashy magazines, clothes, and bubblegum. Not mine. Thank Christ.
Mercy rolls her eyes. “Don’t get too excited.”
She covers her creamy skin with a lacy bra and pink satin robe she ties at the waist. The robe slides from her shoulder. One more inch, and we’d be graced with the shadow of nipple through the lace.
She mumbles, “We’re all in the same boat with this new sharing arrangement. Why do you think I was getting in my last hurrah? Jasmine will be back at the abbey in no time.”
“Jasmine?” An itch has me glancing down at my hand. Vomit has crusted over my skin. Seriously, pea soup? I suppose I’m lucky there are no carrots. There are always carrots.
“Yes, but she just left to visit the European Chapter to swap notes on demonology.”
Since no one in the history of our organization has seen demonic activity of this magnitude, we are ill-equipped to handle it.
Sure, they’ve made movies about possession. Sure, the Vatican claims they have a few exorcists running about with their secret service boogeymen. But the unholy truth is that faith has been nothing but conjecture and belief for the past two thousand years. No one hadproof. All the relics, manuscripts, and books in the archives are just stories.
Until a few months ago when strange things started happening. Abnormal animal activity was caught on camera, swarms of bugs in the cities, new contagious diseases filling hospitals, and an explosion of psychotic crime.
While we’ve been scrambling to catch up, a family of genetically modified heroes in Cardinal City has been doing all the dirty work. And so they should. They caused a rift between our world and a hell dimension. It’s closed now, but we aren’t sure why mystical anomalies keep cropping up.
Is hell about to be unleashed?
Deep down, every Sinner hopes it doesn’t exist. It’s a fate we were all too glad to ignore. But apparently, it takes evil to fight evil.
That’s why Sinners were created.
Now we are the world’s only hope. The only ones dark enough, bad enough, and lethal enough to deal with the devil himself. To wine, dine, and sixty-nine him—and then spit him out like yesterday’s dinner.
Mercy shrugs, slips on feathered slippers and plumps her coppery hair like she’s going on a date. “The Rev told us to meet on the front steps at eight.”
I check my watch. “That’s five minutes away.”
“I suppose it’s good you interrupted me, then.” She lifts her robe and scowls at a chain cilice pinching her upper thigh. Bruises blemish her creamy skin. Any tighter, and she’d bleed. “I don’t fancy being sent to the Sin Bin today.”
So, if I’m not sharing with Tawny, Raven, Leila, or Mercy, that leaves only one option. The oldest Sinner here, Prudence Cane. Mid-forties, grumpy as hell, a recent assault survivor, and in no way, shape, or form a person I can stay up reading with all night.
She deserves peace.
