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How was I expected to devote my life to a God, whose worshipping leaders turned out to be such vile human beings? If God were real, how could he allow it to happen over and over again?
Teeth chattering, Boo groans in pain. Finally, I’m no longer engulfed in my blackest memories, but back here with her. And she needs me.
Placing the Glock back in my nightstand, I hobble around to the other side of the bed. My body screams in protest as I lift her from the end and shift her body up the mattress, resting her head gently onto the pillow.
Her eyelids flutter as I tuck the blankets around her once more, noting that her skin feels ice-cold.
“What’s happening?” she questions, struggling to open her eyes.
“It’s okay, honey. You were just having a bad dream.”
My answer seems to get through to her, because she stops struggling to wake up and rolls onto her side, her hand reaching across to where I had just been. “Come lay with me?” she murmurs. “Please?”
Her question cools that pit of anger I’d been stewing in. And how can I say no to this sweet woman? Rounding the bed, I slip back under the covers and pull her against my body.
I wrap my arms around her, and she rests her head against my chest. It hurts like a bitch, thanks to a few broken ribs, but I don’t give a fuck. I want her close… Ineedher close.
“Thank you, Priest.”
Slowly, gently, I press my lips to the top of her head. “Sleep, Angel.”
BOO
I don’t thinkI've ever gotten this much sleep in my entire life. To be honest, I can’t remember a single instance where I’ve slept more than a few hours, but those had been spread out over days. Sleep has never come easy to me, but here, the second my head hits the pillow, I drift off.
Could it be the pain medicine the club doctor gave me? Sure. Or maybe it’s the giant man sleeping next to me? Also possible. I just know that my body likes the rest it’s gotten. I’d barely left the bed outside of trips to the en suite bathroom in Priest’s room, and to snack on whatever someone had left for us to eat. Priest has barely moved, either. His injuries were far worse than mine, according to the conversation I’d overheard with the doctor, who had sequestered Priest to the bathroom to change his bandages. The Screwballs didn’t hold back on him. Neither of us had fared well, but he’d bored the brunt of their violence.
With a long stretch of my arms, I pull the blanket away from my body. A slick film of sweat covers my arms. Priest’s body is like an oven when he sleeps. Though, I won’t complain about that. It’s felt nice to be warm for once.
I stretch again, but this time, I catch a whiff of myself.Jesus, I need a shower. I seriously reek.
Peering over my shoulder, I find Priest’s side of the bed empty, and a jolt of panic pierces my chest. Where did he go? Did he leave me here?
Relax, Boo. You’re safe. Priest would never let anything happen to you.
With a deep, cleansing breath, I place my feet on the floor and force my stiff body to stand. My muscles creak and complain at the movement. I need a hot shower.
Shit. I don’t have any clothes.
I look down at what I’m wearing. A pair of snug, pink flannel shorts, and an oversized T-shirt with a picture of the Pope flipping the bird.
Just then, the bathroom door swings open and Priest steps out, the steam from the shower billowing around him like a cloud. My mouth goes dry as I take in his wet hair, as well as the water dripping onto his chest and trickling down his abs in long, winding streaks.
The black towel slung low across his hips showcases the muscular V of his lower abdomen, dipping beneath the edge. Unable to look away, my eyes trail farther south, and I shiver when I see the outline of his cock pressing against the thin material.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. How was this man a priest looking like that?
“Morning,” he greets me with a wide smile. I continue to stare as he runs a second towel through his hair, messing with his long locks, making him look rumpled, and somehow, even more gorgeous. A flutter erupts low in my belly, and my cheeks grow hot.
“I uh… Morning.”Real smooth, idiot.
I will my eyes to look away, but it’s like they’re permanently stuck on the man in front of me drying his hair in slow motion. I would swear he’s doing it on purpose just to unnerve me. But that couldn’t be, could it?
“Sleep okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” I mumble.
“Shower’s still running if you wanna get cleaned up. There are extra towels under the sink.” When I don’t respond, he asks, “Boo, you sure you’re okay?”
