The taunting look in his eyes stays, his hands still caging the back of my neck and my waist as he waits for me to decide what I'll do next. Furious tears threaten to fill my eyes, a burning in the back of my throat. Shame at leaning into exactly what I told myself I wouldn't do washes away any fight I had left, and I release my grip on his shirt, twisting out of his hold and stomping towards where Bel and her boys are watching with amixture of fear, surprise, and anticipation written across their drunken faces.
I clear my throat, pushing away the way it wants to shake as I speak, "We're fucking leaving."
During the drive to their home, the whole night after, and on my flight home, rage and shame and sorrow fight for dominance inside me.
Eamon ruined my last night with my friend for who knows how long.
But I'm just as responsible, aren't I? I could have pushed him away immediately instead of giving in to him. What does it say about me that I'll let such an arrogant ass kiss me, especially likethat?
And what even wasthat? I've never been kissed like that. Like the other person was wholly out of their mind with the need to taste me, feel me, own me.A hell of a kissI had told Bel, but there were no words for it, not really.
It doesn't matter. If there's a merciful god anywhere up there, I won't have to see that condescending fuck's face ever again.
January
Eamon
For two fucking weeks, I've been unable to do much other than think about my trip to Vegas. Especially the kiss. Can't even really be considered a kiss. It was a violent collision of lips and teeth. A battle of wills, us against our baser instincts.
And we lost.
If someone was stupid enough to ask me why I did it, I wouldn't have an answer for them. All I remember is watching countless people watch her move all night. No one had been suicidal enough to touch her, but as the drunken slurs of numbers counting down began, their self-preservation was giving way to impulse.
My choices had been simple, even if I didn't realize it then. I could stop their advances, or I could wait for them to touch Isla's glistening, soft skin and kill them for it afterward. I'm under no illusions that she wanted me to kiss her, either, but her pliancy when I did was drugging.
I'm watching security cameras as they follow movement in a building that's supposed to be empty on the outskirts of Seattle.Broken windows are the only glimpse I have into the not-so-abandoned warehouse as crates are transported into it.
If anything good came out of Bel's kidnapping, it's this: Knowing where they have a compound on the West Coast let me and my team watch for movement. Vehicles have been transporting weaponry and new initiates back and forth between Seattle and California, giving mesomethingto work with, at least.
Working from the shadows while tracking an enemy thatalsoworks in secret is a long, grueling pain in my ass. Every bit of information helps, but they rarely show themselves, preferring to keep their movements hidden from the outside world. If what they're doing came out, no amount of proof would be enough to keep them from being labeled extremists.
Normal humans will refuse to accept what's right in front of them, even if you hand them the truth on a silver platter. It's their curse and my blessing, letting me exist and fight against the real evil among them. It forces The Sanctum to live and die in silence, doing little more than throwing the man Bel killed into a gutter and paying police to call it a mugging.
I ignore the weight in my stomach that occurs when thinking about his death.It was completely avoidable, not by Bel, of course, but by the Sanctus Sculitis themselves.Higher-ups have gotten desperate for members over the last few decades. As the need for religion dwindles, so does the number of willing bodies.
The only way they can continue to gain soldiers is through indoctrination. Another reason Isla has to be kept from them. If they find her and get their hands on her, not only will her blood be used to keep their weaponry functional, but she'll be made to mother the next generation, be it by coercion or force. I may not like the girl, but I'll be damned if I let them do that to someone when I can stop it.
A notification draws my attention from the large screen in front of me to the smaller one on the desk.
Isla got a text.
I didn'tneedto bug her phone, but it's made keeping tabs on her easier. And I'm man enough to admit to myself that it was fun doing so.
Isla's fucking wasted, passed out draped across her bed in Fritz's penthouse, softly snoring.
Her phone has to be here somewhere.
Gently, I look in all the usual places someone might leave it: the table, near the charging cord, under the table, even peeking into the bathroom. Nothing, which means that, unfortunately, Isla has it on her person.
Fuuuuuck.
With painstakingly gentle touches, I lift her arm, hoping not to disturb her. There's no way I could talk myself out of this one, and she's already fuming mad at me over the whole coat thing. I don't even know if she opened the other gift.
But I'm not wrong. None of this group will do what's necessary to keep Isla safe, and it's only a matter of time until I have to step in.
Regardless, right now, I need to focus on her phone and not her inevitable cross-country relocation. Goosebumps break out across her skin, her body sensing my nearness even when her brain couldn't possibly. The stench of tequila coats her flesh, disguising the delicious aroma beneath.
God fucking damn it, where is it?
