Page 64 of That Sik Luv

I watch as he pulls something resembling a folded up paper from the bag clipped over his chest. Grabbing a Bible from a shelf above the deacon’s desk, he flips through it with his black leather gloves before finding the page he was looking for. He slips a paper into it, before closing the Bible and delicately sliding it back on the shelf.

All part of his plan. A planted suicide story, perhaps?But the broken grate separating the booth… The first shot to the opposing wall…

He continues across the room towards the exit, giving me a silent head nod.

Guess that’s my cue to follow.

We sneak out into the alley outside the back door of the church where a Jeep sits, waiting.

It’s Saint’s Jeep.

“W-what are you..?” Words fail me as his palm grasps my upper arm, yanking me roughly around the car to the passenger side door. Throwing me on the seat with a bounce, he takes the time to buckle me into the seat, pulling the belt tightly at the top until it practically cuts into my chest. I see a sliver of his exposed arm, noting the fresh cut near his wrist from the knife I used. Before I can feel too guilty about cutting my oddly attractive, psychotic, murdering stalker, he slams the door, making me flinch.

Peeling out of the alleyway, he hits the road with his hood over his head and both gloved hands gripping the wheel. He drives and drives, using every side road in our tiny town until he makes it out into the country.

The sprawling hills roll past us as I consider putting something on the radio just to drown out the white noise between us. I have a feeling Aero’s not into pop hits or Christian rock. I would like to imagine in another life Aero was a man who sipped his scotch while listening to classical music, maybe even reading novels for his enjoyment. He seems to be the age of a man who appreciates expensive liquor and spending his nights alone in the solace of his home. His defined and cut jaw reeks of hardened maturity, unlike the boys I’m familiar with. Maybe in his late twenties, if I had to guess?

We haven’t passed any homes or farms in a while, and the surrounding woods grow deeper, the road narrowing, and the shadows of the thick forest close in on us.

“Where are we—“

“My place,” he interrupts. “Where it’s safe.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek. I can’t just hide away at his place. I have an entire life outside him that I need to figure out. “I need to...grab some things...”

He turns to me quickly, and I absorb all the elements of his mysterious face that I can see beneath the distortion of paint. “Everything you need is already there.”

How could he know what I need?

“What if Mia or Baret, or my parents need to reach me? How will they contact me?”

All I see is the edge of his nostril flare from the brim of the hoodie and his hands tighten on the wheel, almost to the point of depriving it of life had it been breathing.

Dipping his hand into the bag strapped across his chest, he pulls out my cell phone. Tossing it onto my lap, it lands on my skirt. With a shaky hand, I check it over, noting the battery is gone, as well as the SIM card. My eyes widen as the fear threatens to strangle me.

“You’re searching for your”—he closes his eyes tightly as if the next word pains him before reopening them—“parents in the bush. The illumination of your recent activities had you panicking, seeking some sort of maternal reassurance.”

He made up an entire story for my disappearance.I’ve disappeared.

“Stop the vehicle, Aero,” I say calmly. My eyes are closed and my hand is on the seat belt buckle.

He turns his head in my direction before facing the road that’s now become entirely gravel. With a click, I hear him lock the doors.

My pulse spikes.

He has no right to run my life without me having a say in it. If this deranged man has taught me anything, it’s that I won’t allow another man or institution to dictate who I am or how I chose to live, even if he seems to think he knows best.

“Stop the car,” I demand through a clenched jaw, breathing harshly through my nose, feeling caged. “Stop the fucking car, or tell me what the fuck you’re trying to do here! Stop the car!” I scream, my hands balled into tight fists.

He does nothing to stop. Just continues speeding down the gravel road.

“You need me way more than I need you, Briony. I’ve told you this,” he says with a wolfish grin, as if he gets off on my anger. “Especially now. I mean, let’s think about it,” he continues casually, sitting back deeper into the seat. “Your fingerprints are on the Governor’s safe. You’ve been flaunting your slutty little ass all over the school, all while trying to blackmail sweet, wholesome Saint Westwood with your own creative form of sextortion. You’re the last known person to see the recently murdered deacon, and you’re probably already knocked up with the spawn of Satan himself.”

He turns his head to face me, the most demented smirk I’ve ever seen on his black-smeared face. For some reason, in this light, he looks familiar. He reminds me of someone.Who?

He’s blackmailed me into needing him.The sickest form of obsession. He’s manipulated me into only being able to rely on him and him alone for my safety, protection, and guard of the integrity of my reputation.

Fury builds within my chest as it all comes together, my heart racing as the stuff confines of the stolen Jeep cave in. Fingernails are piercing into my clammy palms as the anger of betrayal burns.

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