Page 49 of Her Wicked Knights
They don’t wait for me to join them, which is just as well since I wouldn’t ever leave Marley alone with the preacher. He creeps me out… hell, I think even Rev finds him to be creepy sometimes. Her sister is a few paces away, talking to Axel Archer. I don’t know what they’re saying, but there’s no yelling, so at least there’s that.
When Marley looks up, her eyes connect with mine and a small semblance of a smile makes it to her lips. I don’t have time to analyze that, but it floods me with enough pride that I decide to intervene on her behalf, strolling up to the altar where she stands with my best friend’s dad. “Father,” I say, not bothering to hide the smirk.
He hates it when I call him that, because Rev calls him that in the most detached, impersonal way. He also loves to remind us that he’s not a priest, so father is not the correct title. I don’t give a fuck what his title is. He’s opening his mouth to try and correct me, but I cut him off by wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in for an embrace. It’s as innocent as any of the others have been, but I hold her a heartbeat longer than the rest. Before I pull away, I whisper against her ear, “You looked like you needed an escape.”
To my surprise, she laughs, catching me against her as she tries to muffle the sound in my suit jacket. I feel her nod against me, but before I can turn to tell the pastor we have to go, her laughter turns to a sob and my heart splinters.
I see Rev’s father scurry away, deciding he doesn’t want to deal with that. No surprise there. He never deals with anything, really. Avoidance is his greatest talent, and that’s not a compliment, given that he hasn’t got many of those.
I don’t know how to do this either. I’ve never seen her cry past a skinned knee or getting mad that we would make her the monkey in the middle knowing she couldn’t possibly reach past us. Audrey doesn’t cry— I’ve never had to hold her against me as she fell apart, a notion that I’m suddenly grateful for. It’s gotten hard enough to be in the same room with her these days, let alone have her on me, expecting something I won’t give her.
I don’t know what the appropriate thing to do is, but I’ll always try for her, so I wrap my arms tighter around her, wondering if she feels safe there. It feels right to me, so I brush her hair away from her face with slow strokes, pressing my lips to her head so that she’s enveloped by me in every possible way.
Slowly, her sobs slow until I hear her breath hitch, and she peels away from me just enough to tilt her head up to look at me. Even with the heels on, she’s a good foot shorter than me, and her bloodshot eyes have to blink up at me from her angle. She’s still so fucking beautiful it hurts, even when her heart is broken.
Her voice is a whisper when she says, “thank you.”
I’m not sure what to say to that either. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard those words fall from my mother’s lips. As the perpetual victim, she never has anything to thank anyone for. Audrey is a lot like my mother, I’ve come to find out. I must be Sigmund Freud’s wet dream, as fucked up as I am.
And I don’t even know the depths of my own depravity, because as she pulls away from me, sniffling and wiping her tears with the back of her hand, I don’t want to let her go. And when she leans down to press a kiss to her father’s cold forehead, I feel my dick tightening in my boxers. She does the same thing to her mother, whispering something I don’t hear because I’mtoo focused on the hem of her dress, dragging slowly up her thigh as she reaches toward them. For half a second, I think she’s going to climb in the coffin right alongside her mother, she’s reaching so far in, rising to the tips of her toes so that her heels are lifted off the floor.
And for a moment, I envision grabbing her around the waist, running a hand up the back of her dress, pushing her stomach against the shiny black wood and taking what I want… taking her.
The thought fades just as she straightens, and I try to push down my arousal, my hunger for her. She watches me for a moment, thoughtful, and then presses herself against me, taking the comfort I gave her a moment before. This time, she doesn’t bury her face in my chest—she looks up at me as I wrap her automatically in my arms. Her bright eyes shine, but not with tears. “Thank you.” She says again.
I watch her throat bob as she swallows. The air seems thicker than it did before I walked up here to join her, and I wonder if she can feel the outline of my erection nestled into her stomach or if she just has the decency not to mention it. I don’t bother to ask her what she’s thanking me for. It doesn’t matter. “I’ll always be here when you need me,” I tell her honestly, watching the way her lips tremble at that promise. I don’t know if she’s about to cry or debating what she wants to say, but it’s a beautiful sight. I brush my thumb over the nape of her neck, delighting in the feel of her skin beneath mine. I’m torn between the desire to hold her like this as long as we can or to act on the instinct screaming at me to kiss her even though it could ruin everything. I’ve wanted to tell her to break it off with Jake more times than I can count, had the words on my tongue before I swallowed them with my dad’s expensive bourbon, had the text typed but never hit send.
“Marley…” Her name leaves my mouth without permission, but I like the way she melts against me just a little at the sound of her name from me. “I…”
I think I can hear her heartbeat—or maybe my own. It encompasses us, holding us hostage in this moment. Her lips part slowly, and I’m not sure if she’s getting ready to say something as she rises on her toes, fisting the collar of my jacket to bring us closer together, her perfect pink mouth waiting for mine to cover it.
And then the door opens, and we both look over to see Tripp standing there, watching us. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t smile, doesn’t look annoyed. He simply looks between us as we stay for a moment, frozen, and then he turns to go without a word.
“Tripp!” She chokes his name, pulling away from me like she can’t get away from me fast enough. And just like that, I’m reminded of why there’s no chance for us.
Because even if she breaks up with Jake, I still won’t be her first choice.
26
Rev
Bepatientandwait,Colt said.
That was almost a year ago, and I'm tired of waiting.
It's why we're here tonight, at the three ring circus that is Whit's little dog and pony show. It's been over a year since Jenny Clark was murdered and nine months since the Lavigne's were, too. It's been forever since I've seen Marley smile, a real, genuine smile, not one of those fake little diplomatic things she gives to try and convince everyone that she'll be okay.
Hadley moved home so that she could finish her senior year in the same school, and the same house where she lived with her family before someone broke it apart. It was probably the only good thing that came out of the whole tragedy, because Marley began to spend less time with Audrey and more time with someone who actually fucking cares about her. Lately, though, she's been weird again. I assume that's grief, but I don't know. I wasn't sentient enough to grieve when my mother died.
I'm surprised that she hasn't been dragged into these little cult meetings, but I suppose it wouldn't benefit anyone to have her possibly catching onto the truth of what happened to herparents. It's been weirder than ever between us all, because I can't hold her the way I did that night, and I ache to. I also feel like a piece of shit every time I look at her, because I'm keeping something huge from her.
I notice Audrey and Jake aren't sitting together tonight. Jake's leaning forward with his head in his hands at the front of the church, and he may even be praying. I don't believe in the same God my dad pretends to, but if he does exist, I hope he's not as merciful as they say. Jake deserves to fucking rot for what he did. And I do mean for what he did, because I don't doubt his guilt anymore. He's fucking guilty, that much is clear. What's still not clear, even after all this time, even after three of these damn 'conclaves', I don't understand.
Whit storms in and a hush falls among his followers. I say followers, but I think it's really just his friends, mine, and the two dumbasses willing to believe every word out of his mouth.
"Alignment is nearly complete." He announces, once he stands before us. "The chains are falling free."
I squint at him, wondering what chains he's talking about.
