Page 14 of Crossed
My thumb pinches her chin until her mouth parts with a slightpop, and the tip brushes along her bottom lip, anger cracking against my nerves like lightning.
“I have no interest infuckingyou,” I lie, even as the image of her beneath me while her nails split the scarred skin on my back assaults my brain. A shiver crawls up my spine like spiders, and my monster laps them up like meat.
Something dark passes over her face, but it’s fleeting, and then she’s ripping herself from my hold, her eyes widening as they move behind me. I cock my head, watching as she spins around, rushing away and back through the employee hallway.
For a split second, I consider chasing her, my heart thumping quickly at the thought, but I shake myself out of it, realizing this must be His grace, giving me reprieve from temptation.
I glance around to see what spooked her, and I’m wholly unsurprised when Parker is standing close by, a drink in his hand and his eyes scanning the room.
So she knows him.
Seeing Parker reminds me of why I came here in the first place, and it surely wasn’t to fall prey to a dangerous woman who offers nothing but damnation.
It was to learn more about Parker, because he is surely my nemesis here and not my friend, and in order to keep him in check, I need to know what makes him tick.
But even reminding myself of this, recognizing how she affects me, and knowing I should keep far away, I don’t stay to spy on Parker.
Instead, I stalk the shadows, waiting for Esmeralda to leave. I know the moment she does, even though her perfect body is hidden beneath a large hoodie and the long hair spilling from beneath a baseball cap is black instead of red. She glances around as she steps beneath the street lamp, her face flashing in perfect view, and the way it sends fire through me veins has me following her all the way to the bus stop.
And then I hop in my car and continue following her all the way back to Festivalé. I’m not surprised she lives here, not after seeing her visceral reaction to Parker.
It was foolish to speak with her.
I wonder if maybe her sins are too strong and that’s why I feel the pull.
Because there’s a monster inside her, ademoné, and it’s my job to snuff it out.
Chapter5
Cade
IAM A HOLY MAN, BUT MY MONSTER IS FROM HELL.
Sister Agnes tried for the first seven years of my life to temper that part of me, and her teachings stuck long after I ran away. But no matter how I try to extinguish the disease inside myself the same way as I do for others, I’m weak to its call.
If I don’t feed the beast scraps, it’s ravenous by the time it surfaces. So I give in to the cravings. I listen to the whisperings in my head—the quintessential devil on my shoulder— because it allows me to keep a semblance of control.
When people come for confession, I relate to their plight, and over the years, I’ve come to terms with the fact that my relatability to their failings makes me a better listener. A better priest. Iunderstanddarkness because it exists within me.
In my darkest of moments, I wonder if the Lord gave me the world’s sickness so I’d recognize it in others. Living in its shadow while searching for the light. I don’thatethe people I kill, quite the opposite in fact. I sympathize with them. I wish to free them in a way that I’ll never free myself. And then I hope God understands why I must.
Not many men would be strong enough to weather the storm raging within them, and when the disease blankets my mind like a fog, it’s a terrifying place. One where I don’t care for morals. For right and wrong. I only care for my next hit. Adrenaline floods my veins like a drug, scorching everything in its wake, leaving behind nothing except potent satisfaction that warms my insides like a shot of whiskey.
In those moments,I’ma god.
But the crash back down to earth is a stark reminder that it’s only in repentance that I can be temporarily freed. I don’t feel remorse for the murders. I feel guilt that God may not approve.
I first went into seminary because it was easy. The church sheltered me when I was in need, offered me respite from an empty belly and a tortured past. Father Moreau took me under his wing and taught me how to seek forgiveness. How to be a better man. How to let go of the petty crimes and the meaningless sex and find sanctuary in something other than myself.
I wasn’t a religious person growing up. I had been an orphan, and the only adult figure in my life was Sister Agnes. Then I lived on the streets once I escaped her prison the day I turned seven years old.
But despite Sister Agnes being my only experience with religion, the church offered me warmth.
Food.
Purpose.
And I work every day to be what I set out to be.
