Page 58 of Diablo

“Fuck, he’s something, isn’t he?” Casey finally says, his eyes meeting mine.

“Yeah. He is.”

“I thought he was going to break that plate over your head, man.”

Running a hand down my face, I give a small nod. “Yeah, honestly, if he did, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Has it been like this since you started working with him? Shit….”

“It’s gotten progressively worse, but yeah. He’s a little brat.”

Most times he is, but when he’s worn-out and pliable he’s like a big marshmallow. Soft and squishy and so fucking sweet.

“Seems like a shit gig,” Casey adds, and I shake my head.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is. I’m stuck with him until Elio’s found. So buckle up, baby. We have a long-ass ride.”

Casey leans back and pats his stomach. “Seems like it.”

Our eyes clash and we both sigh.

If only I could go in and talk to Diablo, to try and get into that head of his, but I’m pretty sure that he’d try and murder me. And I know Casey is suspicious already, he knows something’s up.

So that night, when it’s finally time to turn in, I don’t make any attempts to reach out. I do check on him, to make sure he’s still in his room, but end up closing the door softly and tiptoeing into my own bedroom, leaving my door open so I can still hear him.

My eyes shift to the ceiling where the hole he made gapes, and I feel my lips curl up at the corners.

He is a little shit, I wasn’t wrong about that. But in many ways he’s mine.

And mine alone.

CHAPTERELEVEN

DIABLO

When I was a child I always had this itch inside of me, this need for chaos and destruction. It happened the first time when I was four years old. I’d found a coffee mug of my father’s and I chucked it through a window. The shattering panes of glass made something potent surge through my small body. It was a thrill watching something break.

My father glowered at me when he saw the damage but never told me to stop, and so I found other ways to latch on to that particular thrill. When I discovered matches at age ten, I lit anything I could on fire. And when my father found the charred remains of his old table, he said nothing, just cocked his head at me and walked away.

He never said a word about it.

I’ve had that same itch throughout my entire life. It has been growing with a vengeance all day, clawing at my insides, making me feel deranged—more than normal, anyhow. Ever since Casey showed up and I’ve had to behave myself, that itch has spread andspreaduntil I find myself sprawled on my bed hyperventilating.

I need todosomething. Need to satiate the urges. If I stay inside a moment longer I will expire. I won’t last.

“I cannot cope,” I mutter to myself, dragging a hand down my face. “I can’t.”

I sit up abruptly, moving to the bedroom door. Quietly, I wrench it open and sneak down the hallway. Skylar is nowhere to be found, but Casey is. He’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a phone in his hand. He looks far too sexy in the evening light than he has any right to be. And yet he doesn’t hold a candle to Skylar.

“Hey,” he says softly when I move past him. “You okay?”

“I’m just taking a breather,” I say as I move toward the front door. Unlike Skylar, he doesn’t stop me. He just lets me walk outside. I can hear him behind me, following me, but he doesn’t say a word.

Fuck, I want to run into the darkness all around me and lose myself.

“It’s fucking pitch black out here,” he says, and I clench my hands around the railing.

“Yeah. You could get lost out there,” I say and then turn my head to glance at Casey who is watching me with curiosity.

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