Page 29 of Devil's Advocate
She tilted her head.“You think he was spying on you?”
“I don’t know.”The words came out rough.“Maybe.Maybe it started that way.But it didn’t feel like a setup.”I thought of Jimmy’s hands trembling against me, his breath catching like every nerve ending was on fire.That hadn’t been fake.
Sarah sighed and finished her beer.“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think he came to hurt you.Look at him in that photo.That’s not a guy pulling the strings.That’s a guy trapped in them.”
I wanted to believe that.But I also knew what manipulation looked like, and how easily guilt could twist desire into something that burned everyone it touched.
“Maybe he was sent to dig up dirt,” I said.“Maybe Daddy Reverend wanted a sensational story—‘Inside the Satanic Temple,’ complete with hidden cameras and tearful confessions.Maybe I was supposed to be his monster.”
Sarah gave me a long look.“And yet you’re the one sitting here worrying about Tanner’s soul.”
That made me laugh, short and bitter.“I guess I’m predictable.”
“No,” she said, resting a hand on my arm.“You’re human.And you care too damn much.That’s why you lead the Temple, and people trust you.” She paused.“And probably why this guy got under your skin.”
I looked down at her hand, then back at the photo still glowing on her phone screen.“Under my skin?He’s in my fucking bloodstream.”
We sat there for a while, the jukebox humming through a Joy Division song, neon lights flickering red against the bottles.I couldn’t shake the image—Jimmy, sitting perfectly still, camera flash in his eyes, trapped in a life that wasn’t his.
If his father really was who Sarah said he was, then Jimmy had been raised in a world where love came with sermons and shame came with applause.I finished my beer and set it down hard enough to make it foam.“He’s in trouble,” I stated.
Sarah arched a brow.“You think so?”
“I know so,” I said.“But what the hell can I do about it?”
ChapterNine
Jimmy
Interstate 95 ran under my tires like a taut wire.The dashboard clock glowed a stubborn, judgmental green, ticking off the minutes since I’d fled Lucien’s house without my dignity.I hadn’t gone back to the Airbnb.I’d just gotten in the truck and pointed it south like the steering wheel knew the way.
Headlights braided into rivers.Billboards slid past—injury lawyers, fireworks, Jesus Saves.The driver’s window was cracked, and the evening air rushed in—sticky and warm, full of pine, asphalt, and the ghosts of a million other decisions made at eighty miles an hour.My fingers hurt from gripping the wheel, but I couldn’t make them loosen up.
Every time I blinked, I was back in his bedroom: the soft spill of lamplight, Lucien’s shirt coming off in one effortless motion, the heat of him when he covered me on the mattress—careful, and then not careful at all.I could still feel the drag of his mouth, the question he asked without words and the way my body answered yes, yes, God yes before my brain slammed on the brakes.The memory came with a current, something low and electric that seized me in the spine and made my foot waver on the gas.Pure attraction—that was too small a phrase.
I wanted him like a fish craves water.
And that was the part that scrambled me even more than the sight of his body: Lucien wasn’t just beautiful.He was good.He had a steady, generous nature you only feel around very few people.Lucien fed strangers, and he truly listened to others.He was everything the Bible said a good man should be.
But Lucien belonged to the Temple of Satan, and every sermon I’d ever had spooned into my mouth told me that was wrong.Full stop.I could hear Daddy’s voice climbing a pulpit in my head:There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.
“Then why does Lucien seem filled with light?”I murmured to the empty cab, and the sound of my voice made me flinch.
I passed the exit for Emporia and tried to breathe through the tightening in my chest.Shame ran next to my desires, matching it stride for stride.I was ashamed of running like a frightened rabbit when Lucien asked me if I wanted him.Guilt coursed through me for how my hands had been on his shoulders one second, on his chest the next, and then flat against him, pushing—no, pleading — Stop, I can’t.I was twenty-eight years old, and I’d run away like a child.God knows what Lucien thought of me now.
By the time the sign for Rocky Mount glowed up out of the dark, my eyes burned and the muscles in my jaw had locked into a steady ache.The exit ramp curved off the interstate like a bent knuckle.I took it too fast, tires rasping, and had to correct twice before I straightened out on the service road.The strip malls gathered their fluorescent light to themselves, harsh islands in the night—AutoZone, a closed nail salon, the twenty-four-hour gas station where I used to buy gummy worms.
“Almost home,” I mumbled.
The words didn’t comfort me.My pulse ticked up, fast and thin, like it was trying to get my attention before it was too late.I turned onto our street and saw that the porch light was on.The driveway gravel crunched under my tires.I killed the engine, and the sudden silence felt like a held breath.My stomach rolled, and I sat there a full minute, hands on the wheel, listening to the ticks of the engine cooling and the slow, mean voice in my head cataloging my failures.
Daddy’s going to yell, and you deserve it.You ran from Lucien because you’re a coward.You’re going to hell because you want him so badly.
I got out of my truck and walked to the door.The lock stuck, like it did in humidity, and for a stupid second I nearly laughed.Even the deadbolt knew better than to let me in.
The foyer light was on, and Daddy’s home office door stood half open down the hall, blue TV light flickering against the wood paneling.I had one foot on the carpet when his voice rolled out, irritated.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in.”He stepped into the doorway, a shadow cut out of light, and folded his arms.“Why are you here?Aren’t you supposed to be in Richmond, digging up dirt on the Satanists?”
