Page 65 of There Are No Saints

“As much as I’d like to keep observing in secret, that awful conscience of mine just won’t let me keep quiet.”

It’s Simon Grundy. Cole introduced me to him earlier in the evening. He’s a buyer for the Jolie and Voss—a sardonic, bearded man of about forty-eight, smelling faintly of cigars.

He grins at me now, kneeling before my teacher in precisely the position he would have expected to find me if he ever came to visit our studio.

My face burns.

I want to tell him I’ve never done this before, never evenconsidereddoing it. I’ve never sucked cock for a favor. The idea was abhorrent to me.

But in this case . . . the gratitude was great. As was my impulse to suck Cole’s cock.

“No need for embarrassment,” Cole says. His dark eyes flit between me and Simon. “Mara was just about to express her thanks for everything I’ve done for her. And since she’s so extremely . . . grateful . . . I’m sure she’d be happy to include you.”

Simon takes a step closer, trying to conceal the emotions flushing into his face. Excitement. Lust. And glee . . . he can’t believe his luck in this moment. The fortuitous hand fate is dealing him.

“Here she is, already on her knees,” Cole says, in that low, silky voice of his. “I’m sure she’d be happy to suck your cock as an appetizer to mine. She’s already proven herself an extremely capable student . . .”

The implication is clear.

I’m on a rocket right now, flying to a certain destination. If I want to ride it out, all the way there, I won’t do anything to light the fuse. I won’t risk blowing it all early.

This is the deal with the devil.

He owns me.

He controls me.

Slowly, I rise to my feet.

I ignore Simon like he’s not even there.

Instead, looking right in Cole’s eyes, I say, “I wanted you. Genuinely. Because I admire you. And you attract me, I won’t deny it. I wanted to fuck you. But you don’t own me, Cole. And you never will.”

For a moment he stands there, pale and still. Then a dark, swirling fury fills his features, like a vessel filling with ink. His eyes are glittering chips of black in a sea of flat white.

I don’t wait for his response.

I simply turn and stalk out of the offices.

I blaze through the crowd of partygoers like a comet in the sky.

As I surge through them, a satellite intercepts my path.

It’s Logan, shy and out of place in his ripped jeans and t-shirt, showing the thick ink running up and down his arms. He steps in front of me, stammering something about my painting.

I seize him by the collar, dragging him into my orbit.

“You’re coming with me.”

* * *

19

Cole

Mara storms out of the room.

Simon turns, grinning toothily.

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