Page 10 of Dark Side of the Cloth

“No, don’t look.” Dean tried to block his friend’s view but was not fast enough. Perez gripped the front of his vest, his eyes wide with panic.

“Where are my legs?”

Dean held his head to his chest and rocked his friend until he passed out from the blood loss, and he knew the sound of Perez’s sobbing would be lodged in the recesses of his mind forever.

“Come on!” A hand gripped his arm and helped pull him to his feet. He couldn’t see who it was that had him, as he was dragged away by his savior. He stared over his shoulder at the body of his best friend, his blank eyes staring back.

Dean launched himself for the heavy velvet curtain and tossed it aside. His long strides ate up the ground as he bolted for the door. He ran as he did that day and countless other days—taking lives, saving lives, protecting lives, too many fucking lives.

“Father! Where are you going?” the parishioner from the confessional called out, but he didn’t stop or answer. He couldn’t.

The massive wooden door felt weightless as he pushed it open and gasped when the cool winter air hit his lungs. His racing heart was still hammering as he instinctively kneaded the scarred area of his shoulder, a constant reminder of what he’d seen, of what he’d lived through on that day. He still had no idea how the few of them managed to get away. Or maybe they didn’t really get away—the ghosts and the questions from that day haunted him even now.

Gripping the dog tags dangling around his neck, he rubbed them between his fingers.

“Perez, Scooter, Mel, TK, Ringo, Jimmy,” he softly chanted the names of those he had seen murdered from that mission—a mission that never should’ve happened. They lost more than their lives that day. Most of them lost a part of their soul. One by one, they were picked off like in a fucking video game. It had been the longest mission of his life and the one that changed him forever.

When he’d returned, he was just another lost soul in the sea of all the other soldiers that no longer fit in until The Righteous approached him. They gave him purpose, they showed him that his skills were still useful, and he swore to them and himself that he’d bring justice to all those that deserved it.

“Father O’Sullivan, are you alright?” A hand touched his shoulder as the angelic voice of the woman he’d know anywhere reached his ears.

He opened his eyes, and there she was—Yasmine. She was staring right at him, concern written all over her dainty features. Those mesmerizing, big doe eyes of hers looked adorable behind the slim wireframe glasses she wore from time to time. As usual, her hair was up in a messy bun, and the flowery-scented soap she used filled his senses. If he didn’t believe in God, he would’ve said this woman was an angel dropped from the sky.

“Yasmine, Hi. I’m sorry, I—” Dean stopped, not sure how to answer.

“Having a panic attack? It’s okay. It’s very common. I’d panic too if I had to listen to that lot babble on all day,” she teased.

Her mouth pulled up at one corner, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to grab her and kiss her senseless. It had been increasingly more difficult over the last few months to keep his distance. Shit, he almost kissed her at Mabel’s the other day.

“Yes, that’s probably what it is, but we better not tell them. They all think their woes are world-ending.” He inclined his head toward the small group that had gathered on the walkway, their eagle eyes watching his and Yasmine’s every move. “Before I go back inside, was there a reason you dropped by?”

She held out a plain black tin. “I wanted to say thank you for all your help with the funeral last week. Your concern meant a lot, and you were right. Laying down for a nap did me a ton of good.”

He vividly remembered how much it had helped as the image of her on the bed flashed through his mind, his body instantly growing hot. He gently took the offering and pulled the lid off to find it full of chocolate chip cookies.

“I know that you love them, so… it’s not much, but—” Yasmine stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat, her eyes averting to the snowy ground.

“They’re perfect, thank you. I didn’t expect a gift, but I very much appreciate the delicious offering.” He scooped a couple out of the tin and shoved one in his mouth, making her smile. Her eyes lit up, and he could spend a million years staring into them just like this.

“Great, awesome, fantastic, I’m happy you love them, I ah, I better get back to work. Unfortunately, death is far too common. Have a good day, Father,” she rambled. Her cheeks flamed a beautiful red, and he smiled at her genuine nervousness as she started to leave.

“Dean,” he said.

She spun around and looked at him, her eyes wide.

“P-pardon?” Yasmine stuttered, and Dean almost laughed. She was trying too hard not to seem nervous, and a devilish voice in his head wanted to push her buttons—to see how red she could get, to see what other adorable things she would babble. The fact he had this effect on her pleased him more than he could put into words.

“Call me Dean, and that’s an order. I don’t want to have to tell you again.” He closed the distance and leaned down just enough to whisper in her ear as he passed. “Or you may need to be punished.”

He distinctly heard her sharp intake of breath. He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have even slightly nudged that proverbial door, but he couldn’t help it. She simply did something to him he couldn’t explain.

The night had finally come. Although, in reality, it had only been a few weeks since Tim met him outside his church and unwittingly signed his own death warrant—this night felt like it took forever.

Dean had kept his word to Tim and had him come to the church every week to let him think that he was trying to help him. It was amazing what people will spill when they think someone is their friend. Dean had gotten Tim to let him into his home, the town’s scrapyard, and he even sipped a tea while he listened to the man go on about his grocery list of atrocities. At that moment, Dean had fantasized about stabbing him in the eye with the sugar spoon as he offered “reassurance.” The small torture paid off, as it gave him ample opportunity to inspect the capture zone and any possible complications. He’d also had enough time to prep Tim’s final resting place.

Dean’s web was spun, so now it was simply time to capture the fly.

The Hummer purred as he pulled over to the side of the curb. He truly loved this vehicle. It was his first gift from The Righteous when he joined. The Hummer alone would have sold him, let alone all the other perks. Dean slipped out of his high-tech vehicle and left it around the corner from Tim’s scrapyard. Dean became one with the shadows as he jogged to the back of the fenced-in area of the business. There was one spot that the barbed wire surrounding the top of the structure was broken and curled back. He looked up at the hole and then jumped and scaled the fence.