“Stay here on the beach until we come back for you,” Saint said simply, his lips tipping up into his infamous psycho smile. He directed the other guys ahead of him, but Kyan lingered on the beach as Saint and Blake swept past him.
“You’re gonna just leave me here in the rain?” I called in horror. “For how long?” My heart drummed to a war beat in my chest at the idea of staying out here. I was soaked through already in only my uniform. Not even a coat.
None of them answered, but Saint looked to Kyan and snarled, “Come on.”
Kyan gazed at me for a long moment and I was caught in the intensity of his eyes, seeing the hesitation in him to leave me here.
“Kyan, please,” I breathed just for him, wondering if there was any decency in the guy before me.
“Now, Kyan!” Saint snapped and Kyan dropped my gaze and turned away from me, heading after them into the trees.
I shivered as the rain blew around me, soaking me through in moments. The last of the light was draining from the world and I felt my own light fading with it. It was unbearably cold already and the beach was so exposed, I couldn’t see anywhere to hide from the downpour.
Thunder boomed overhead once more and adrenaline washed into my blood. I dragged in a breath as I hunted for somewhere to take shelter. I spotted a small tree where the beach rose up towards the mountain, blowing in the tempest and I ran over to it. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give me a bit of cover as I dropped down to sit beneath it, hugging my legs to my chest.
My shoulders shivered as I stared out at the dark lake, its surface a myriad of ripples as the raindrops pelted it. I fought the shadow of fear that was looming over me. Because if I was going to stick to the Night Keepers’ rules, then they could leave me out here all night.
Tears rushed hot and fast down my cheeks as fear cleaved my heart apart.
I missed my dad. I hated that he was gone. I hated that I didn’t know where he was. And I hated that I had no explanation, nothing to cling onto except the belief in my heart that he was innocent. But most of all I hated that he’d left me behind. And now the world was falling to ruin and I had no one here to face it at my side.
I shuddered, closing my eyes and falling back into that safe space inside me, telling myself over and over again, I made the right choice. I made the right choice. I made the right choice, until the cold wasn’t so sharp and the fear in my heart loosened its claws.
I was a survivor. And I’d survive this. I had to.
We sat around the fireplace in The Temple, drinking heavily while Saint blasted some seriously intense classical music which he announced was by a guy called Antonio Vivaldi. He sat with his eyes closed as he leaned back in his enormous wingback chair which we’d nicknamed his throne, a glass of stupidly expensive neat vodka dangling from his fingertips as he bathed in his victory. Our victory.
Blake was dancing before the fire, laughter tearing from his lips as he stumbled over his own feet. We’d all torn our wet capes off when we got back here and none of us had bothered to put shirts on as we stayed close to the raging fire and let it dry us and warm us through. We looked like savages with the paint still marking our skin and I couldn’t really disagree with that description.
Thunder crashed outside, loud enough to be heard over the deep base of whatever the fuck this next song was. I’d never admit it, but living with Saint had kinda made me love this classical shit. There was something so pure and intense and real about it. It really got my blood pumping and my mind firing. Sometimes, when I was beating a guy’s head in, I could hear the crash and bang of cymbals and the pure rhythm of one of his favourites in my head as my fists pounded in time with it. There was a beauty to it alright. Not that I’d ever tell Saint that.
Rain pelted against the stained glass window which dominated the room and I looked up at it as lightning lit the sky again and illuminated the crucifix, giving me a brief view of the roiling clouds beyond the red and orange panes that made up the huge crucifix.
I tongued my cheek, lifting my bottle of Jack to my lips but only taking the smallest of sips.
“How long are we leaving her out in that?” I asked. It had been hours already and I was starting to wonder if she could actually survive out there much longer.
“All fucking night if I deem it so,” Saint replied cockily.
“Naw,” I said slowly. “She’d die out in that all night. Girl was barely dressed as it was.”
“So let her die,” Blake said bitterly, chugging down even more booze as he threw his head back and sang to the classical music. It didn’t have words so we were gifted with him replicating the bum, bum, bums. I doubted he really meant it though, he was just too wasted to think straight and I could practically see his grief shining out of his eyes despite the display he was putting on.
“Seems a bit easy,” I commented, ignoring that twist in my gut at his words.
If they hated Tatum Rivers this much just for being related to some asshole, then I wondered what they’d think of me if my secrets ever came to light? There were shadows in me that ran deeper than my bones and secrets I didn’t even dare whisper alone in the dark. If they knew the truth, would their love for me fall apart and give way to hatred? They were certainly more inclined to hate than love. All three of us were. There was a beauty in that. But a rot too. Hate could drive the purest of things to ruin.
I wanted to believe I was their brother. More than just a brother. That our bond went soul deep. Far further than blood. But was it really so simple? I only knew I needed them far too much to test it. Without the other Night Keepers, I was nothing. Less than nothing now. My name didn’t even mean shit anymore.
Hell, when they found that out they might cut me out of our circle of three. And I had secrets far more ruinous than the decision I’d made about my family this summer.
No. I wouldn’t be telling them any time soon. And that knowledge made me feel a little uneasy about what we were doing to Tatum Rivers.
We’d done shit to plenty of people before. Far worse shit than commanding them to stand out in the freezing rain all night. But they’d deserved it one way or another. There was always something that I could point to and say this right here is why. But Tatum? She hadn’t done shit to anyone. Only been born of a scumbag. And I could relate to that. If we were going to be punished for the crimes of our fathers, then I was destined to burn in hell for all of eternity and then some.
But there was no point in me saying that to Saint and Blake right now. Blake was angry and grieving and rightfully so. And as fucked up as it was, I preferred to see him dance in victory than try and stop him from taking things too far with the new girl. If her sacrifice was required in order to right the wrong that had been done to him, then that was fine. I’d end her myself if I believed it would bring him relief. He’d gone above and beyond for me far too many times and I was overdue a repayment.
And Saint…well, Saint needed power like a whore needed sex. He needed to bring everyone around him to heel. He had to feel the weight of his enormous balls dragging him down as everyone else bowed to the top dog. He wasn’t like me and Blake in that regard. We’d been broken by life and the people who’d brought us into it in one way or another. Saint had been born broken. Like there was some vital piece missing from him. And because of that emptiness, he was consumed with hunger and a need to fill that hole. He fed on the pain and suffering of others because he struggled to appreciate other people’s emotions at all. Most emotions were hard to label, hard to feel if they weren’t your own. But pain? Real, honest agony of the heart? He could almost taste it when he dealt it out to someone. I swear if demons existed, Saint would be one that devoured souls.