Page 6 of Spike's Perdition
“Alcohol isn’t an excuse for being a sexual predator.”
“You won’t get away with this,” he says, his breath coming in short pants.
“Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong. I can get away with anything. It’s you who can’t.”
He opens his mouth to argue some more, but I’m sick of hearing his voice so I swing the bat one last time, connectingwith his skull. His head lulls to the side as he sputters blood and takes his last breath.
“Go forth, sinners' souls, from this world. May you suffer in darkness, may your home be in Hell, and may the Devil fuck you with his horns.”
The prayer we say after each purge brings me little comfort. The moment I saw this fucker walk into Purgatory last night, I knew he was gonna be trouble. I wasn’t expecting him to try and force himself on a female customer in front of the entire bar, but he did. It amazes me that I can still be surprised by some human’s behavior.
As I walk out of the Confessional and to the elevator, the adrenaline from the purge begins to wear off, and a weird sense of melancholy settles over me.
Things have changed since I patched into Saints Purgatory. My brothers seem to be falling like dominos and getting hitched while my life remains the same. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade my life for anything, but I find that, lately, I crave something…more.
When I reach the main level and the elevator door opens, I square my shoulders and make my way to the bar.
“Jacob, go clean up the Confessional,” I order.
“What about the bar?” he asks. “I’m the only prospect here, and Soul put me on bartending duty.”
I glance around the room until my eyes land on Frenzy’s old lady. “Yo, Heather!”
She turns from her conversation with a few of the bunnies. “What’s up?”
“Mind covering the bar while Jacob handles some club business?”
She smiles as she walks across the room and behind the bar. “Sure thing.”
I return my attention to the prospect. “Get to cleanin’.”
“You got it.”
Jacob rushes to do my bidding, and as soon as Heather steps behind the bar, she gets me a beer. I carry it to my room so I can shower off the sinner’s blood. As soon as I return to the main room, I get another beer and start making my rounds.
It doesn’t take long to get tired of being social, and I find myself planting my ass on a bar stool, drinking more and more beer to dull my increasingly sour mood.
“Looks like you’ve got a fan.”
I don’t even look at Rogue as I roll my eyes and continue nursing whatever number beer is in my hand.
“If you’re talking about Glitter,” I say, referring to the newest club bunny. “She’s not my type.”
I may be tired and antisocial tonight, but I’ve seen Glitter staring at me in the mirror’s reflection for at least the last half hour.
And she’s exactly your type.
Rogue snorts. “Since when?” he asks as if reading my mind.
Giving up any hope of being left alone, I spin on my stool and glance around the room, pretending to look for someone. “Where’s your better half?”
“Skye’s at Purgatory,” he says. “And even if she were here, she couldn’t save you.”
“Save me from what?”
Rogue grins. “Me, Glitter, yourself… Take your pick.”
Downing the last of my beer, I groan. “Don’t you have something better to do than give me a hard time?”
