Page 113 of Soulless Saint

Aodhán: Meet me for coffee?

Becca: It’s almost eleven at night

Aodhán: Since when has that stopped you?

Come on.

Becca: Can’t tonight

You can, mo mhuirnín.

Aodhán: I can come pick you up

Come on, Becca…

I waited for what felt like a lifetime for her to reply before realizing I wasn’t going to get one, clutching my phone hard enough to split the skin on my knuckles even further. Droplets of brightest crimson pelted the carpet as I paced the congested living room, considering making a choice there would be no return from.

But what other option did I have?

If I did nothing, she would burn with the others.

No one out at the canyon would be able to get a cell signal to warn them—that was part of what made it all work—but I could warn them. Warn her.

I could already feel the crack and shred of Da’s whip on my skin. Could taste the blood in my mouth. Feel the echo of the pain I would be forced to endure in all the scars, healed and still healing across my torso like the web of a twisted spider.

She didn’t deserve to burn.

Fuck that.

Da didn’t need to know it was me. He wouldn’t know. Not if I did it right.

My runners chirped against the linoleum stairs as I threw myself down them, foregoing the wait for an elevator. There was no time. Like Becca said, it was almost eleven.

I sprinted down the darkened streets, past parked cars and humming streetlights and an empty community pool. The building on Hightower lay ahead, a long flat building, white, with a brown roof that would soon be painted in shades of glowing orange and red.

Diving into the thorny bushes on the side of the road to avoid being seen, I lowered to a crouch and made my way silently to the rear of the Saint safehouse. A flashlight beam stole over the yellowed grass of the back lawn, and I waited for the patrol to pass before darting across.

What the fuck am I doing?

I cursed under my breath, mentally kicking myself as I twisted the loose screw in the rusted old newspaper carrier affixed to the brick wall, and popped off the front panel.

A red light glowed like a pulse in the dark cavity of the box, and I reached in—around the signal beacon Da could trigger any moment—to the bulky length of wires behind it. I only had minutes before the Saint patrol came back around and only one wire would give me the result I wanted.

I fumbled my phone in the dark, my back aching in anticipation of Da’s retribution. Sweat beaded at my brow as I worked my phone into the rusty box and clicked on the screen to see.

Aodhán, don’t, Mum’s voice whispered in my mind, trying to save me from myself. Like she had so many times before.

My fingers shook as I pulled apart the wiring, having to hold my phone between my teeth to keep the light where I needed it as I worked.

The shuffle of feet coming around the building urged me to work faster as I plucked the connector free from the cord and went for the blade fixed to the belt at my waist.

“Hey!” A voice roughly called and the distinct sound of a weapon slipping from a rigid leather holster had me moving faster than I could think. I dropped to the ground, the heel of my boot twisting in the dry lawn as I locked my eyes on the threat and loosed the blade between my fingers.

It whistled through the air for a fraction of a second before embedding in the neck of the Saint. His flashlight dropped to the grass, its light squarely on me as I darted forward, kicking it to the bushes as the Saint fell.

Blood erupted from his mouth in a choked gurgle as all the color drained from his face.

“Shhh,” I hissed, lowering him down easily, silently, before tugging my blade free of his thick neck, letting his blood feed the starving grass.

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