Priest and his Anarchist

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

priest

present

L una Nox isn’t another name on my wall. She’s the artist. She knows it, I know it, and if I am not careful, everyone will know it.

I lean farther back into my chair as my thigh touches Vaden’s. He’s fixed on the stage, as if pleading with the universe to bring her back to him. There were times I questioned her importance to him, but I always came to the same conclusion. If she did, Vaden would have fought harder for her.

Midnight Mayhem is well known in all circles, but became entwined with ours when Eli Rebellis decided to bed two Midnight Mayhem members.

And then had little Luna Nox after.

“She’s been here? For how long?” Vaden leans farther into me as the lights dip and the signature ambiance of lilac settles. With far-spaced booths that curl inward to a U, they offer more than enough privacy for the playground of the rich, famous, and horny. I find it boring.

Usually.

I ignore his question. It’s been four or so years since we’ve last seen her, and after the little episode at Mom’s charity gala, I’m surprised her mother hasn’t chopped my balls off and served them to me on a dinner plate, which tells me one thing.

She doesn’t know.

What, or should I say who, has my little Madness told after all these years…

LED strips line the half-moon stage, before satin curtains part and reveal a girl with long legs and cropped hair.

“Welcome to Midnight Mayhem.” Her cherry-red lips glisten against the light when she smirks. “We are not a circus, we are not a carnival.” She moves to the center of the stage as flames ignite in all corners. “And the only thing you’ve got to lose tonight, is your sanity.”

“Answer me.”

Cheap whiskey tests the edges of my glass. “Yes.”

I don’t know why I expected Vaden to drop it there. I should have known better. He doesn’t know how to drop a subject, especially if it involves the girl he spent a good chunk of his first years being fascinated by.

“And she’s been here? Playing happy crazy?” He turns back to the stage as an extensive trapeze-style ring is being wheeled out. “Without me?” He’s like a kid finding out Santa has playdates with his best friend.

“Guess we’re going to find out for sure.” I place my glass on the small table in front of us, pushing it away with my index finger.

“You could be wrong…”

I finally tear my eyes from the front stage and rest them on my best friend. “Why the fuck do you think we’re here?” When he doesn’t answer, I raise a brow. “And when the fuck have I ever been wrong?”

The corner of his mouth curves. “Well, fuck. Okay.” He claps loudly, glaring at the old lady who turns abruptly in her chair to scold him. So much for privacy. “Then the show can go on.”

The ritual is in a few days, and as much as I’m sure she’s going to despise coming back into our world after how we left her all those years ago, even Luna Nox answers to the hand of a King. Anarchist and all.

My phone vibrates against my thigh, distracting me from a girl pouring gasoline over the chest of the man she’s straddling. Damn. That would have been good.

I reach into my pocket, tapping Pop’s name when I see an unread text.

Pop: Still no word. I’ll be back for the ritual and the week after. Then I’m leaving with Bas. Will update you every step of the way.

I type out my reply. Chicago was a bust?

My knee bounces as I wait for his reply. It’s like watching water freeze.

Pop: Nothing there. We’re going international.

I delete the text thread and shove my phone back in my pocket as the sound of a two-stroke engine screams in the distance. Gasoline fumes taint the air like perfume, and I gaze up to the stage. My smirk deepens when the familiar prickle of her chaos touches parts of me I’d rather keep dead. If there was anything that Luna Nox would perform in Midnight Mayhem, it’d have two wheels and be dangerous.

Especially the Luna I know.

My smirk dissolves into a snarl when sandy-blonde hair flows out beneath a helmet, her tiny body straddling a gloss-black dirt bike.

“That’s definitely Luna…” Vaden clucks his tongue. “Something tells me that helmet placement is only there to conceal her identity, since I’m pretty sure the girl doesn’t give a shit about safety.”

He’s not wrong.

The tight bikini she’s wearing does jack shit to fasten her tits into place, and the muscles in her stomach ripple when she revs the two-stroke engine before the ass end skids around in a cloud of smoke. That helmet is there for one reason and one reason only, though I’m hoping that hair is a fucking wig.

She directs the bike onto one of the ramps that connect to three rings that spin around and around. Each ring is big enough to fit a couple of bikes, which is fitting because another two ride out.

The music shifts to some slow depressing ass song I’ve heard on the radio, but neither of us breathes another word as she continues her set. When she’s upside down and the wheels spin, the familiar weight of an enemy burns the left side of my face. I find him in less than a second. Suited in Armani, he hides his identity with glasses and a top hat.

I tap Vaden’s thigh with mine, nudging my head to where the stranger stands. He doesn’t notice us because he’s too busy watching her.

My jaw tenses.

Vaden follows my line of sight. Shadows form beneath the hard edges of his face. If I’ve ever seen Vaden lose his temper, it was when someone he cares about is threatened, and as much as I’ve tried to ignore it, Vaden and Luna had a bond. Almost instantly. Getting her to fuck Vaden wouldn’t have been difficult if we took things back to the last generation.

“We could kill him in less than two minutes.”

“Leave it.” My legs spread, lowering me further into my seat. “Nothing can come of it.”

Lana Del Rey starts singing about the West Coast as a cage lowers on top of three girls dancing in the middle of the stage.

I lean forward slightly, and Vaden falls quiet. Which is saying something since he can’t shut up.

“They all fuck each other…” Vaden whispers, almost to himself. “Huh. But aren’t some of them related and shit?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” My phone illuminates when I tap on the screen, opening Instagram. I know she has one, but since her feed is always filled with vague shit, I never go onto it. I scroll down to the end, staring at the first photo she shared.

The show must end because people start moving, so I shut off my phone and head toward the room's darkest corner. Tearing the curtain back, I dodge naked girls, weaving my way through to the back room. Mud molds around my boots as I open every door flap to check inside. On the final one, I find Luna sitting on a stool in front of a vanity mirror with lightbulbs lining the edge.

My jaw tenses. Jesus. What the fuck.

She’s always been hot, eradicating the line of flawless genetics, so it isn’t that I’m surprised by the superiority of her appearance. I figure it would take more than that to get my attention, since I’ve been around attractive people all my life and all they do is bore me.

Almost everyone assumes that I have no emotions. Maybe I do. Maybe the ones I have aren’t the same as theirs, but I’m not fucking blind. Luna has always intrigued me, and not because her eyes are a rare gray with a blush of lavender. Her mother’s eyes are straight-up lilac, and she doesn’t fascinate me.

It’s the way my brain played tricks on me over the years, downplaying her existence. She grew into her womanhood like a bottle of aged scotch, and now I’m second-guessing my choice of drink.

Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, leaving it low at the nape and allowing a clear view of her face. Has it really been four fucking years since I’ve seen her? She doesn’t look like the same girl I left behind. She seems different.

Softer.

I expected to see the hard girl who rode the bike on stage, not the girl who’s wearing a knitted sweater and—I pause when she bends to the other side to pick something up from the floor, flashing the black ribbon in her hair that’s tied into a perfect bow, and for a moment, I question myself.

My shoulder meets the threshold of the entrance to her cubicle. The air tightens around me, along with her back. She hasn’t even turned around, but it’s as though she already knew I was there. She straightens lazily as if not wanting to expose how much my intrusion affects her.

Eyes that haunt all areas inside my head land on me.

“Hello, Madness…”

With sharpened poise, she swipes a makeup wipe over her cheek before ending at the curve of her bottom lip. “Took you long enough.”

Kicking off the frame, I turn in time to catch a guy around our age watching a little too hard. I reach backward for the curtain and force it closed.

“We can go ahead and pretend I didn’t know you were here all along if it makes you feel better.” I stop when I’m directly behind her. Even hidden beneath the wool of her sweater, my fingers twitch to touch her skin. Images of her bleeding out while riding my dick flash through my head.

“I’m coming to the ritual, Priest. You didn’t have to come here and threaten me. I know what’s expected of me.”

Her words stop me. I don’t give a fuck about the ritual any more than I do all the events leading up to it.

“You look good.” Her eyes fly to mine in the mirror. “Almost good enough.”

“Fuck you.” Her cheeks don’t turn a shade of pink, nor do those pretty little eyes flicker when the words leave her mouth. Maybe I was wrong. Soft isn’t quite the right word.

“If only you didn’t, hmm?” I graze the back of my finger over the fine hair on the nape of her neck. Bumps swell over her skin, making my lip twitch. Good to know I still affect her the same way I always have.

“Is this from fear?” Agitation curses through my veins the longer I’m near her.

She shrugs me off, but the stain on her cheeks gives her away. I won’t torment her any more than I already have. There’ll be plenty of time for that. For now, I want her to know I am watching. Always.

Always watching.

My steps are heavy when I make my way back through the tent and to where I left Vaden, kissing a random brunette with his hand up her skirt. I brush past him, taking the cigarette out from behind my ear and lighting the tip. Crows gawk through the trees, dissolving my annoyance with the first hit of nicotine.

“Damn, and to think you went four years without, yet here you are, sucking it down like it’s some type of Band-Aid for whatever messed up shit you keep inside.” His face replaces the trees in front. “Something else going on between you two that I don’t already know?”

I glare back at him, flicking the ash off my smoke. “No.”

Lie. My name falling off her mouth as she rode my dick flashes through my mind.

“You let her live…” It’s barely a whisper, as if he’d read my mind and wanted an explanation. It’s no secret how well I keep my hands clean.

“You know who she is to us, Vaden. Stop acting like I grew a heart overnight and decided to keep her out of it.”

The color drains from his face. He probably hasn’t eaten in the past hour. “I mean…it was for four years…”

I need a fucking distraction tonight. Knowing the ritual is in a few days only means I can play like this for one last night before shit changes.

Before it gets real.

“You gonna ever tell the rest of them about Luna?” I stomp out my cigarette and follow him to the parked car. Vaden is my best friend. At times, I wanted it to be War. It made sense to be him, since his dad is the right-hand of mine, but I knew the second I figured out he was obsessed with my sister that it could never swing that way.

I tap on the ignition.

“Or you going to let everyone find out when they find out?” When I don’t answer, he whistles. “Damn. I guess we do that then.”

I shut the door behind myself, cutting off the dim lit alleyway. Lights flicker, paving the path ahead. Luna’s Instagram keeps flashing through my head as I continue down the corridor, reaching yet another door. A suited-up guard bows when he sees me, opening it wide and gesturing inside to the spill of faded pink lighting and cigarette smoke.

Korn hammers through the speakers as I seek out my usual spot. It isn’t particularly busy, but then it never was. Movement catches my attention in the middle of the room as Peter Johnson gently kisses a girl’s hand. The creep prefers them entirely too fucking young. He should have been the one to die in the car crash that killed his wife.

Tinted paneled windows curl around the booth I slide into, offering a false sense of privacy. My finger mimics the beat against the tabletop as a waiter quietly slides over a glass of ice and a whiskey decanter.

I have two choices. Neither of which I like much, but one of which I know is what I have to do.

“I almost thought I was lied to when they said I could find you here.” Her long dark hair grazes the table's rim as her high-heeled foot bumps mine when she slides in. “I must admit. Your reputation proceeds you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to flirt, but desperation isn’t your scent. Try something more subtle.” The smirk I’m sure works on every male, dissolves into an arched brow and slightly parted lips. “You’re shocked. That means my reputation does not proceed me, or you’d know better than to think you’d come close to making an impression on me.” My forearms touch the table when I lean in further. “Did they tell you that it would work?”

“On the contrary.” Her Russian accent lingers on her tongue, but it’s obvious she’s been in an English-speaking country for some time. The corner of her red lips twitch. “They said I should tie my hair in a ribbon and strap a holster around my thigh.”

“Hmm.” I settle back in my chair, swirling the whiskey around in my glass.

Leather clings to her frail body, her black hair spilling over her bony shoulders when she rests her arms against the top of the chair in a sad attempt at pushing up her tits.

“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you? But, I like a challenge.” She gestures around the room, her eyes darting to whatever’s going on behind me before landing back on mine.

“You don’t know me well enough to make that statement.” I flick the glass with my index finger, sliding it against the table.

She catches it in her hand and pours herself a glass. “You know, I’ve never been able to get out of anyone what it is that you really do and why you’re never seen with a girl. They either don’t know, or they pretend like they do and that they don’t want to talk about it.”

“Maybe I’m not into girls,” I answer flatly.

She rests back in her chair. “Yeah, right.”

“Ah, you’ve not heard of the time I fucked my sister’s boy toy.” My tongue swipes over my bottom lip.

Her face falls.

“It’s a joke.” I glare at her. “I don’t have to be gay to not want to fuck you.”

The music changes to Deftones, and the couple in the booth opposite us shifts into my peripheral. Joseph Walker is forty-four years old and married with five kids. Found himself up Elite King Creek when he borrowed money from the Divitae line and is desperate to pay us back any way he can.

Which doesn't include indulging in our assets. His smile evaporates when he notices me. He pauses, walks, and then pauses once more.

The girl opposite me is still talking, something about no one being a match for her but she thinks I will. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard. I need to tear them out.

He finally decides what he’s going to do because he turns to me, his head bowing between his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Priest. I know that I shouldn’t be here.” I don’t answer, reaching into my pocket to take out my phone. Obviously taking that as a time to run because when I look up, he’s gone.

I open a new message and type the coordinates to the bar before shutting the screen off.

“Can we?” Her lips curve upward. I don’t know what shit she is talking about, and I don’t care to ask.

I jerk my head to the side. “Come here.”

It’s like I’ve handed her the kingdom when her face lights up. Jesus. Did no one love this girl growing up?

She slides out from beneath the table, her long legs covered in fishnet tights. When she’s directly opposite, I reach forward, tugging on the bottom of her skirt until she falls onto my lap like a malnourished doll.

She pushes herself up, her legs spreading wide on either side of my hips. It’s not until she’s a breath away that I skim the backs of her thighs. Whenever she flings her hair in a circle or chews on her lip, I'm reminded why I don't entertain this. Ever. Unless the entertainment is worthy of being placed on a wall, and this one is not. The only thing getting my dick hard at this moment is wondering what she looks like from the inside.

Fingers grab at the waistband of my jeans as she fumbles with my button. I whack her hand away, reaching up to touch the side of her cheek. She leans into my touch, her hips grinding against my crotch. Catching her earlobe, I trace the curve of her jaw with my tongue, stopping at the tip of her chin.

Her eyes widen a moment, but when she slowly realizes that it’s a surface cut, she covers my hand with hers and sucks my thumb into her mouth. Her thrusts become more desperate as her mouth falls open, and her other hand spreads over my neck. Blood trails down her collarbone, ending on her breasts.

There’s a faint cry for help from a booth behind me from whatever chaos is happening, but the girl riding my lap focuses on me. The sharp sting from her fingernails sinking into my shoulder has the corner of my mouth twitching.

“I can do a bit of blood play, baby….” she whispers, lowering her mouth to kiss me.

My head jerks away from her. Like fuck she’s coming near me with that shit. “Blood play?” I bark out a laugh. She doesn't catch my sarcasm because her thighs clench around my hips. Not sure what the fuck she’s riding on since my cock is about as flaccid as a brainless middle-aged man who’s bored of fucking his hot wife.

Her mouth opens in a strangled breath, the feeling of elation no doubt edging her closer. I draw a pattern over her skin. M.A.D.N It happens too fast for her to notice. Blood drips from her eyes in clotted tears, her head sliding off her shoulders by the incision around her neck and hitting the ground with a loud thud. Not my best. Prefer my usual method, but what can I say... I draw the line at desperation.

Biting a cigarette into my mouth, I light the end as the rest of her body falls to the ground.

Blood stains the trunk of my cigarette, and I pluck my blaring phone from my pocket. Heels clink over the dead girl’s hair as a waitress stops at my table.

She bends over to refill my glass, ensuring to dip low enough to give me a full view of her tits.

Glaring up at her, I ignore them and blow smoke rings in her face.

Her face falls as she straightens and clears her throat, obviously trying to not be too obvious. “Anything else I can get for you, boss?”

“No.” I glance down at the name that’s flashing over my screen. “No. Thanks.”

My thumb glides over the screen when Evie’s face fills my vision.

“So, I’m throwing a party at your house tomorrow, because guess what!”

Being my sister’s best friend, she also managed to insert herself into my circle. I’d tolerated her at best when we were kids, until I realized as far as my tolerance for humans goes, she’s about the most I’ll ever extend to.

“What, Ev? What’d I miss?”

I skip the part about a party at my because there’s no such thing as telling Evie no. We all figured that out long ago. It was pretty fucking clear the day she punched Vaden in the nose when he called her pretty. She was four years old.

“I’m taking over for Dad!” Her words die out in the back of my brain. She always dreamed of attending an Ivy college and going through all the college experiences. We found out she hung around for the girls to start Riverside when she started getting college acceptance letters in the mail and ignoring them. Evie is smart. Too fucking smart. Way too fucking smart to do what her pops does, since despite everyone’s knowledge of him not being involved in the EKC, he very much is. “—So I’m studying at Riverside! But anyway!” A door closes in the background. “I’m happy.”

“Ev, what happened to Brown? I thought you wanted to go Ivy, do all the shit that normal people do.”

Her laugh is strangled. “You and I both know that could never happen.”

“It sure as fuck could.” I butt out my smoke. “Say the word and I’ll give you whatever the fuck life you want.”

Silence.

“Except that. I can’t give you that.”

She groans, probably rolling her eyes. “I’m not holding a torch for you, Priest. Jesus. Ew.”

“I was talking about Vaden.”

Silence again. This time a second longer.“I hate you.”

“I know.” I gesture up at a waiter—a different one. “So long as you’re happy, Ev. You know I won’t let anything happen to you, whatever path you choose.” I let her ramble on about other shit that only Evie can talk about before ending the call.