Page 2 of There Are No Saints

“Hello, Shaw,” I reply.

He uses my given name to annoy me.

I use his surname for the same reason.

He thinks because he knows certain things about me, that there’s an intimacy between us.

There is no intimacy. The emotion is all from one side.

“How’s your weekend going?” he asks, barely able to contain his grin.

He desperately wants me to acknowledge what he’s done. I prefer to deny him that pleasure. But it’s probably better to get this over with so he’ll fuck off and leave me alone.

“Uneventful,” I reply. “I don’t think you can say the same.”

Now he allows himself to grin, showing those perfect capped teeth, those boyish dimples, the gleam in those warm brown eyes that make women go weak with the impulse to smile back at him, to run their fingers through his sun-streaked hair.

“I love a college co-ed,” he says, his voice low and guttural.

He wets his lips, his features dissolving into lust at the memory of what he did.

I take a slow breath to dispel my distaste.

Alastor’s need disgusts me.

He’s such a cliché of himself. College co-eds, for fuck’s sake.

“You and Bundy,” I murmur, my lips barely moving.

Shaw’s eyes narrow.

“Oh, you’re above that, are you?” he sneers. “You don’t feel a certain urge when you see something like that?”

He jerks his head toward a stunning blonde bent over to examine the details of a floor-level installation, her tight red dress clinging to the curves of her ass.

“Or what about that?” Shaw says, inclining his head in the direction of a slim Asian girl, whose nipples are clearly visible through the gauzy material of her top.

I don’t kill women, typically.

This is not out of any petty moral constraint.

It’s just too fucking easy.

I could overpower either of those women like they were small children. Where’s the challenge? The sense of accomplishment?

“I’m not a hedonist,” I say to Alastor, coldly.

His face darkens and he opens his mouth to retort, but at that moment, the girl comes striding back into the gallery, chin upraised, dark hair streaming behind her.

I had thought she was going to the bathroom to attempt the impossible task of washing those stains out of her dress.

Quite the opposite: she’s tie-dyed the entire thing.

She’s used merlot to make a textile of deep burgundy, magenta, and mulberry in delicate watercolor layers. I’m staring at the dress because it surprises me—not only in the concept but in the execution. It’s really quite beautiful. Nothing I would have expected to emerge from a bathroom after eight minutes’ work.

Alastor follows my gaze. He sees my interest while completely missing the reason behind it.

“Her?” he says softly. “You surprise me, Cole. I’ve never seen you take a stroll in the gutter before.”

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