Page 27 of Diablo

“I’m hungry.”

His hands clench the steering wheel.

I lean over and let out a loud, squeaky fart that I’ve been holding in for the past few minutes. The sound makes Skylar’s brows meet. God, I hope it’s smelly. I hope he chokes on it.

Not that I get the satisfaction of watching him gag. He immediately rolls the window down and any smell that resided in my asshole drifts outside. A truck passes and honks its horn at us, which makes Skylar just shake his head. He seems more upset with the honk from the truck than the honk from my ass.

My sore, red ass.

I looked at it this morning in the bathroom mirror and it was still smarting. Gingerly, I touch my skin and let out a hiss. This long car ride is one from hell. I ache in the worst and best ways. My cock is ridiculously exhausted from perking up and then being let down consistently. It’s also slightly chafed from how many times I touched it last night.

I need to buy more lube ASAP. Ran out of it last night. It’s basically a state of emergency at this point. Call FEMA, someone. Save me.

“We’ll stop up here and grab food,” Skylar says abruptly, and I shift in my seat, trying to get comfortable. It’s not easy when it hurts to sit.

“I want to stopnow.”

He wants to strangle me, I know. The way he is wringing his hands around the steering wheel tells me that he’s envisioning it as my neck. Good, let him be annoyed.

That’s my sole purpose in life. It’s something I’ve honed and perfected for many, many years. How do you think I’ve gotten my dad to cave to my demands?

Consistency. That’s how.

“And after we stop, I want to call Angel. Idemandit.”

“You could have called him anytime you liked if you hadn’t broken the phone during your tantrum.”

I narrow my eyes at him but don’t respond. I know he’s right. I do. But I don’t want to acknowledge it.

I refuse.

If I do say anything in agreement, I might throw a tantrum again and then who knows what else I’d break. Maybe a window, maybe my arm. Maybe my ass—break it right on his dick.

I shove that thought away and glower at the arid landscape as we make our way into the desert. Boring, ugly place this is. I hate it. I grew up in the mountains, surrounded by lush trees and flowers. Granted, this was all maintained by an extensive landscaping team, but still, it was nice. It’s nothing like this.

The desert is too hot. I don’t do hot.

“I am going to sweat my ass off out here. This safe house better have AC.”

“We’ll see.”

“It better or I will riot. I will call my father directly and demand a better place.”

“Your father is already upset that you found yourself in this position in the first place. Demanding a better place won’t do you any good. You get what you get and you won’t throw a fit.”

I huff and fold my arms across my chest like a petulant child. I’m pissed. Pissed at this whole situation. Pissed that my brother trusted Elio in the first place. He should have never. That man is as slimy as they come, and yet still, his tender, pure heart did it anyways. He trusted Elio when he sent him those salacious pictures of himself.

And then who had to pick up the pieces when that asshole turned and used the pics against him? Me. I did a damn good job of it too, until it all fell apart.

I get why my dad is mad. I do. Just wish he’d be a little more understanding. I was protecting Angel. He needed me and deserves the help. His soft, kind heart deserves the world.

Not me though. No, I know what I am. And I can get along just fine on my own. I don’t need Skylar lugging me around like an unwanted piece of baggage. This wasn’t his job to begin with. Initially he’d been hired to watch out for me while the family was in a bit of upheaval, but now Skylar’s contract has been extended to keep me alive while my father figures out how to dispose of slimy Elio. I’m sure this is the last place on Earth he’d like to be. I’m sure he has better clients, clients he adores that he’d rather be saddled with.

And yet still, I can’t help but nag at him, to make sly comments, rude ones. Pushing his buttons until he’s ready to explode.

“We’re here,” Skylar says, interrupting my long-winded commentary about how slow he drives. I went into great detail about it, and I’m quite proud of myself. Though I should have started it earlier and made sure to hit all of my talking points. Could write an entire dissertation on it. Could have defended it and everything.

“Thank fuck.”

---