Page 88 of Soulless Saint

“Such a bad little mouse.”

I dropped the flogger back in the drawer, satisfied that I was at least an inch bigger than any of the silicone cocks in her arsenal and found a bottle of ibuprofen tucked in the corner. I put it next to the water and leaned down to kiss her temple before I realized what I was doing.

An uncomfortable weight settled in my gut as I pulled my lips away from her skin and forced myself to tear my gaze from her sleeping face.

My phone buzzed again in my pocket, and I growled quietly to myself as I rose, the bed springs creaking.

I lifted the phone to my ear. “I’m coming,” I whisper-snarled down the line, trying not to rouse Becca as I crossed the room to check her windows, making sure they were locked. I shut her door behind me and checked every other window in the apartment before I felt comfortable enough to leave.

I closed the front door behind me and dropped to one knee, pulling a pin and hook from my wallet to engage the lock on the door from the outside.

“What, did you sing her a fucking lullaby?” Kaleb asked as I shoved back out onto the street a block away from The Row, where he and Dad waited for me to get Becca inside.

I gave Kaleb a warning glare.

“She going to be all right?” Dad asked, working his jaw, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Yeah.”

He nodded before jerking his head in the direction of The Row. “I don’t know about you two, but I need a fucking drink. Where’s that shitty little bar you guys always talk about?”

“The Copper Crown?” Kaleb asked.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Shouldn’t we head back to the house? It’s just Pope and Ma there alone.”

“I sent Arch and Zade over while you two buried him. Besides, the bastards already made their point. No doubt they’ve crawled back into whatever hole they’ve been hiding in by now.”

Dad’s back rose with a long, shaky inhale, an attempt to subdue his rage.

“This way.” Kaleb led the way to the Crown, pounding on the door until Sam came down wrapped in a bathrobe that was hanging open over a pair of Simpsons boxers.

His eyes widened when he saw our father with us, and he rushed to pull the robe closed and stand up straighter. No doubt he’d been about to tell us he was all closed up for the night, but now he wouldn’t dare speak a word other than…

“Damien,” he rushed to say. “It’s a pleasure to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” our Dad said, brushing past Sam to head up the stairwell. “Skip the pleasantries and show us where you keep the good scotch.”

“Of course.”

Within minutes we were all seated at the freshly cleaned bar, each of us with three fingers of Sam’s top shelf booze, listening to his go-to Spotify playlist. A mix of classic rock from the seventies and eighties.

Sam excused himself, giving us our privacy as dawn crept over Santa Clarita, pouring amber onto the bar floor.

“What the fuck am I going to tell the others,” Dad said, breaking the silence only after he’d finished half his scotch.

It was a good question, and usually, I’d already have several answers for him. Typically, I’d be enraged that someone took something—in this case, someone—who belonged to us and broke them.

Jimmy Boy was good shit. He didn’t deserve to go down like that. And I was angry, but my thirst for the deaths of our enemies simmered with the calm certainty of knowing my hands would eventually be stained with their blood. The inner chaos that made my rage spike into an uncontrollable swinging ax seemed numbly absent.

I swirled the scotch in my glass, frowning at the golden liquid before taking a swallow.

Neither of my father’s sons seemed to have a good idea. I was blaming my lack of a single functioning brain cell on what’d happened earlier tonight.

My cock thickened in my jeans as I remembered the slippery feel of her against my sharp tongue. One taste and I knew she would be an addiction from which there would be no return. No hope of ever getting clean. Not that I wanted that anymore.

No.

---