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“Where’ve you been all day?” With eyes a soulless shade of blue, he stares down at me, drilling right through me, as if daring me to lie.
“Church.”
His eye flinches, the way it does when he’s holding back the urge to slap me across the face. It’s a look I’ve seen more times than I care to admit. “Church,” he echoes. “Since when do whores attend church?”
A quick sweep of my surroundings shows the busy nursing staff, buzzing around the nursing station and in and out of rooms, none of them paying us any attention.
“My grandmother wants to reconcile her sins. I met with the priest.”
“Young? Old?” The stale stench of chewing tobacco on his breath makes me want to hold my own.
“What does it matter?”
Shoulders bunched, he curls his fist in my periphery, a warning to me. “Is the fucking priest young, or old?”
“Old,” I lie. “Probably in his sixties.”
Sneering, he relaxes his muscles and tips his head. “Good. So, you wouldn’t be inclined to fuck him, then?”
“I’m not having this conversation with you. Not here. Not now.”
Running his finger down my cheek sends a curl of disgust through my gut. “I left a gift at your doorstep for Saturday. I want you to wear it for me.”
“You … showed up at my apartment again?”
“Just to drop it off, baby.” Hands falling to the nape of my neck, he makes it look like we’re some loving couple having an intimate moment, instead of a psychopath and his beloved little toy. “Don’t worry, I didn’t go in.”
“And why are you here?”
“To remind you of how easily I can get to you, if I need to.” Lips to my ear, he lowers his voice to a whisper. “How easily I could have smothered her with a pillow just now, while she peacefully slept. Don’t fuck with me, Ivy. I fuck with you, that’s how this works.” Squeezing my nape, he licks the shell of my ear, casting another ripple of sickness down to my stomach. “And I truly enjoy fucking with you.”
Body trembling on a rush of adrenaline, I trail my gaze over the bustling bodies all around me, who have no idea this man, this bastardly piece of shit, just threatened me and my grandmother. Unfortunately, if any of them bother to intervene, they’ll probably regret it, and so will I.
“I can’t wait to see you Saturday, love. I’m hard just thinking about it.” He pushes off the wall and strides down the hall, leaving me rattled and ready to throw up.
Taking a minute to close my eyes, I breathe deeply and remember that, as dangerous as Calvin may be, I witnessed a man, perhaps equally as dangerous, discard a body like he was tossing out the morning trash. A reminder that even apex predators can become prey.
Therefore, I’m determined to make Father Damon want me more than anything. More than sleep. More than his impenetrable morals, or tightly guarded virtue.
More than the anger that will inevitably consume him when he finds out what I have to confess.
10
Damon
Irub the towel over my wet hair, my muscles still burning from my hour-long workout in the rec room. Not even the cold shower that followed has soothed the massive case of blue balls I’ve suffered for most of the day, since my meeting with Ivy. Thank goodness for the alb, or the entire congregation would’ve gotten a front row view of sin in the flesh during evening mass.
In all my years of priesthood, tonight’s mass was probably the most troubling for me. Not only did I carry the oppressive weight of knowing I’ve buried a man in the back of the very church where I preach about mortal sin, but I also managed to work up the most painful hard-on I’ve had in years.
It felt like the days before Isabella, when Val and I popped ecstasy and locked ourselves in the bedroom all day. Only times we emerged were to eat and use the bathroom. Much as I try to suppress those memories, I miss the smell of sex and the awe of seeing her naked body rocking against mine.
Only this afternoon, it wasn’t Val’s face that came to mind, but Ivy’s.
Another twinge of pain strikes my balls, and I grip myself through my boxers, desperate to relieve the ache blossoming there all over again.
I need distraction.
Turning on the TV gives me pause, as the news report shows a familiar apartment building—the one where I dropped Camila off a couple nights ago. One of the neighbors speaks to the camera, calling the girl’s inexplicable return a miracle. In the next scene, her mother sits on a couch, clutching a bathed and dressed Camila, saying, “Whoever returned her back home, I just want to say, thank you. I wish you’d come forward, but I thank you for bringing her home to me.”
