Chapter 13
Heresy
The rain slammed against the windows of that old-ass farmhouse like it was trying to get in, like the storm itself was pissed. I stared through the cracked, dirt-streaked glass, watching the sky rip open in flashes of lightning. But it wasn’t the storm that had my head twisted up—it was her.
Salem, just a few feet away, actin’ like the eerie-ass creaks and groans of this haunted dump weren’t messing with her. She wanted to come off hard, like she wasn’t fazed, but I could see through her act. Hell, after she opened up, I felt like I knew her better than most, and the truth was, she was as shaken as I was.
I leaned against the wall, arms crossed, just watching her. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across her face, making her look like every bit the witch she claimed to be. But it wasn’t her so-called magic that had me stuck in this goddamn rundown house. It was something else—something about her that I couldn’t shake.
I’ve been in the Slayers long enough to know when shit’s about to get real, and something about Salem had been pulling at me from the start. There was a danger to her, a risk, and fuck if that didn’t light me up inside. I’ve always been drawn to shit that’s bad for me. Salem? She was that in spades.
Thunder rolled, and I shifted against the wall, feeling the strain building up in me. Being in this haunted house with her, it stirred up ghosts I thought I buried a long time ago.
“I know you're watching me,” Salem muttered, her voice sharp like a knife, though she didn’t even bother looking up from the herbs she was messing with. “You got something to say, or are you just gonna stand there all creepy?”
I snorted, smirking. “You act like you’re not used to guys watchin' you.”
She rolled her eyes but stayed focused on her little witchy setup. But I knew she was just as on edge as I was. This place, the vibe, the memories—it was fuckin’ with us both.
The house had a way of bringing old shit back to the surface. Stuff you tried to forget. I didn’t talk about my past—not with the club, not with anyone. They knew just enough to know not to ask questions. I was Heresy, the guy who did what needed doing, no questions asked. That’s how I liked it.
But with Salem? I felt this urge to let her in, to let her see the parts of me that no one else got to see. And that scared the ever-living shit out of me.
“You always this quiet around women?” she asked, glancing at me with that sharp look of hers. “Or is it just me that shuts you up?”
I pushed off the wall and took a step toward her. “Maybe I just don’t like talkin’ about my shit.”
“Everyone’s got shit,” she replied, lifting an eyebrow. “I shared mine. It’s your turn.”
I stared at her for a second, wondering why the hell I’d even consider telling her more. But Salem was different. She wasn’t the type to run from the dark. She lived in it, thrived in it.
“I wasn’t always Heresy,” I said, my voice low. “That name came later. Before all that? I was just Hunter.”
Her eyebrow shot up. “Hunter? You? Sounds a little too normal for someone like you.”
I chuckled darkly. “Yeah, it gets worse. Hunter Henley Harris, well, I didn’t stay normal for long. My old man was a mean drunk, and my mom? She took off when I was a kid. Didn’t say goodbye, didn’t leave a note. Just vanished.”
I didn’t need her pity, but I could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t offering any. She was just... listening. Waiting for me to keep going.
“My dad beat the shit out of me more times than I can count. One night, I had enough. He came home drunk, swingin’ like he always did. But I wasn’t a kid anymore. I fought back, and... let’s just say it got real ugly.”
I could still see it, the moment he realized I wasn’t scared of him anymore. I’d beaten him bloody, left him on the floor, and walked out. Never looked back. Did he die? I still don’t know. I found the Slayers after that, and the rest... well, the rest is history.
“So that’s where the violence comes from,” Salem said quietly, almost like she was piecing together the puzzle.
I had to be honest. “He’s not the only one I left for dead, either. Before I met the Slayers.”
“And Heresy? How’d that name come into play?”
I smirked. “Club gave it to me. I had a rep for not givin' a shit about rules, about religion, about anythin’. They called me Heresy, and it stuck.”
She watched me for a long moment, her green eyes studying me like she was trying to figure out what made me tick. But the truth was, I didn’t know what the hell made me tick anymore. Not since she showed up.
“You’re tougher than you look,” I said, breaking the silence. “The Heelz are lucky they found you.”
A small smile played on her lips, but she shook her head. “Don’t go getting soft on me, Heresy. I don’t need your compliments.”
I took another step closer, wanting to be near her. “Not a compliment, just the truth.”
We stood there, the storm howling outside, the house creaking around us like it was alive. Her eyes never left mine, and I knew right then and there—Salem wasn’t just tough. She was just like me. Haunted. Hardened. And that’s why I couldn’t stay away, no matter how dangerous this thing between us was.
“You ever think about leaving it all behind?” she asked suddenly, her voice softer now.
“Leavin' what behind?”
“The club. The violence. All of it.”
I shook my head. “No. It’s who I am. I can’t just walk away.”
She nodded, slow and steady, like she understood. “Yeah. Me neither.”
We didn’t need to say anything else after that. The storm raged on, and the darkness swirled around us, but something had shifted between us. I didn’t know what the hell it meant yet, but one thing was clear. Salem and me? We were the same.
Two sides of the same fucked-up coin.