Page 9 of Lust

Quinn throws her hands up into the air. “Remy saw him do it!”

I sigh “Oh sweet child. Remy doesn’t want anyone else in your pants. He’d say anything if it got you away from his love rival.”

“Now you do get love rivals on Love Island,” Juliette comments. Pink syrup runs down her chin, making her appear like an anemic vampire.

Ignoring her, I continue. “You should have seen the look on Remy’s face when you emerged from the pool with Dade in the second trial. He was green. A little like the color you’re turning now.”

Quinn looks like she’s about to choke. “But other people saw him too!”

I sit back in my seat and put my fork down on the plate. “So Anthura says and since when does she tell the truth? She’s a demon and a prize bitch. Plus, she can’t stand you or what you represent. All her pitiful life, she’s been safe in the knowledge that the people she surrounds herself with are bad people. Maybe not the worst sinners, but no saints either. Then you come along. You, who was meant to go to heaven? You disrupt everything she believes in.

“Oh my god!” The color drains from Quinn’s face as she lowers her head into her hands.

Juliette helps herself to yet another pancake from the stack and liberally pours more of the sickly sweet syrup onto it. “Who cares anyway? I get that you aren’t dating either of them any more, but are you sleeping with them? You’ve still not answered the most important question.”

Quinn shakes her head on the table. Her voice is so low, I can barely hear her mumble. “Neither of them but…”

Juliette’s eyes turn to mine as she mouths the word ‘but.’

“But what, honey?” I try to sound sympathetic.

“But Dade gave me the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my life and I repaid him by calling him a murderer.”

My teeth come together and my mouth widens in an eek, mirroring the expression on Juliette’s face. When Quinn looks up, I rearrange my mouth into what I hope is a friendly smile.

“I’d say it’s more customary to repay orgasms with orgasms, Babe,” Juliette says soothingly, putting her hand on Quinn’s back, “but as you said, some people have a murder kink. Maybe he likes being called that?”

I don’t think I can roll my eyes far enough back in my head.

“What?” Juliette mouths at me and shrugs.

I shake my head before holding my hand out to Quinn. She doesn’t take it. “You know. The guy really liked you. Maybe you can find a way through this. Talk to him tomorrow before we start the first trial.”

She looks distraught as she lifts her head from the table. “The first trial where we are supposed to be fucking each other like bunnies, you mean?” She stands up and grabs her bag before marching away.

“Murder kink?” I say as Juliette grabs the uneaten sausage from Quinn’s plate and takes a bite out of it.

Juliette lifts her eyebrows. “I don’t know. He’s a weirdo. He might be into stuff like that. Who cares anyway? She only has to fuck the guy… probably. She doesn’t have to speak to him at all if she doesn’t want.”

I sit back in my seat. “Just remember that when you find yourself staring at Orlin’s wrinkly ballsack and maggot peen tomorrow.”

Juliette’s face drops and she puts the sausage back on the plate. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her put food anywhere but her mouth.

She crosses her arms and glares at me. “You can really go off some people, you know that?”

I grin back at her, the thoughts of Felix Barclay now distant in the back of my mind.

THE POOL IN PURGATORY

QUINN

What if he didn’t do it? The question has been rolling around in my mind since the second Remy knocked on my door on the night of the second trial in Purgatory, but I’ve not dared to really think about it. I feel like I’ve been pulled in every direction. If he didn’t murder Michael and Lucia and I left him for Remy… who, by Rowena’s accounts, was probably lying…

I let out a long sigh as I try to think of ways I can get ready for the first round. I can’t, for the life of me, imagine what a trial in Lust will look like. I’m hoping it’s something similar to the labyrinths of purgatory but with fewer hellhounds, pain and death, but I get the feeling that Noémi isn’t a hell hound type and the only pain she knows how to inflict is of the BDSM variety. Just as my brain is twisting itself into scenarios I really don’t want to ponder, someone knocks on the door.

I open the door and find Remy behind it, a bunch of red roses in his hand and a contrite expression on his face.

It’s almost laughable. A few months ago I’d have thought I’d died and gone to heaven if a guy as good looking as Remy showed up at my door with flowers for me, but now it takes a lot not to slam the door in his deceitful face. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say, and some flowers aren’t going to make me change my mind.”

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