Page 52 of Pray for Scars
I head toward it, see a dim light beneath the door.
Hiding out?
I take one slow step after the other, but then it occurs to me, at the exact same time I hear a soft moan, that of course Lucifer Malikov isn’t fucking hiding out.
He’s…
I take a step back, nausea roiling through me.
No.
No.
This was a fucking mistake.
I take another step back, pulse flying, my skin growing hot. I need to get this fucking hoodie off. I need to fucking cut it off of me.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
What did I think was going to happen? I’d confront him about what he did to me? About how he lied to me? And then…what, exactly? He doesn’t give a fuck about me, and I fucking hate him.
I just escaped him.
And now I’m in his house, like a goddamn idiot, all because I let my emotions get the best of me.
And then a girl’s voice cries out, “Lucifer”, and I think I’m going to puke all over his polished wooden floor. I stumble back another step
“Well, well, well. An Angel in the flesh.”
I whirl around, knife gripped tight in my sweaty hand, my eyes going wide at the sight of Mayhem. His pale blue eyes lock on mine, and a slow, devious smile curves on his lips. He’s got a joint in one hand, his other in the pocket of his dark jeans.
Where the fuck is Ria? Did she send him up here?
I swallow, lower the knife, trying to appear unthreatening. Trying to find my way the fuck out of this mess. I straighten my spine. “I was just leaving.”
He laughs, shaking his head. He inhales, the cherry of his joint lighting in the darkness of the hall around us as he does. Then he exhales a cloud of smoke, and the gesture reminds me so much of Lucifer my chest tightens all over again, and I feel the prick of tears in the back of my eyes.
No.
I swallow, forcing the grief back.
“I don’t think so, Angel.” He takes a step toward me and I take one back. “Someone in this house really, really wants to get their hands on you.”
At this, I laugh. I can’t hear the girl’s moans anymore, but I still say, “Lucifer is a little busy with his hands right about now.”
Mayhem holds the joint by his side, keeping his eyes on me. “That right?” he asks me, smirking.
I lift my chin. “I’m leaving.”
He takes another step. I don’t back up this time.
“Nah,” he says quietly. “You’re staying right here, Angel. I know you’re mad. And that’s just how he likes you.”
Ria.
I lift the knife. “I’m leaving,” I say again, throat tightening.
He takes another step, until we’re nearly toe-to-toe. He reaches a hand out to my face and I nearly tremble at his touch. Not because it’s him. And not because I’m scared.
