Page 28 of Her Wicked Knights
“No shit?” He muses, glancing between Colton and me. “You just seem like you would have two very different tastes.”
I roll my eyes, already sensing where this is going.
“Well, this girl’s chocolate.” Mark smirks, noting the confusion in the air. “Some people love it, some people don’t, but most people want a taste.”
I’m already rising from my chair when Rev plants a hand on my shoulder and pushes me back against it, keeping me stationary.
“Easy, killer.” He says coolly. “Mark’s just jealous because you’ve been closer to her than he ever will.”
I don’t like talking about Marley like this, with them. I especially don’t appreciate the analogy that everyone wants a taste of her.
“If I had any interest in her, maybe. But there’s plenty of fish in the sea—ones that are far more experienced. If I wanted her, I’d take her.” Mark shrugs as if it’s as simple as that. “But I’ll leave her for you kids to fight over.”
I see Rev roll his eyes as Mark pops a cigarette between his lips, holding it in place with his teeth while he flicks his lighter against the opposite end. The cherry burns red, and for a second, everyone is quiet.
“You guys talking about the redhead?” The guy on the ground scans our faces to get a look at us all, trying to figure out if he’s right. Rev laughs, which covers the sound of disgust I make out of habit. “That your girl?” The stranger asks, tipping his chin at Colton, who looks somewhat confused by the question. But then he tilts his beer back, and just before he drains the rest of it, he mutters a single word.
“Yep.”
The guy seems to contemplate saying something but then thinks better of it. He lets out a puff of smoke from his cigarette instead, taking his time on the exhale. “I’m Whit, by the way.”
“Whit’s my cousin,” Mark says. “My mom wouldn’t let me go out tonight unless I brought him along.”
I guess that’s a joke, because Whit laughs and slugs him in the arm. Mark only chuckles, unbothered despite the fact that looked like a hard hit.
“It’s nice of you to help the less fortunate.” Rev tells Mark, his eyes running over Whit with the slightest grin. I can tell already that he doesn’t think much of Mark’s cousin, which makes three of us, since Colton’s staring at him, unamused.
“I’m here while I work on my dissertation.” Whit explains, as if anyone asked. “What better place to examine the occult history of the Northeast than here?”
“At Martha’s Vineyard?” I snort. “I don’t know. Salem, Serenity Hollow, Triple Falls…”
Whit ignores my deprecating laugh. “My family is from Serenity Hollow… long, long ago.”
“You a founding family?” Rev asks, though we all know the answer to that. There are five founding families of Serenity… The Windham’s, of which Colton’s mother is directly descended, the Archer’s like me, the North’s like fucking Jake and his mayor daddy, the Cromwell’s and the Bolton’s.
“No.” Whit laughs, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip thoughtfully. “But I’m a fan. I mean, every little town has their own ridiculous lore, but Serenity Hollow? Shit’s unmatched.”
I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean, but I’m not going to ask. I don’t even want to entertain the guy any longer, but I’m not ready to give up the tequila, which is warming me up so nicely. I take another healthy swig, ignoring Rev’s gaze on me. I can feel the weight of his gaze without looking; I’m sure it’s somewhere between concerned and disapproving.
“Come on,” Mark rolls his eyes. “Not this shit again.”
“What shit?” CarNick asks, looking from Mark to his weird-ass cousin who’s shrugging his shoulders like he simply can’t help himself.
“Whit’s on a treasure hunt,” Mark snorts, nicking the joint from Carson and taking a hit that has his eyes rolling. Fucking junkie.
“Treasure?” Rev chuckles next to me. “That what we’re doing here? Looking for booty?”
Whit smirks. “Not the kind you’re thinking of. It’s honestly not so much a treasure hunt as it is a witch hunt.”
“You here to burn the witches who survived?” Rev snorts, clearly unamused with his dog and pony show. “Finish great-great grand-daddy’s puritanical mission to eradicate the devil-worshippers?”
“Nah,” Whit chuckles, too. “I’m not interested in burning the witches. My ancestors were the prosecuted. I’d like to tip the scales in the name of vengeance.”
“Your ancestors were witches?” I hope he can’t see how hard I’m trying not to roll my eyes, but also, I don’t care that much.
“Do they call men witches, too?” NiCarson asks, “Or is it like… a warlock?”
“Call them whatever you like. Witches, warlocks, sorcerers.” Whit shrugs and takes a long drag on his cigarette, working hard to keep it all in his chest before slowly letting it out. “It’s all the same shit. Doesn’t matter what you call it, just that you can identify them when you see them.”
