Page 86 of The Cult

A rustling in the bushes nearby caught our attention. I stood, pulled Abel up, and positioned myself in front of him, ready to strike.

“It’s just an opossum,” Abel said from behind me, pointing at the ball of fur scurrying away. His breath tickled the back of my ear, the warmth traveling from my neck down to my cock. “Come on.” He kneeled and dipped his shirt into the water, the fabric soaking up the liquid. He looked up at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ll be quick.” he promised.

Clear your mind and focus. Aroused as I was, I nodded, allowing myself to relax. Abel’s touch was gentle as he reached for my hand, his fingers tracing over the dried blood and grime that had accumulated on my knuckles. Comfort spread through me at his tenderness. I swallowed hard, pushing down the fluttering in my chest. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on how his touch affected me.

He tilted my chin up, his eyes meeting mine. I held my breath as he wiped away the splatter from my face. “Almost done,” he whispered.

I sat still and let Abel dab the wet cloth on my face, washing away the dirt and blood that marred my skin. His attention shifted to my neck then back to my hand, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m sorry you had to kill him,” he murmured. Sorrow and anger weighed down his words.

Our closeness began to feel suffocating, almost oppressive. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate his gestures and concerns. I just wasn’t accustomed to them. I was becoming used to Abel being around, and that was a slippery slope—a potentially deadly situation.

“That’s enough,” I said and stood. My voice came out sharper than I intended. Years had passed since the last time I felt this all-consuming terror of wanting another person. Without a second thought, I pulled my shirt off and handed it to him. As much as I wanted to stare at his impeccable chest all night long, he must be getting cold again. “Wear this so you don’t freeze.”

Abel extended his hand, and I pulled him off the ground. “Thanks,” he said. “Wait.” He grabbed my arm, his concern palpable in the air between us. “Are you okay?”

I blinked, taken aback by his question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His eyes searched mine, as if trying to read the thoughts swirling in my mind. “You know, with what happened,” he clarified. “I mean, we just killed a man.”

“No, we didn’t kill him. I did,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about anything.” I hadn’t given much thought to what happened, because killing Napoleon was a piece of cake compared to what I’d done in the past. Years of killing people caused callouses to form around my conscience. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Still shocked.” Abel was subtle, but he sniffed my shirt before putting it on. “You gotta feel something ending someone’s life like that.”

“Nope,” I replied.

“Anything?”

I shook my head.

“Not even a little?” His brows knitted together, his lips parting slightly when his mouth formed soundless syllables. It was clear that my reaction had caught him off guard, and I couldn’t blame him. It was not every day someone came face-to-face with a cold killer like me. Especially Abel, who’d been a prisoner in these walls.

My mind flooded with doubts and insecurities. Could I trust him? Would he understand, or would he see me as the monster I’d become? As I watched Abel, his concern etched into every line of his handsome face, a battle raged within me. Part of me wanted to confide in him, to unburden myself of the truth that weighed on my conscience. But another part recoiled at the thought, dreading his judgment and fearing the way his perception of me might shift irreparably.

Abel’s gaze never wavered. I wondered if he could sense the turmoil churning in my head, the struggle to keep my darkest secrets hidden. I didn’t have a problem burning demons lurking around the earth’s surface. But after finding out The Firm’s real identity, I knew we’d taken innocent lives, which created orphans like me. I kept the remorse at bay because I didn’t know how to handle the guilt. Could I deal with it? The uncertainty gnawed at me, but for now, I had to focus on keeping the turmoil locked away, hidden from sight, lest I be consumed entirely. The longer I hesitated, the more I hated myself for it.

“There’s something you need to know about me,” I began. Why did I care so much about what he thought of me? Why did his opinion matter so damn much? “But you might not like what you hear, and you’ll probably hate me afterward.”

His expression softened before he reached out to touch my arm. “It’s okay,” he reassured me. “Whatever it is, you can tell me anything.”

Confessing proved to be much tougher than I had anticipated, especially considering this was the first time I’d ever told a soul about my job, my past. “What I did to that man …” I pointed deep into the woods where we’d dumped Napoleon’s body. “That was nothing compared to what I’ve done before; compared to what I’m capable of.”

“What do you mean?” he asked with a puzzled look.

“I’m an assassin,” I blurted. There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable.

“What?” His eyes widened, mouth agape.

“I kill for a living, Abel.”

***

My stomach growled as the waitress set our order of cheeseburgers and golden fries in front of us. Her eyes assessed me, probably judging, but I didn’t give a shit. I ignored her presence and focused on the delicious smell of charred meat wafting from my steaming dinner, the first proper meal I’d had in weeks. I was out of place among the fancy crowd of late-night regulars that visited this place after partying at the nightclubs scattered within a ten-block radius.

The waitress stepped back, her nose wrinkling. She tucked her long brown hair behind her ears, and I didn’t miss the disgust in her glare when she studied my shirt that was once white but was now a dingy shade of brown after weeks of being unwashed.

I ran my fingers over the rough fabric, feeling the grit of dirt beneath my fingers. It’d been far too long since I’d had the luxury of a hot shower, but it was the least of my concerns since I’d been living on the street. A few years had passed since the fire that took my family reclaimed my freedom from the thumbs that controlled me, and I’d never once looked back. The unforgiving life on the streets was a million times better than the hell they put me through. They’re gone. They can never hurt me again. I brushed my leg on my backpack—my only possession—ensuring I knew exactly where it was in case I needed to make a dash out of here when this evening went south. Because it always went south.

“Anythin’ else I can getcha?” the waitress asked, her attention shifting to the burly man sitting across from me.

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