Or maybe it’s hell.
I don’t fucking know.
4
HAVOC
“You fucking heard me.”
I hate repeating myself. Jester knows this, and yet here he is, playing dumb. Forcing me to run through this shit three times. As if I can spout off details over the phone. Bad enough we’re half-assing this conversation, some of which is in code. I have to feed him spotty information, hoping he’ll read between the lines and catch what I can’t say.
Once was necessary.
Twice was annoying.
Thrice?
I want to wring his goddamn neck.
The first call I made this morning was to Discord. It went straight to voicemail. Not a surprise. My brother never answers when he’s busy with work. Habit had me dialing Jester next. Now I’m on the phone with my best friend, and he’s being a giant pain in my ass.
He’s lucky I love him, or I’d have murdered him years ago.
“Of course I heard you, dickhead,” Jester drawls. “It was a rhetorical question.” He pauses for a second. Heaves out a theatrical sigh, then says, “I’m trying to wrap my head around this mess. From what I’ve gathered, it sounds like Kerri—ourKerri, who rarely even cracks the speed limit—took a bite of a huge shit sandwich.”
Yeah, sounds about right.
“Let’s say it’s the equivalent of her driving ninety down the highway, past a cop, while flipping him the finger.”
“Jesus,” he breathes. Then a beat of silence, which is shocking because the motherfucker’s jaw is always moving. “No wonder you took her to your place.”
Of course, he means the Death Star and not the house I share with Discord in Mayhem.
The Unholy named each safe house to keep them sorted. The Citadel over in Philadelphia is the most popular since it’s located in the center of the city. It’s also the biggest. And it has the best amenities. But the Death Star? It’s miles to the nearest neighbor and over an hour from Mayhem, and after a while, the isolation makes a person feel like they’re the last person on earth.
But now Kerri is tainting this haven with her presence. Whenever I come back here to escape the world, her lingering essence will besiege me.
Just like that, Kerri Ward turned my sanctuary into a nightmare.
“Is she okay?” There’s worry in Jester’s voice.
My best friend may be Mayhem’s resident clown, but family is one thing he takes seriously.
We all do.
“She’s fine.” It’s not a lie.
Banged up and traumatized, yes. But fine given the circumstances.
“Faith is going to pop an artery,” Jester declares.
No shit.
“That’s your problem.” I don’t envy him. Faith’s temper is ferocious, and it tends to flare when she’s worried. “Just make sure she does nothing stupid. I mean it, Jester.” A flash of movement to my right shifts my attention to the bedroom. Kerri stands in the doorway, framed like a rumpled work of art, and holy Christ. I forgot how beautiful she looks in the sunlight. Not that I’ve seen her much by day. We’ve only been together a handful of times, and usually at night. “Meet me in an hour. And tell Faith that Kerri needs clothes and shoes. Gotta go.” Jester is still talking, but I hang up on him mid-sentence. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” Kerri inches into the living room like nine miles of bad road. And yet, she still looks too damn fuckable for me not to want to drag her right back to the bed and do filthy things to her.
Her hair is gathered in a messy bun on top of her head. The contusion on her forehead is purple. There’s another wound on her left cheek. She’s crazy-pale, and although she has dark shadows beneath her eyes, her gaze is sharp, and when she crosses the room, she walks on steady legs.
