Chapter Sixteen
Sometimes I have trouble processing events as they happen. It's not like I'm deluding myself or anyone into thinking certain things never occurred, but I have a habit of pushing it aside to think about it later.
School is normally my safe place, the one place where I feel at peace. Today, class feels like it's taking a long time to get through. It probably has something to do with the fact I'm meeting Wade.
I'm anxious to see him again. He's my anchor. He's the person who makes me want to wake up in the morning. I've been holding onto the idea of running away all this time, but he makes the present situation better.
I think I'm skipping a little when I walk into the shooting range. Wade hasn't gotten here yet, so I take my place at the stall at the other side of the room and wait for him. I load a new magazine into my pistol, and after I set it back down again, I feel hands slide around my waist. A jaw scrapes against my shoulder where my shirt has slipped down.
"You better be my boyfriend, because if you aren't, I'll make you my next target," I warn.
Wade laughs. "Boyfriend?"
"Isn't that what you are?" I ask.
"I guess so," he says.
I shift in his embrace, facing him. One of his hands slides up my back, bracing my neck as he leans in for a kiss. His lip is rough from the scab where it split, but it doesn't ruin the mood. I like kissing him; I like the way his mouth moves and his tongue dances. He makes me breathless, and as he presses me against the wooden divider separating my stall from another, I realize if we don't stop now, I might need to take him out to my car.
He separates from me reluctantly, stealing one more peck before he puts a decent amount of space between us. I take in his battered face, the purple bruises on his skin, and my stomach clenches as the memory of him being beaten ruthlessly comes back to me.
Realizing what I'm doing, his palm comes over me, covering my eyes.
"I'm not gonna let you look if it's gonna make you sad," he says softly.
"Wade—" I protest softly.
"I don't want your pity," he tells me.
"Too late," I reply. "Please let me see you."
Slowly, he takes his fingers away.
I smooth my thumb along his cheekbone. He's so handsome, even though he's rough around the edges and scary as hell to people who don't know him well. I definitely could drown in the amber of his eyes if I looked into them too long. Wade might be an imposing man with a few tattoos holding a deadly story, but he's more than just one thing. He might have a dark side, but he's also so kind to me, so careful with me.
And he's mine. For better or worse, he's mine.
"What are you thinking?" he wonders.
"I'm thinking that I don't know if I could ever feel this way about anyone else," I confess.
His face grows pensive.
"What are you thinking?" I ask.
"I'm thinking I could care less about this place," he says. "I'm thinking we should hang out at my apartment."
"Thomas wants me back home around five." I unlock my phone to check the time. "We have two hours."
"I'll take it."
Not a single bullet is fired before we leave. He practically drags me by the hand, his pace much faster than mine. I barely keep up, almost jogging after him. He opens my door for me, and I climb in carefully to avoid pulling at my butterfly stitches.
Back in his truck, I make note of the new seat cover in the front.
"Bloodstain?" I guess.
"Yeah," he admits. "I hope it's not obvious."
"I don't think anyone will notice."
His fingertips brush the fabric of my shirt. "How's your healing coming?"
I was in a lot more pain this morning, just some standard soreness from changing the bandage and cleaning it again. It could've been much worse, and I'm lucky that I only got grazed. I'm sure Wade's fight hurt a hell of a lot more than this, so I'm trying to downplay it.
"Oh, it's not bad. I barely notice it," I say unconvincingly.
He scoffs. "Mia, don't bother lying to me."
I tried. "It's gotten better. I was worse off before. I'm sure I'll be fine in a week."
"Good," he murmurs. "I wish you'd gotten better care than my shit job, but your brother can't find out you got hurt. My beating would've been a hell of a lot worse if he knew."
"You didn't deserve that," I say.
One of the muscles in his jaw winds tight. He faces the other way, turning the key in the ignition so we can get out of the parking lot. "I don't think Thomas has any regard for what people do and do not deserve. He's just the bastard who gives out punishment whenever and however he feels like it."
Mom and Dad were never so unforgiving when they were in charge. At least, I think so. I was never intimately acquainted with Purgatory back then, not like I am now. One move out of line is grounds for wrath. My brother truly is the devil. The same brother who used to take care of me and share his snacks and tuck me in is now off the deep end.
I study Wade's profile, marveling about how he manages to hide any pain. I want to deflect, so I find something else to say.
"Does it hurt?" I ask, meaning his injuries.
He nods. "Yeah. Nothing a little tequila can't fix."
I know he's being truthful, but a pang of regret hits my chest. He took several hits because of me, for me. I don't understand how he can be so nonchalant. It's a miracle.
He tries to change the subject. "Are you hungry?"
My stomach grumbles before I can answer.
"That must be a yes," he says. "When was the last time you ate?"
I didn't have lunch, and I never eat breakfast. I probably had some leftovers for dinner last night, but I don't remember.
"Maybe yesterday?" I offer.
"Christ, Mia. You need to eat. Want me to order a pizza?"
He poses the last bit as a question, but it's really not one. He's going to feed me, whether I want him to spend money on me or not.
"Sure thing," I say.
The corner of his mouth lifts. "That was easier than I expected."
"I don't have the energy to fight. I was up late last night."
"Why?" he prompts.
"Homework," I answer. And worrying about you.
"I was such a slacker in school," he says. "And then there's you, dedicating yourself to your studies."
"My education is my ticket out," I point out.
"It is," he agrees. "I wish that was how I'd seen it at the time."
I try to sound hopeful. "At least we get to start over."
"That's good news."
He pulls into his usual parking spot in front of his building and leads me up the stairs. My side aches from the climb, but I don't let on.
Even in this crowded cluster of tenements, I wonder if Wade ever gets lonely. Purgatory, despite being packed with plenty of demons and people to keep someone company, is isolating.
He pushes the door open and lets me step inside first. I kick my sneakers off and pad over to the couch, sitting with my legs tucked beside me.
Wade draws his phone out of his pocket, scanning the screen until he finds the number he's looking for. He calls in the order and I pull at a loose thread on the hem of my t-shirt. I have a habit of fidgeting when I'm bored, or even when I just don't know what else to do. I think the latter applies better here.
"It should be here in an hour," he reports after he hangs up. "What do you want to do?"
I reach for him and tug him down to the sofa in response. He settles in, facing away from the armrest. He pulls me between his knees, my back to his chest. I feel the rise and fall of his breath, constant and relaxed.
"How was school?" he asks softly.
It almost feels like we're beyond small talk, considering we've skipped to darker subjects since day one. Despite that, I say, "It was school, nothing special."
"Do you like your classes?"
"They're okay," I reply indifferently.
"Dammit, Mia," he says, a little amused. "I'm not very good at this. You're gonna have to help me out if you want to talk about anything."
"Do you want to talk about high school?"
"Well, no, but I like listening to your voice," he tells me. I feel him sweep my hair to the side so he can trace my neck with his lips.
"I can... I can tell you a story." I'm not sure I'll be able to say much if he keeps doing what he's doing, but I can try.
"I'm listening."
I clear my throat and begin. "Once upon a time—"
"Really, Mia? Once upon a time?"
"Be quiet, I'm telling a story." I pause, restarting. "Once upon a time, when I was thirteen I had my first kiss on the playground with this guy—"
He cuts in. "I'm not sure I want you to finish this story."
"Why? Are you jealous?"
"Yes."
"Wade, all he did was lick my lips. It was disgusting."
"I wanted to be the first person to kiss you."
I giggle. "Too bad, you're the fifth."
"Fifth?" he sputters. "Damn, Mia, you must've been wild in middle school."
"I was. Honestly, I haven't kissed anyone in a long time. Thomas forbade me from being with anyone."
I feel Wade's frustration before I hear it. "I'd like to put a bullet in him. It's not his place to control you."
"He takes whatever he can get. If he can influence it, he'll go after the chance."
He speaks against my skin. "At least you have me."
"At least I have you," I echo.
"And the best part," he continues. "Is you can kiss me anytime you want. I think we're pretty good at keeping secrets."
I wiggle until I'm face to face with him. "Can I kiss you now?"
"You don't even have to ask," he replies.
Our lips meet and the world fades away. Maybe this is my way of making up for lost time because I don't know if I can go even a few hours without wanting him, needing his closeness.
Careful not to hurt me, he lowers me flat onto the couch and slides on top of me. My shirt rides up, exposing soft skin for his rough hands to run along. My breath catches in my throat as he goes higher, tracing my bra with careful fingertips. Every nerve in me responds to him, and goosebumps run up my arms.
The brass button of his jeans meets my stomach and being pressed against him tells me everything I need to know. As much as I want him, he wants me too— if not more. I don't know if we're going too fast, but I don't care. He's not a virgin, and it doesn't bother me that I am. I might not be ready to go there yet, but kissing him like this has me considering it.
He tugs my lower lip between his teeth, gazing down at me. When he releases it, my skin buzzes. His pupils are wide with lust, and he has me more wound up than I'll ever admit. I know if we do anything more, it'll probably escalate.
I don't mean to hesitate, but I do.
"I don't mind waiting," Wade murmurs.
I take in his swollen lips, my racing heart, the heat between my thighs.
"I mean it," he insists.
I bury my face in his chest, a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I've never really done this kind of thing before."
"I figured," he says. "But I don't care about that. If I wanted sex, I wouldn't risk everything to get it from Lucifer's sister. I want you. I like everything about you. Whatever you'll let me do, I'll do. Whatever boundaries you set, I'll respect."
My heart swells with so much affection for him. "Eventually, I want to do it all."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Absolutely," says Wade.
"Have you ever been in love before?"
Before the time I've known him, there's so much story. I'm almost afraid to know if there's been someone before me, but I'm also curious. First loves shape who you are, teaching you things about yourself and life you may have never known otherwise. I've only known him for about a month, but there are so many lessons here, in us. It feels like longer.
"No," he admits. "I used to think love didn't exist. It's not like I had a stable father figure or a healthy relationship to look to that could assure me otherwise. All I knew was people leaving, and that nothing good ever seemed to come from being in love with somebody."
"You said 'used to'," I point out. "Why?"
"I think you know the answer to that one, baby."
Three words might fit here, right between the spaces between sentences. I don't think either of us is ready for that, so we don't say them. I can tell I mirror his expression, and hopefully, he sees how I'm feeling.
The doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of our pizza. After we eat, we run out of time to do anything else. He takes me back to the shooting range so I can get home, kissing me goodbye before I get into my car.
My good mood won't be around much longer. Thomas is a creature of habit, and true to his routine, he'll be home tonight to see me. We'll eat an uncomfortable dinner, I'll wish I could bury my kitchen knife in his back, and then I'll hide in my room to do homework all night. This is always how it goes.
Most of the time, I can count on the normalcy of Thomas's rituals. I know how he thinks and how he moves because it helps me survive. Even an unpredictable person has a few telltale signs and he's no exception.
Today, however, is one of the days he surprises me.
When I walk through the front door, I nearly jump out of my skin. He startles me by sitting on the couch watching a football game. His sleeves are rolled up, his hair messy, and a beer is in his hands as if it's the most normal thing in the world to see one of the deadliest men in the country being so laidback.
Between his popcorn and his feet on the coffee table, I'm almost worried to see such a mundane sight. Thomas doesn't do pastimes. He hasn't since our parents died. He never has free moments, and even when he does, this isn't how he occupies them.
His head turns. "Hey, little sis. Come sit down."
I drop my bag on the floor by the door and take the recliner so I don't have to be too close to him. His team is winning, which lifts his spirits considerably. He seems oddly cheerful and even offers his beer to me.
"No thanks," I say.
"Good choice," he compliments. "Don't ever start drinking. Keep being a good girl."
"I will?" It comes out more like a question, probably because I'm a little confused by his behavior.
"Where were you?" he asks casually.
"The shooting range," I reply.
I wait. I'm waiting for him to accuse me of lying to him, but he doesn't.
"Keep it up. You'll need those skills later," he replies. The TV switches to a commercial break, and he rises from the couch. "I have to take a piss. Give me a moment."
When he leaves, I see what's left of a credit card and some white powder on the table.
That explains it.
Thomas almost never gets high around me. I know he does drugs. His erratic behavior has proven that many times. Usually, he's coming down by the time I get a glimpse of him.
Right now, he's coked out of his mind. On the way back from the bathroom, he sniffles, and I think his nose might be bleeding a little.
If I learned anything from health class, it's that cocaine is destructive and highly addictive. Since he controls Purgatory, he never has to worry about supply. He probably can afford to get high as much as he wants. It's not like he cares about what happens to him as long as his business stays running smoothly. That's how things have always been in this house.
"I'm glad I don't have to worry about you, Mia," he says, taking a long swig of his beer.
I don't respond.
He keeps rambling, "You're so obedient. You never do anything to step out of line and it makes my job a hell of a lot easier. There are no problems with you. You understand that your role is to do what I say and help me take care of our empire. I like that you make sacrifices, little sis. You've always been my partner in crime."
His speech is slurred, but he keeps droning on and on and ignores it.
"Mom was a whore. God only knows how many men she fucked to get on top. And dad had no idea what he was doing. They were putting this place into the ground and didn't even know it. I should've taken care of Purgatory a long time ago, but they never saw that. I think we're doing well now, better than we've ever been. I belong in charge of things. And since you'll never undermine me, I won't have to do anything about you."
I swallow hard, a bad feeling creeping up inside me. "What do you mean? What did you do?"
He ignores my question. "I love you, Mia. Don't ever do anything that could make me change my mind."
"I won't." I already have.
The game is back on, drawing his attention away. "Are you gonna start making dinner soon?"
"Yeah. I'll get to that now."
I can't stand to be around him, so I escape to the kitchen as fast as I can.
The entire time I'm cooking, I'm wondering what happened to Mom and Dad. He's high and could just be saying a bunch of ridiculous things. But he could also be admitting to something without registering it.
Did he kill them?
***
made is being cute, thomas is getting dangerous, and shit is happening!! danny, how you feel?
sorry i'm a tiktok addict send help
10 chapters left bb!
signing off,
mads