Something bright, both familiar and foreign, flickers in his glare and with it, a small, tectonic shift— a thrill unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
I don’t wait for his passive-aggressive reprimand or lecturing sermon before heading upstairs. I’m floating. There’s a buzz beneath my skin and a taste of something intoxicating on my tongue.Rebellion.
And I want more of it.
Five
SEBA
The road blursas I fight to keep my eyes open through another yawn. Adjusting my wrist on the steering wheel, I tap my thumb to the beat of the music floating out of the speakers— though it's hard to hear over the yapping coming from the passenger seat.
“I swear, the guy has to be a vampire or something. There's no other explanation. Maybe he’s using some kind of compulsion-hypnosis shit on people,” Cade rattles on, his sneakers propped on the dash as he sips black coffee from a travel mug. He’s one of those maniacs who insists coffee alone is enough for breakfast.
“Who?”
He scoffs, “The sociopath leading your cult, duh.”
Ah, yes. CadehatesPastor Sinclair based on a short first impression. He claims to have a “sixth sense” that tells him which people suck (his words, not mine).
His resumed rant drifts in one ear and out the other. After his tiny admission about the cigarettes two weeks ago, which I still detest, I’m giving him a little grace. As much as I want to know what happened to his mother, I can't risk our tentative truce. And no way in hell would I ask Declan or Mom. Sure, they initiallybonded over losing their spouses, but I doubt either of them wants to reopen those wounds for the sake of my curiosity.
A squirrel darts across the road, shocking me awake faster than a bucket of ice water to the face. I slam on the brakes as it leaps into the grass.
“Whattheballsack!” Cade howls, choking on coffee. His glare scalds the side of my face. “You trying to kill me?”
“There was a squirrel.”
“Seriously?”
“What?” I huff, “I wasn’t gonna hit it.”
His arms sweep wide, the travel mug smacking the center of my chest as he croons, “All hail Saint Sebastian, savior of squirrels and slaughterer of stepbrothers!”
It takes incredible restraint not to eject him from the vehicle.
A minute later, we pull into the parking lot between the chapel and the Parish hall. Cade grimaces at the simple white slatted buildings boasting St. Gemma’s emblem: a set of hands, palms up, dripping blood from the stigmata.
“Not a cult, my ass,” he mutters into his travel mug.
I level a deadpan glare at his profile; wisps of silvery hair, still damp from his five-second shower, flutter in the blasting AC, the morning light catching on the glittering diamond stud perched delicately on his nose. It’s so…feminine. Just like the cologne he uses, which currently seeps into the cloth bucket seats. Everywhere he goes, that musky-sweet scent lingers long after he’s gone, taunting me as I try hopelessly to pinpoint the notes until I question why I even care.
It’s confusing.He’sconfusing.
“They’re not gonna try converting me, right?”
Of course, in typical Cade fashion, he conveniently waited untilafterwe signed up as bible camp counselors for our scholarship-required community service to inform me he’s an atheist.
I shrug. “Just don’t say anything.”
“What if they know?”
“How will they know?”
He rolls his eyes. “What if I catch on fire or something?”
My brow arches. “I thought you didn’t believe in all this holy shit.”
“I don’t.”
