48. Blade
BLADE
Before a word left Tess’ lips, I knew this guy was bad fucking news.
He charged through the crowd, reaching desperately for our treasure. I’d be damned if he laid a finger on her, though. Without a word, the three of us stepped in front of Tess, forming a wall that should have told him to fuck off.
But he just kept pushing closer, calling her name.
Hot rage rolled through my veins. I was desperate for an excuse to punch him. Just the way he was looking at Tess was reason enough to take his eyes.
Won’t be able to protect her if I catch a charge, though.
It wasn’t until he was right in front of us that his wistful gaze tore away from her. He blinked like he was waking from a dream, but his gaze quickly shifted to assess the obstruction between him and his target.
“What do you want, creep?” Cyrus growled. Her voice dripped with venom as his eyes shifted to her. For a moment, some dark thought flickered behind his eyes. But as he scanned Nash and I, any animosity was quickly replaced with a tight, simpering smile.
“Not to worry, strangers.” He lifted his hands wide, “I am but a humble Messenger of His Word. I mean no harm to my sweet Tess.”
“Fucking Christ,” I groaned. I hadn’t fully processed Tess’ words until the fucker was standing in front of me, but now that I could smell his bad breath myself, his identity was perfectly clear.
This is The Messenger?
The years, the beard, and the shitty quality of his livestreams did a lot to disguise him, but from the look on the others’ faces, I knew it was him.
Rubin. The snivelling, god-obsessed little weirdo from Heirs of Promise. The one who’d been obsessed with Tess from the moment she walked into that god-forsaken place.
He’d followed her around back then like a shadow, but he was little more than the shit on her shoe. I was never sure why she didn’t tell him to just fuck off. I’d had half a mind to step in and do it for her.
But she was too sweet — or too scared — to stand up for herself then. Who could blame her? Heirs of Promise’s brand of Christianity promoted subservience to men, and Tess’ young age didn’t make her an exception to their expectations.
And while those days were long behind us, old habits died hard.
Rubin was practically vibrating, watching her hungrily for some drop of affection he could latch onto. And seeing her shrink under his fervent gaze was enough to make my blood boil. Especially now that I’d seen the fiery edge she’d brought with her into Feverpoint.
“Hey Rubin…” Her eyes flicked nervously from his creepy stare to the ground.
The corner of his mouth twitched as he glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, I um…. No one calls me that anymore.”
Nash snarled. “What should she call you instead? Messiah?”
“No, no,” Rubin laughed nervously. “Messenger will do.”
“Pretentious fuck,” I murmured, earning a panicked glare from Tess.
“Not pretention,” he smiled thinly. “Just a desire to free myself of ego. I am just a tool for His hands. Tools do not need names aside from their Master’s purpose.”
I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or barf. But our derision didn’t seem to bother him. He was too locked in on Tess.
“I’ve been waiting… To find you again.” The words lilted off his tongue like an offering, but Tess’ face was more confused than excited. Did he expect her to reach out to him, to say that she’d felt the same way?
I had no idea what he was getting at. But I’d never been more glad to have Tess under our watch, safe from his influence.
Tess was into the god stuff way back when. But clearly, a lot had changed since we were kids. Now, she seemed just as godless as us.
Cyrus’ lip curled at the simpering sycophant standing in front of us. Whatever else she felt about our little fugitive, it was clear that she hated Rubin even more.
Stepping chest to chest with Rubin, Cyrus glared down into his eyes. “Get lost, Rubin.”
And before he could lob a rebuttal, she turned, ushering Tess out of the crowd. Nash and I flanked either side of her, forming a wall between Rubin’s cronies and Tess.
Over my shoulder, I could see his face crumble — clearly, he wasn’t pleased to be robbed of the cozy little reunion he’d envisioned.
But what worried me more was the look on Tess’ face as we herded her toward the car. Her forehead was scrunched, and her gaze looked far away. My gut wrenched with the knowledge of what she was piecing together.
She knows who we are.