The Devils of Saint City

1

So this is it, then.

The end.

Not of the world or my life, but of me having a home to come back to.

I thought I finally found the answer when I moved in here. Extra deadbolts, alarms on all the doors and windows, even a shock collar I’ve fashioned as a bracelet. All designed to do one thing: wake me up if I try to leave my apartment. Every other complex in this shitty town has already kicked me out for being too loud, for soliciting sex in the middle of the night, for waking everyone up when the alarms blare as I sneak out the window.

This was my last chance.

I’m not a freak. I just have sexsomnia.

So I guess that makes me a freak.

And now, for the first time, the disorder isn’t what’s doing me in. The letter in my shaking hand reads “CONDEMNED,” not “EVICTED.”

Toxic black mold.

They’re demo-ing the whole building in a week.

And according to the post it note slapped on top of it, they’ll bulldoze it whether we’re still inside or not.

The thought is tempting.

My dad is dead and my mom’s riding out the end of her days in a padded cell, so I have no one to turn to for help. No one except for Asher, anyway. And something tells me my stepbrother would rather eat a bucket full of rusty nails than lift a finger to help me.

My mom did kill his dad, after all.

She killed mine, too.

You’d think we’d have bonded a little over that.

Instead, he slashed my tires and set my bed on fire, leaving a scar on the back of my hand that I’ll have for the rest of my life.

But the past is the past. I have to believe he’s grown up enough to realize I’m not my mother — that I could never be her. I can’t even kill spiders when they crawl in the shower with me.

So, I drive. I practice my speech over and over again on the way there, but it still doesn’t do anything to prepare me for the dread I feel as I climb his front steps and knock.

I try my best to avoid the peephole, ducking just out of sight of it until the door swings open.

But the second he sees it’s me, the knot in his squared-off, strong jaw tightens, his intense green eyes darken, and the force of the wind as the door slams blows my hair over my shoulder.

“Asher, please!” I yell. “Just open the door. Please!”

“Why should I?” His growly words are muffled as if his face is right on the other side of the wood. “Why are you here?”

Here it is. My heart hammers in slow motion as I throw my little speech out the window, mustering up the courage to bottom line it for him. “Because I need you.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t give me anything aside from the heavy breathing I hear ghosting against the wood, and after a whispered, “Fuck,” he opens the door.

Unfortunately for me, he doesn’t immediately open it enough for me to enter, but the fact that I can see him at all right now is enough of a miracle. “What do you need, Rhea?”

To be anywhere but here. For the doctors in this town to take me seriously so I can get help.

To be anyone but me.

“I’m getting kicked out again but it’s not my fault this time. They condemned the building. I just need a place to stay until I can find something more permanent.”

The wood creaks under his grip where he holds the door, and the humorless laugh he releases tells me exactly how he feels about this. “Not your fault this time. Does that mean you’re finally admitting that some things are your fault?”

“I’m not her, Ash,” I remind him softly. “But yes. I’m not perfect. I’ve never claimed to be.”

Rolling his eyes, he steps aside to let me in. One glance has me realizing why the term bachelor pad was created — it’s so plain I’d assume he just moved in if it weren’t for the piles of clothes strewn on top of the few pieces of furniture that exist here. “I already have a roommate, and he’s messy enough.”

“So I’ll clean,” I offer quickly. “And cook. You can hate me all you want, but you know I’m good.”

His sharp eyes drop to my lips. “How long?”

“I don’t know.” Shifting on my feet, I focus on anything but him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get another apartment around here, so I’ll have to start looking out of town.”

“Out of town? You’ve never lived anywhere else.”

Maybe it’s time that I do. Everyone knows me as the Black Widow’s daughter here. Maybe somewhere else, things would be different. “I can’t afford to buy a house, Asher. You know that, and I’ve been kicked out of every apartment complex we have.”

He raises his eyebrows at me in a ‘no shit’ kind of way that makes me want to turn around and leave, but I’m not lying. I have nowhere to go. “The spare room doesn’t have a lock.”

My cheeks flush. I was prepared for this to come up, but it’s never easy to talk about. No one around me has ever believed it was even a real condition. “I have locks if you don’t mind me installing them. I can also change the settings on my shock bracelet to shock me if I try to leave the room instead of the house.”

“Shock bracelet?”

Before I know what he’s doing, my hand is in his as he inspects my bracelet with a frown. It’s not the most aesthetic of accessories, but it does the job. “It’s technically a shock collar for a dog. You can program them to shock if they go beyond a certain perimeter, so I use it to wake me up if I try to leave. It only seems to work sometimes though. I don’t always wake up.”

Ash drops my hand and steps back again. “Do they come with remotes too?”

There’s a devilish look in his eyes that makes me wish I’d have gone anywhere else. If only I had an option. “Yes. It did.”

“Leave it on the kitchen counter so Manson and I can use it if you need... assistance.”

So that’s who his roommate is. Yet another dickhead who blames me for things I had no control over — someone else to make my life a living hell. It feels like a mistake to give them access to something that can hurt me at the touch of a button. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” Turning away, he guides me down a narrow hallway. “My room is first, then the bathroom. Across from the bathroom is Manson’s room, and you’re next to him across from me. We have a rule about hookups, so if you see a pair of handcuffs on the counter, don’t bother whichever one of us has their door closed. Probably best if you don’t bring anyone here, though. Manson doesn’t get along with most guys.”

Neither does he if I remember correctly, yet the two of them have been inseparable most of their lives. So much so that plenty of people have had... suspicions.

“Right, I’ll go somewhere else then when that comes up. Understood.”

“Are you seeing someone?”

There’s a hint of disbelief on his face that irritates me. I may not be as classically good looking as he and Manson are with their strong jaws, narrow noses and gorgeous eyes, but I clean up nice. “Not at the moment, but the most reliable way I’ve found to not have sexsomnia episodes is to get laid when I’m awake. The internet is a fascinating place full of people willing to help me with that.”

“The internet,” he huffs. “Anyway, what do you do these days? You work?”

I’d be suspicious that he cares enough to ask about my life if I didn’t know any better. He just wants to make sure I can pay rent. “Of course I do.”

Just don’t ask me to elaborate. Please, please don’t ask me to elaborate.

“What... do... you... do?” He drags out every word like I’m stupid, like there’s no way I’m ignoring him on purpose — like I’m just too dumb to realize he already asked.

I refuse to be embarrassed. “I work for a phone sex hotline, and when I can, I film and sell my sexsomnia episodes.”

This time when he laughs, it’s genuine. It’s such a rare thing for me to witness, I almost forget to be angry about it. “Hey, sex sells. You’d probably make more with a co-host in those. Manson is off limits, though.”

How quickly his amusement disappears before that last sentence is jarring, but it reminds me who I’m dealing with. I swear the scar on my hand tingles as I ball it into a loose fist. “Don’t worry. I do just fine on my own. So I can stay?”

“Even spiders need a place to sleep.” His abhorrent gaze travels up and down my body before he turns back toward the kitchen, and when I meet him out there, he shoves a spare key into my grasp. “Don’t fucking lose it.”

With his hand touching mine, I see the moment he feels that scar, and watch him closely as he glances down to stare at it. “Admiring your artwork?” I ask, more softly than I meant to. I should be punching him in the face.

Green eyes flick to mine as he brushes his thumb over it so briefly, I nearly miss it. “Still plenty of canvas left.” Releasing me completely, he turns away to go plop on the couch like he didn’t just threaten me. “When are you moving in?”

Never, if I’m smart. I’d be better off on the streets, or in a shelter if any of them have room. Anywhere but here, with a man who already tried to kill me once and just threatened to do it again.

But there’s some strange little part of me that wants to believe he’s good. That deep down, he forgave me. He exacted his revenge already and that’ll be the end of it.

That part of me will likely be my undoing.

“Now,” I say flatly. “I’m moving in now.”

Before I wise up and change my mind.