Page 13 of Burned By Sin
“Well, that went… even worse than I thought it would.” I roll my eyes, striding toward my Audi as Rhys spits out the last strand of cotton and pops a stick of gum in his mouth like nothing happened. We slide inside, and I throw my head back with a sigh. Rhys casually stretches his arms above his head, as if he isn’t sporting yet another split lip and bruised cheek by Clay’s hand. I toss him a tissue and start the engine.
“What exactly were you expecting?” Rhys asks through the mic clipped to his collar which is thankfully unscathed. “A hug? The guy thinks you sold him out.” His voice is muffled as he wipes his lip clean, but his sarcasm grates me all the same. Spearing him with a side-glance glare, I throw a fist towards his crotch in a downward arc. Rhys easily catches my wrist with a laugh, and then he snags the other too, twisting me at an angle I can’t escape. Instead, I snap my teeth at his neck.
“Only because youlethim think that, you motherfu—” My elbow slams the horn, blaring loud enough to grab the attention of those in reception. A security guard has joined the nurses gathered there, staring out curiously. Drawing a crowd won’t help, so I go limp, groaning in frustration until Rhys releases me. I don’t comment on his easy grin, or how relaxed he was the entire drive here. Considering the lengths Rhys went to in order to evict Clayton from my life, I figured he’d be moreon edge with the prospect of seeing him again. I’d like to think that’s down to the security of our relationship growing stronger, but I don’t dare ask. I’ll ride the wave and see where we end up.
Placing my hands on the wheel, I turn out of the parking lot, following Clay’s general direction. I have his address but heading straight there seemed too personal. I now realise this was a terrible plan B. Rhys’ hand slides onto my thigh as I drive, his thumb stroking back and forth over my leggings. It’s far too comfortable, all things considered, and I won’t admit how much I like it.
I shift my focus away from him and back to driving. Aunt Marg once swore I’d never set foot in another car after the accident, let alone get behind the wheel. But freedom has always been the one thing I craved more than proving people wrong. Nothing feels freer than this. The windows down, wind tangling through my hair, pedal pressed to the floor. For a while, it feels like I could just keep going and never stop, but the road always has to end somewhere and the return drive is always hell. Just like life, I suppose. The further you go, the harder it is to turn back.
Rhys’s fingers creep higher along my thigh, testing boundaries he already knows too well. He’s been doing it since we left Waversea. Twenty-five straight hours of flicking my hair, jabbing my ribs, whispering into my mic just to make me flinch.
Normally, I’d write it off as his usual need to be an attention whore, but he’s been in an unshakably good mood ever since he vanished for half a day while I was packing up my dorm. Turns out, he tracked down the kid who handed me that coffee.
I didn’t ask what he did, mostly because I don’t want to know, but he came back with bruised knuckles and a menacing smile. The kind of smile that saysproblem solved.
Deciding it’s too peaceful in the car, Rhys angles his head downwards and pops a gum bubble right by the microphone, causing me to jolt and swerve the car. I backhand his chest with an irritable groan.
“I swear I’m going to kill you before we make it back to the academy.Then I’m going to get a tattoo of your face on the bottom of my foot so I can stomp on you every day for the rest of my life,” I seethe despite the humor trickling through. Rhys might be an annoying asshole as the best of times, but I would take this over the mopey recluse he was any day. His laughter rings through my mic, forcing a grin through my pursed lips.
“Firstly, watching you kill me might ironically be the highlight of my life, and secondly, a tattoo of my face can be arranged. I know a guy?—"
“Obviously, I was joking. There’s no version of this world where you’d be permanently marked on my body,” I shake my head, keeping my eyes focused on the road after. Rhys leans over, his hand on my thigh squeezing hard.
“You weren’t complaining when my teeth marks were embedded into your ass,” I see him toying with his lip ring in my peripheral, knowing all too well of the vivid image that just slammed into my mind. Rhys’ head between my legs, my body slick from his shower as he drags his tongue from my clit to my ass before biting hard enough to make me see stars. Heat floods my cheeks and my core clenches. Damn him and his ability to turn me on so easily. All too aware of my reaction, Rhys chuckles and pushes himself back into his own seat. “Come on then. If you wouldn’t get any ink for me, what would you get?”
Continuing over the intersection, I tilt my head in thought. Many ideas filter through my mind as I dismiss them as too cliché or generic. I would want something strong, yet soft. Powerful, but with a hint of vulnerability.
“I think I would go for a bat.” I half-shrug, ignoring the noise that bursts from his throat. It was somewhere between a choke and a jeer.
“A bat? Like a baseball bat? That’s pretty hardcore.”
“No, like the animal,” I say defensively. Rhys leans forward, his expression doubtful.
“You’re serious?” He raises a brow and I nod. “Who the hell chooses a bat as their spirit animal?”
“Deaf girls who wish they could hear from over forty feet away, I suppose.” I quickly glance over, just long enough to catch the solemn expression that takes over Rhys’ face. He sits back, out of view, to mull it over for a few moments. I let the radio take over, filling the cab with something other than my vulnerability.
“Bats live in huge colonies,” Rhys says after a pause that could be considered too long to continue this conversation. “You’re not a huge colony kind of girl. More of a select few type.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky to be sitting here beside me then?” I snort. Keeping to the straight road, I spot a sign for a diner up ahead. One that happens to have a beat-up, orange truck parked alongside the dirt patch it calls a parking lot. Pulling over, I peer through the building’s murky windows and spot a grey beanie hat sitting alone in a booth near the back. Unbuckling my belt, I grab my phone and start to exit, until I notice Rhys doing the same.
“Um…maybe you should wait here?” I suggest, my hand curled around the door handle. Rhys’ blue eyes flash with disgust, whether at being asked to hang back or at the loss of a round two, I’m not sure. He insisted on being the first one to speak to Clay last time, and that wasn’t exactly a successful encounter. Finally conceding, Rhys leans back in his seat with a dramatic huff. His boots slam onto the dash as he pulls out his phone and dismisses me with a lazy flick of his hand.
The corner of my mouth quirks despite the knot in my stomach. Reaching over, I ruffle his hair up and say, “Good boy,” before jumping out of the car. I carry the smirk with me all the way to the diner, but it dies the moment I step inside.
The diner is all scuffed linoleum floors and the sharp tang of coffee burned hours ago. The hum of a neon sign outside bleeds through the window, casting the place in tired, red light. Booths stretch along the left wall, leather cracked with age, and a curved wooden bar gleams dully on the right. Behind the bar, a smudged mirror reflects the back of the waitress. Her tight curls shake as she looks up from wiping thebar, a small red beret balanced on top to match the red checkers of her uniform.
Noticing me, she reaches for the notepad and pen in her breast pocket until I hold my hand up, my eyes landing on the one I was looking for. Apparently, the only patron in this whole place. Clay has his back to me as I approach the furthest booth away, the top of his beanie appearing over the leather cushioning.
Before I make myself known, I notice the glass of tap water he’s clutching and a soft sigh escapes me. Whether through habit or stubbornness, it seems Rhys’ money hasn’t impacted Clay’s lifestyle. I’d hoped he would have got something out of the situation we’ve been thrown into.
“Can we talk?” I ask softly, lowering myself into the seat opposite. Clay doesn’t move, as if he expected me to follow. All of the fight has escaped him, misery swirling in his black eyes. His arms tense in his muddy green military jacket and a white t-shirt. Blond stubble shadows his jaw, causing my fingers to itch with the desire to reach across and cup his cheek. It’s been weeks since we last properly saw each other, and he still won’t even look at me.
The waitress appears, her notepad primed in hand, so I slide my phone onto the table with the transmission app live. Ordering two large chocolate shakes and burger combos, a glint of excitement flares in her eyes at the prospect of a paying customer that doesn’t simply sit and stare into his water.
“I don’t accept charity,” Clay murmurs as she moves away, still refusing to look up. His black eyes are trained on the table, his shoulders hunched over his glass. I quirk a brow, leaning my forearms onto the table and finding it’s as sticky as it looks.
“Who said they were for you? I’m starving.” Finally, a kink breaks through his armor, the quiet snort he makes seeming like the smallest of victories. We sit in a stilted quiet, interrupted by the blender behind the bar that most likely needs replacing. Instead of giving me any sort of acknowledgment, his gaze slides to the window. In particular, towhere Rhys appears to have turned up the radio in my car. I can’t hear it, but I presume he’s not excessively head banging and playing an air guitar just for the fun of it. I’m too late in hiding my smirk, and Clay notices.
