Chapter 5
Five
SEBA
The road blurs as I fight to keep my eyes open through another yawn. Adjusting my wrist on the steering wheel, I tap my thumb to the beat of the music floating out of the speakers— though it's hard to hear over the yapping coming from the passenger seat.
“I swear, the guy has to be a vampire or something. There's no other explanation. Maybe he’s using some kind of compulsion-hypnosis shit on people,” Cade rattles on, his sneakers propped on the dash as he sips black coffee from a travel mug.
He’s one of those maniacs who insists coffee alone is enough for breakfast.
“Who?”
He scoffs, “The sociopath leading your cult, duh.”
Ah, yes. Cade hates Pastor Sinclair based on a short first impression. He claims to have a “sixth sense” that tells him which people suck (his words, not mine).
His resumed rant drifts in one ear and out the other.
After his tiny admission about the cigarettes two weeks ago, which I still detest, I’m giving him a little grace.
As much as I want to know what happened to his mother, I can't risk our tentative truce.
And no way in hell would I ask Declan or Mom.
Sure, they initially bonded over losing their spouses, but I doubt either of them wants to reopen those wounds for the sake of my curiosity.
A squirrel darts across the road, shocking me awake faster than a bucket of ice water to the face. I slam on the brakes as it leaps into the grass.
“Whattheballsack!” Cade howls, choking on coffee. His glare scalds the side of my face. “You trying to kill me?”
“There was a squirrel.”
“Seriously?”
“What?” I huff, “I wasn’t gonna hit it.”
His arms sweep wide, the travel mug smacking the center of my chest as he croons, “All hail Saint Sebastian, savior of squirrels and slaughterer of stepbrothers!”
It takes incredible restraint not to eject him from the vehicle.
A minute later, we pull into the parking lot between the chapel and the Parish hall. Cade grimaces at the simple white slatted buildings boasting St. Gemma’s emblem: a set of hands, palms up, dripping blood from the stigmata.
“Not a cult, my ass,” he mutters into his travel mug.
I level a deadpan glare at his profile; wisps of silvery hair, still damp from his five-second shower, flutter in the blasting AC, the morning light catching on the glittering diamond stud perched delicately on his nose.
It’s so… feminine. Just like the cologne he uses, which currently seeps into the cloth bucket seats.
Everywhere he goes, that musky-sweet scent lingers long after he’s gone, taunting me as I try hopelessly to pinpoint the notes until I question why I even care.
It’s confusing. He’s confusing.
“They’re not gonna try converting me, right?”
Of course, in typical Cade fashion, he conveniently waited until after we signed up as bible camp counselors for our scholarship-required community service to inform me he’s an atheist.
I shrug. “Just don’t say anything.”
“What if they know?”
“How will they know?”
He rolls his eyes. “What if I catch on fire or something?”
My brow arches. “I thought you didn’t believe in all this holy shit.”
“I don’t.”
“Then you’re fine.”
He gives me the middle finger.
I sigh, “Camp is in the Parish hall, anyway.”
“Perish— as in DIE?” he shrieks. “What sick fuck decided to host a kids’ camp where they have funerals?”
“No, you drama king, it’s like an event and office space.”
“A funeral is an event.”
“I’m done.”
He squints skeptically. Sips his coffee again. Wrinkles his nose. “It gives me The Heebs.”
“The what?”
Unbuckling his seatbelt, he shrugs. “You know, like The Creeps. Uncanny. Bad Juju. Weird vibes. Spooky-Ooky.”
My lips press into an unamused line.
He grins— a devious thing. “My bad. In Bible Humper terms: the place feels possessed or something.”
I shut off the idling engine. “Why are you even here?”
“Oh, trust me, I don’t want to be, but the pros outweigh the cons.” Counting off on his fingers, “AC, all my hours done in one week, an excuse to do crafts, and most importantly, no trash pick up on the beach like an inmate. I’d say it’s a no-brainer, Saint Sebastian.”
“Stop calling me that.”
He nods solemnly and snags his bottom lip with a canine. “You’re right, the whole thing is a mouthful.” Gears whirl in his crazy head until his entire face lights up. “How about Saint Seba?”
My keys slip. Only a very select few people call me Seba. Hearing my nickname from his mouth is strange. I don’t know how to feel about it.
“No.”
He feigns consideration, scanning me from my hair, down my nose, my lips, to the cross pendant resting on my chest, then back to my eyes. Honey and glacier blue bore into me.
A small, yet genuine smile softens his features, revealing a glimmer of warmth.
“But I like it. It suits you.”
Goosebumps sweep across my skin. Must be the AC.
Shaking out of the weird trance, I mutter, “whatever,” and reach behind his seat for my backpack, unzipping the main pocket and tossing one of the lunch bags Mom packed for us into his lap.
Cade isn’t remotely interested in her desperate attempts to suck up to him.
If I’m being honest, I’m not sure what he makes of her.
It’s not like he’s hostile or rude; he’s just indifferent.
Unlike me, who he can’t seem to leave alone.
“Admit it, you like it,” he chuckles.
“Do you ever shut up?”
His devilish smirk returns; the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Never.”
Christ help me. I’m convinced Cade Warren is Satan himself, testing my restraint. And I’m failing miserably.
I need to get the fuck away from him.
“I’m gonna punch you,” I grumble and rush out of the truck, putting as much distance between me and the menace as possible.
“Isn’t that against one of the commandments?” he laughs, popping a cigarette between his lips as he hops out after me. My fist strangles the nylon backpack strap. Rather than rip the cancer stick out of his mouth like I want to, I pick up the pace toward the Parish Hall.
“Jesus doesn’t condone violence!” Cade calls at my back, the echo chorusing through the quiet gravel lot.
“When it comes to you, I’m sure he’ll make an exception.”
The imbecile catches up faster than I expected and bumps my shoulder.
“Well, that’s a bit hypocritical, isn't it? Not very saintly of you either. You’re supposed to be a role model for these young, impressionable children of the corn.”
I can’t help it. I gaze heavenward, praying for him to miraculously become tolerable.
“Children of God.”
“Same thing.”
The second my shoe touches the front steps, Cade stops short and shrieks. My bones fly out of my skin. I whip around—
The cigarette he's been smoking now burns a hole in the worn black canvas of his sneaker, the tiny flame quickly snuffed by his frantic bouncing.
“You lied! They're trying to light my ass up already!”
My chest aches from holding in a laugh. “Some would call that divine intervention.”
Mismatched eyes narrow. Before he can spew more blasphemy, I push in one of the weather-worn wood doors, a gust of Pinesol and powdery air freshener enveloping me.
Crossing the thin teal and purple carpet toward the welcome table, still grinning at Cade’s expense, I join the short line of other counselors checking in.
An older woman with a greying blonde bob and a name tag reading, Susan, bustles back and forth behind the table, muttering to herself. She waves at two girls waiting for their badges. “Can one of you get Andrea?”
The shorter one nods hastily and disappears through a pair of double doors while Susan exasperatedly explains to the remaining girl which team she’s on and where to go next.
A familiar scent tainted with cigarette smoke wafts from behind me.
It’s giving me a headache.
“What’d I miss?” Cade asks, chomping into a stick of gum. The girl, arms filled with welcome kits, glances at my stepbrother.
He flashes a charming smile.
Her cheeks flush bright red as she immediately shuffles aside to make room for us in front of the table.
I shoot Cade a warning look. “Behave.”
He rolls the gum over his tongue and blows a bubble. Then winks at me. “Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Yeah. Fucking. Right.
“Andrea!” Susan snaps. “Where have you been? You were supposed to be checking everyone in!”
A petite brunette strides into the lobby, chewing something. She levels a bored expression at the older woman.
“Eating a donut. You know, the ones you said I needed to put out?”
Beside me, Cade snickers.
Reddish brown eyes dart to us. Her head tilts like a cat. Even her features are feline: elongated eyes, slightly upturned button nose and lips curved in a curious smirk.
Slowly, she brings her finger to her lips and sucks the remaining glaze off the tip, releasing it with a pop. The temperature in my veins skyrockets.
Except… she’s not looking at me.
“Andrea Sinclair! Use a napkin!” Susan barks.
It’s a gong, rattling my brain.
Sinclair.
The girl in the window.
The Pastor’s daughter.
Staring directly at my stepbrother.
Who returns her stare with a predatory grin.