Page 60 of Taint My Soul

The knife clatters on the floor as I drop it and walk away, leaving him in the shadows of the alley.

The bass from the stage thuds against the wall as I storm into the club. Without hesitation, I make my way to the bar, pushing through the teeming crowd. “Another shot.” I tell the bartender as I sit on the high stool. She fills my glass and passes it to me. I drink it all and ask for more. Then I unlock my phone and stare at Vincent’s message one more time.

Saint’s not safe for me.

I hate what he brings out in me. What he makes me see. I hate it all. And if taking a chance with Vincent will save me from all of this darkness. From the bullet made specially for me. From Saint’s unnamed emotions, then so fucking be it.

I want out.

I want it to end.

I select the photos and send them to him.

CHAPTER TWENTY

MASON

“More.” I yell at the bartender over the loud music. Saint hasn’t returned to the club since I left him outside.

She gives me a look, holding the tequila bottle over the shot. She passes the shot glass to me, and I take another sip, clearing my throat as the burning liquid slides down.

I look at my phone. It’s been over an hour since I sent Vincent the message. He’s seen it, but he hasn’t responded. I hope this is it. I hope this is enough to get me away from all of this. I hope this is the fucking end.

My gaze rests on the screen as I watch the message. A heavy weight settles on my shoulders as I remember that night. He’d killed that assassin effortlessly. He’d taken his life the same way he’ll take mine if I fail him.

Every part of me prayed that this was it. That this is the end. Even though I feel something else. Guilt? Anger? I don’t know.

All I knew was that Saint’s voice still lingers at the back of my mind. And the heaviness of what I’d just done sits like a fresh wound on my chest.

There’ll be consequences for this. Consequences that might ruin his entire family. Consequences I contributed to. I place both of my hands on the counter, a trembling sigh escaping my lips. My fingers clench and unclench as I try to shove it all away. That’s what I do. I put it all in a box and move on.

And I deserve to move on.

From all this chaos.

From my uncle and every darkness he incurred for himself.

From Saint. Him most especially, because I can’t stomach his acknowledgment of this thing inside me.

This anger and rage. The monster that thirsts for violence. A monster I’ve kept chained away while living my life. I’ve never told anyone about the things that created this part of me. I have never wanted to share it with anyone. But somehow Saint sees it in me. He sees the monster so effortlessly.

And he calls me a devil.

Devil.

Maybe that’s what I am. That’s who I am. Because all my life, darkness is all I have attracted. Childhood trauma. Nightmares. Near-death situations. All of it lingering like a shadow in my fucking life.

If my parents were here, I would have had a different future. They wouldn’t have let any of this happen to me. Maybe I should have died with them. If I had, none of this would have happened.

I wouldn’t have fought my uncle, so I could escape the cage he kept me in.

I wouldn’t have ended up in a clinic with a knife lodged into my stomach.

I wouldn’t have carried the scar he gave me that night for the past seven years.

Not just the physical scar, but the ones that made me look over my shoulders for years.

The ones that made me hypervigilant. The ones that woke me up in the dead of the night because I had had nightmares for six months.