Priest and his Anarchist

Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

priest

present

T he smell of gasoline isn’t enough to put my nerves to rest. Up until recently, I didn’t even know that I had them. The ember of my cigarette swallows the white parts of my cigarette as girls scream in the background, further agitating my nerves.

Evie taps my thigh with hers. The screech of tires ripping up my driveway breaking through my thoughts. “Hey.” When I don’t answer, her fingers wrap around my chin, forcing my eyes onto hers. “Talk to me.” Evie. Always there to pull me back together even if I’m the one tearing myself apart.

Her eyes fall to my lips, and if it wasn’t her, I’d think she wanted me to kiss her.

She bats her lashes. “If you look at me like that, Killer, I might tear those pretty lips off your face.”

Laughter rumbles deep in my chest as I lift the burning cigarette to my lips.

She shoves me away, crossing her long leg over the other.

“Cute fuck-me boots, Ev.” I turn into her, tilting my head. Everything around me shifts beneath my feet. “Care to try them out?”

Her head whips around to me. I wish I could see her face right now, only the party is a sea of burgundy red from the strobe lights flickering around my yard, and thanks to this bottle of whiskey, I’m pretty sure I’m fucking drunk. Again. This is not good.

“Ew, Priest!” The bottle in my hand is gone in an instant and my smile falls.

“Ev, come on…” I tease, my tongue dampening my bottom lip. “What’s the matter? Don’t wanna fuck me?”

Silence stretches between us, I laugh again, clutching my stomach when my abs tighten. “Chill, Evelyn. I ain’t about to fuck my handler.”

“Priest!” she snaps, kicking off the hood of my car and standing directly in front of me. “You need to go to bed before you start spewing secrets.”

I pull my arm out of her grip, sidestepping away from her. Everyone here is only here because I allow it. This house, this party, their lives…anger takes hold as I stumble into my house through the front entrance, cutting off the party happening in the front yard. The silence is like a balm to an open wound. The tension in my shoulders releases as my eyes land on Moose, standing near the staircase.

“You’re drunk.” His tone is a beat above judgmental, but that’s nothing different to his usual tone, which is always judgmental.

“I’m fine.” I flick the lock of the door, keeping the mess outside the house and my castle separate. After tossing my shirt to the corner, I scrub my eyes with the back of my hand.

“You’re not fine. You’re drunk.”

I can hear someone else crash through the door, and when I look up, I’m staring back at eyes the exact same as my own. Her hair’s pulled back in a low bun, her face fresh of makeup and her usual edgy attire replaced by sweats and Ugg boots.

“Jesus, son…” Mom steps inside, shaking her head at Moose and closing the front door when he leaves.

“Mother, I’m not up for one of your lectures. Maybe I made a mistake building this so close to your house.”

I stumble into the living room, leaving the lights above set to warm. Falling into the leather sofa farthest from the entrance, Mom makes her way to the floor-to-ceiling windows, tapping buttons on the dial. Shutters slide closed behind me. I don’t bother reminding her that they’re one-way.

“Are you going to make yourself useful or are you going to school me on my bad decisions lately?”

She falls silent. I follow her as she makes her way to the bar that’s tucked away in the far corner behind the floating fireplace. Soft yellow lights illuminate the bottom structure, and it’s not until she takes the spot beside me that she finally answers.

“Which one? The one where you stopped taking our calls or the one where you killed someone who meant something to you?”

“Psh.” I roll my eyes, waving her off. “Neither.”

“Priest.” The simplicity of my name leaving her has me hesitate. “This…” She taps at the tattoo that crawls over my shoulder. “Remember when you had me do this one?” I swallow, but it doesn’t leave. My throat swells. Why the fuck won’t the pain leave?

“No.”

“Priest…” she tries again, and her fingers crawl over the fine line ending of the ribbon that stops at the edge of my neck, enough to never be able to hide it. “I remember. It was the night of the charity gala?—”

“Mother,” I deadpan, zoning off in the distance. “Are you going to help or not?”

Her touch is gone as quickly as it arrives, and she places her glass on the concrete coffee table in front of us, unzipping a bag.

“You know, you could do this yourself.”

I choke on my laugh. “You’re encouraging that shit?”

She doesn’t join my drunken stupor, but I see the smile on the corner of her mouth. “No, shithead. I’m not. What I mean is your art, P?—

“—Mother,” I warn again.

She rolls her eyes, taking out the utensils. “Fine. But one day, you should. You need to share it with people.”

“What part?” I joke, resting my head against the couch and closing my eyes. “You and I both know no one wants to see that side of me.” I swallow the harsh words as they leave me for the first time. “They barely tolerate the small side I allow them to see.”

Mom’s silent a moment and I hate that I said what I did. With anyone else, it’d fly over their head, but not Mom. Not Madison fucking Montgomery. She should have used some of this intuition when she first started dating Dad. Heard he ran circles around her for years.

Until she shot him.

Kinda think he still got the last laugh after hearing what he did with her after that though.

The sting from the needle stops. I don’t even realize we’d been going at it for two hours until I glance up at the clock.

“I like this one.” With a brush of the wet wipe, her voice cuts through my trance.

“Mmm…”

She doesn’t answer, and I push up from the couch, reaching for my cigarette pack and tapping it on my thigh. She busies herself with packing up. I don’t need to be able to see the new one on my back since I trust her every time.

“I need to know if you think what you did was wrong?”

I hate that she wants me to answer this differently. That every single person wants a different answer, when truthfully, “No.”

The smile she’d clearly worked so hard to force there slips from her face. She looks back down to the tattoo gun.

“Mom, I’m not Dad. I don’t have compassion. I don’t do things on a whim or out of emotion. If I do it, I’ve thought about every single scenario surrounding it before going through. I don’t have regrets, and I sure as fuck don’t care about killing someone. There’s no redemption for me, and that’s final.”

“You loved her, Priest.” It’s a whisper, but she meant it to be louder.

I don’t correct her. “Even if that were true, I’m not him. Love won’t save me.”

She sighs, closing her case and placing it on her thigh. Her knuckles graze my cheek when she stands directly in front of me. There’s a part of me that wishes I could be the son she wanted me to be. The son she deserves to have.

“I love you, son. Always.”

She leaves, and it’s not until the front door closes that I realize I didn’t say it back. Have I ever? Have I ever told my mother that I love her? Because I do. I expect her to know. I’ve always expected her to know.

Before I realize it, my feet carry me to the front door. I swing it open, the prickling adrenaline of mania cursing through my veins. In five rounds, gunshots fire out around me. Less than a second later, my Glock is in my hand and I’m unloading my clip toward the driver’s window of the beaming headlights.

“Priest!” The scream that leaves Mom sends a shrill down my spine as tires squeal off in the distance, taking her cries with them.

Moose rushes through the front door, shoving me backward but it only gives me easy access to my keys. I shove him out of the way, the door to my Skyline isn’t even closed when I fire it up and floor it down my driveway. I don’t see anyone or anything. Not the spill of people that dive away for cover as I redline down the cobblestone path.

The twists and turns as I pass every tree only quicken my pulse. It’s not until I see those fucking headlights that everything else dissolves around me.

My phone blares in the background, but I can’t. I can’t see anything but my mom and the shots that were fired. Had one hit her?

I hit the bottom of my driveway and swing it around onto Elite Boulevard. The screaming roar of the RB engine flatlining when I hit every corner.

Nothing.

Not a single fucking thing.

My phone rings again, and this time I hit the answer button.

“Your house. Now.”

“Dad—”

“Priest.”

“Fuck!” I slam the palm of my hand against the button to hang up, swinging the ass end of my car around and flooring it back up the driveway. Everything plays on repeat.

My mother.

The fresh ink on my back.

The words I never said.

The words she said.

My chest weighs heavy the closer I get to my house. The further away I am from her. As soon as I pull back up to the front, I swing out of the car and climb the stairs. I don’t care about the people walking down the street. It’ll be another fucking gossip session for them to talk about at school come Monday.

“Priest, get inside.” Moose tugs on my arm, but I stop, looking down at my feet. A pool of blood glows back up at me like a taunting reminder of what I have possibly lost. I took her for granted. Every fucking time.

“She’s hurt…”

“Inside!”

“She’s hurt!” It’s a roar, my fist in his shirt. I can’t see straight. “This—this gavel, Moose—” My eyes shift around the room. I don’t give a fuck who hears. “It means nothing! Nothing if I can’t protect the people I fucking love!” I swallow but it feels like sandpaper, the vein in my head thudding.

Dad’s shadow appears in front of me. His eyes rimmed red, his hair matted with blood.

“What happened?” My brows weigh to the center. “You were here?”

Dad doesn’t say another word, his throat tightening.

“Dad.”

“Get inside.”

I take a step forward and wince when pain radiates from my stomach. My head spins as I cover the pain with my hand. Dad’s eyes drop to my movement.

His face pales even more than it already had. Fuck. “Now. Doc is here to fix you up.”

“Shit.” I stumble through the door, my pulse pumping weakened blood from the alcohol. Dad catches me in his arms. The room tilts upside down as my whole body vibrates. Sweat shivers down my spine, the rush of people moving around me.

“Mom’s hurt. We have to find—find her—” I look up at Dad, desperate for anything. I could count on one hand how many times in my life I’ve needed him.

Once.

Now.

He squeezes the back of my neck, pulling me to him. “She is, but you’re worse right now and we can’t have a dead King.”

Laughter bubbles up my throat at his ridiculousness. “Death was bound to happen. After all…I’ve fucked with the laws of nature for long enough.”

“Priest…” Dad growls above, but he’s getting smaller, darker, farther away.

“Priest, I swear to God if you die on me during our first!” Evie’s cries are distant now. Ice burning through my veins.

Cold.

Ice.

“Priest, I swear to God!” The loud crashes become a distant memory. “Vaden! We’re losing—shit. Oh no!” Evie’s cries do nothing to keep me grounded. Everything around me slows and dims, as if the world turns quiet. I don’t realize how heavy the weight I carry is until I feel the pull of sleep calling to me through a black hole.

Air fills my lungs for the last time.

An overwhelming flood of warmth spreads over my cheek before a drip lands against my mouth. Lips touch mine, and a flame begins to flicker to life in my chest.

“Rabbit.” A gentle kiss. “Please don’t leave me.”