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It sounded like the biggest block party of the century was taking place inside the warehouse. Swinging my feet out of bed, I walked across the floor, feeling the bass vibrate through my soles.
Flipping on the bathroom light, I frowned at Arlen’s cosmetology job in the mirror, lifting my temporarily dyed strands of hair. She’d been struck with the idea after hearing Romero tell me I brought color to his world. His exact words: “It’s always so fucking dark in my head. You make me see color again, vivid colors: pink and blue, green and purple.”
He said this while we were in bed so I wasn’t sure if I’d fucked him so hard he saw a rainbow when he came or he was being sweet.
I splashed some water on my face, swirled some mouthwash, pulled my shoes on, and left the room.
People were everywhere.
Some wore the hooded robes from the night we burned down the church; others barely wore anything. They all had the inverted cross tattooed beneath their eye, or somewhere else visible on their bodies.
Five Finger Death Punch’s Cradle to the Grave blasted through the air at a deafening decibel.
I shoved my way through dancing, writhing bodies, from people openly fucking and rude assholes who wouldn’t move when I said excuse me.
Glancing over the banister, I saw Arlen’s usual resting spot on the couch occupied by Cobra and a busty brunette. Hanging down from the ceiling was a large flag with the official symbol of Satan printed on it.
By the time I made it to the lower level and headed towards the back of the warehouse where the doors were wide open, Cut the Cord had began to play and I’d tripped over two dead bodies—both nuns.
I reached the doors and took a minute to gather my composure, not wanting to believe what was obviously right in front of me.
There was a large crowd gathered around the man sitting like a king on a throne in the middle of a clearing. Someone had painted a pentacle in the dirt. There were four wooden stakes hammered into th
e ground at different points of the star.
“Here’s the woman of the night,” a soft voice said, almost right in my ear.
I sidestepped and did a quick onceover of the redhead who had come up behind me, noting her tattoo was located on her neck.
“Oh, he got you good,” she laughed, staring at Romero a little too intently for my liking.
“Can you speak like a regular human?” I cut off her view and leveled her with an unimpressed stare.
“Calm down and look around you. Everyone looks at him the way I do.
That’s what happens when you start sleeping with a man with power.”
I blinked at her, not saying a word.
“You had to know you were consorting with the devil,” she scoffed.
“I…” I let the sentence die, looking back out at Romero. She was completely serious. I’d already established that the Savages were a fucking gang of cult worshippers of all things, worshippers of Romero to be more exact.
Having knowledge of something and physically seeing it, though, were two entirely different things. The man I adored was revered as the actual devil. It wasn’t just a nickname. I felt like I’d taken acid and was still on a trip.
“He has you now, sweetheart. I can already see the web he’s woven around your poor little soul. One minute he adores you, the next you’re scared shitless he’s going to kill you for blinking wrong.” She tossed her cigarette down and snuffed it with the heel of her shoe.
“Whose fucking idea was it to give him something so pure? Your corruption was unquestionably going to happen.”
“I was never pure.”
“You have a heart, darling. That’s good enough.” She brushed past me and walked into the crowd.
“Goddamn it.” I dropped my head and closed my eyes, pressing my hands to my temples. I didn’t fully yet understand what did any of this meant.
Lifting my head, I locked eyes with his and like a tethered ball and chain he pulled me to him. People openly stared at me as I walked by, eyeing me with curiosity.
“What the hell is this?” I wasted no time asking as he turned me around and sat me on his lap, pressing my back to his chest.
