“And why the hell not?” Cortland bites out, and he sounds angry. “Is it because you liked it too much? Are you saying he’s good or something? I swear I’ll break his fucking neck, Remi?—”
“I haven’t fucked him,” I hurry up with. “And I definitely don’t think he’s obsessed with me, but?—”
“Oh no, he is.” Remi still seems to be ignoring Cortland which makes me want to laugh despite all of this shit. “Why wouldn’t he be? You’re like an angel to his devil and?—”
“Sloane, listen to me. Heisa devil.” Those are Cortland’s words, and he sounds deadly serious.
I take a breath. “Why did you guys have to leave so soon?”
Remi is quiet, and Cortland doesn’t say anything about spontaneity anymore.Was that a lie for my sake?Then she says, “Storm told us it’d be better if we were gone a few days earlier.”
“And he didn’t say why?” I press. “Cortland just listened to him without running his mouth?”
Remi laughs, but it lacks real humor. “He said it was something to do with work. It was going bad, and since we have Lyle, we should go.”
There’s quiet between us.
I don’t know what to say.
I think of the coffin nails. The suspicion Storm had when he asked me aboutriddle.
“Why?” Remi presses. “What did he say to you?” She’s defensive over me, I can hear it in her voice.
“Stay away from him, Sloane,” Cortland says, raising his voice so I can hear him. “He might be my best friend, but he’s not as nice as he pretends to be with you.”
“Sloane,” Remi says quietly. “What’s going on?”
I swallow hard. “Do you think I should stay away from him?” I ask her. Not Cortland. And I don’t know if I’m asking for permission, or for advice.
After a moment, Remi just says, “He’s dark, Sloane. Darker than you realize.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
LYDIA
Dark Chapel is crowded. Saturday night usually does that; brings in all the locals in Stone Fell who want a little extra adrenaline with their drinks.
I stand in the shadows of the converted church, Fox at my back as we hide away within the sanctuary entrance. Some of the red cushioned pews are still here; we only took out the ones in the middle, for the ring. The stained glass is all original, the spiraling arches with paintings etched along the walls, those are too. The pulpit we left but the cross is inverted.
The people in this town didn’t like that. Not at first. Not until I told them about Saint Peter.It’s a Christian symbol.I ordered our team to spread the word.It’s humility.
I stare at the large wooden cross now, the baptistry empty behind it, the podium manned by the ref who watches the fight with bleary eyes, happening several red carpeted steps down from him. Our refs don’t interfere. There are no tapouts here. Every fight ends with motionlessness.
He’s wearing a black shirt with a red, inverted cross on it, taking up most of the fabric. The standard uniform for employees. The women serving drinks, weaving in and out ofthe pews and the standing crowd, they wear the same, but they pair it with black or red miniskirts. Carmela—one of my few friends in this town—is the only one not in the same uniform. She supervises the girls from her spot just a few feet in front of me, right inside the entrance. She’s dressed much like I am, in black slacks and a black halter top. It’s unintentional tonight, but at nineteen, she sees me as a role model and our wardrobe has meshed. With her thick, short dark hair and big brown eyes, her ability to speak two languages flawlessly, and the way she knows the people who hold this town together that everyone else overlooks, she’ll take over Dark if she wants.
I know I won’t run it forever. It was a bone Lynx threw me; something to keep me from being bored. I grew up kissing violence; this was like that, but with power.
Still, it’s not quite the familiarity my uncle thought it might be.
Even now, scanning the crowd of leering faces, fists clenched around beer and noses dipping into fingers for blow, the voices and chaos and sweat and the blood on the white floor of the ring, it’s nauseating.
I don’t trust anyone in this building except Fox at my back.
Not even Carmela. I trust her to do her job and do it well but I don’t believe anyone in here wouldn’t slit my throat if the payoff was good enough.
I don’t blame them.
