“What?”
“A pregnant girl can have like three glasses of wine a day, so I think I can have a beer.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“Something like that. Jesus was all about the wine, right? Just get me a damn beer. No one else will.”
He looked to the curve of her belly. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Shut the fuck up. What right does anyone have to decide what I shouldn’t do? I’m sorry that I need something to take the edge off. You don’t think I deserve that with the night I’ve had? The shit I saw? The shit you told me?”
It was a lot for any mortal to take in, especially one that was tasked with something so important, but Kinzer still wasn’t going to let her poison Earth’s future salvation.
“I get it,” he said. “It’s rough, but I’m not getting you a drink.”
“A cigarette?”
He shook his head.
Maggie’s plush lips pursed. “I hate you.” She scratched her fingernail into the crack in the bar. “Shitty fucking night.”
“Amen.”
She snickered. “You guys have really done a number on me. You know, you need to find a better way of telling people about that God and Satan shit. Some of us got a lot of baggage about that.”
She and Kid were the only ones he planned on ever explaining the details to, so he didn’t really need to get better at it.
“Know anything about Pentecostals?”
What?
“Pentecostal? Religion? Churches? Yes? No? Did you stop understanding English?”
“You expect me to remember one religion? Maggie, I’ve been around since the dawn of creation.”
“What, are you bragging? Chill the fuck out. I’m Pentecostal. Well, no. I’m not Pentecostal. I was raised one. We do this thing. Speak in tongues. Know what that is? It’s where the Holy Spirit…or God…speaks through you. People shake, shout out inarticulate nonsense. Mom was always good at it. She’d drop faster than any of them.”
She pressed the glass to her lips and took a drink.
“When you’re little, that kind of shit makes sense. I guess it makes sense to adults, too. Everyone loved it. Loved her. She would do it all the time, and she was convincing. I mean, some people do it, and it looks like an act. Like they just want attention. Others, you’re like, something’s going on there. My mom was one of those where it really looked like something was going on. When it happened, she wasn’t my mom. She was speaking for something else—something bigger, more powerful. I’m not saying I bought it. I’m just saying how it looked, okay?”
Something about the way she said that last part made Kinzer think that she had bought it.
“I used to fall down, too. I’d work up a fit. Copy her. I wasn’t very believable. At least, I didn’t think so. I never felt the Holy Spirit. But I prayed. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed, because she told me that’s all I needed to do. Never felt anything, but I just kept praying anyway. I thought, He’ll come. He’ll let me know He’s there. Bible was filled with stories about people He’d spoken through—stories about people who’d witnessed His power. I wanted to be one of them. I believed in them. Hell, my mom did it, so it had to be true, right? And she would have been so proud. I remember thinking, ‘If I could just walk on water, she’d be so happy. She’d really love me.’
“Walk on water. Did that even happen? Don’t answer that. Don’t ruin Jesus for me. Anyway, one time I fell down in church, and I was doing what I normally did—what everyone else did. Shaking. Tossing my head around. Arching my back. You pretty much just make it look like a seizure. Mom snatched me by the arm, yanked me up, and said, ‘No one likes a fake.’ Oh, I could have died. And I knew I’d never be able to fool her, and she’d never be okay with her unrighteous daughter. This empty thing that God wanted no part of.”
“She sounds like a nut job,” Kinzer said.
“Maybe. Just funny now. To think what she’d say if I told her I was having the devil’s baby. That’d send her over the edge. Probably even make sense to her. Her daughter, who was so incapable of feeling the Holy Spirit, would totally be the mother of the Antichrist.”
Kinzer glanced around nervously. “Can you keep it down?”
Her eyebrows pulled close together. “Are you kidding? Hey everyone, I’m the mother of the Antichrist!”
“Shut up, bitch!” one of the flannel and denim guys shouted from the corner booth.
“You wanna die, asshole?” she replied. “Listen, Kinz-ar, or whatever, no one believes any of the bullshit you’re talking about. I could hold up a sign on the side of the road and spit on and on about this crap and no one would give any fucks. You think you’re the first person to start talking about God and Satan being up to something?”
She had a good point, but there still wasn’t any reason to be making a scene.
“What am I supposed to think about this?” she asked. “My mind isn’t even letting me think about it. I think it’s some sort of defense mechanism to keep me from losing my shit. Doesn’t feel real. That doesn’t mean much. Some things just don’t. Had a lot of things happen that never felt real. Keep telling myself that it’s just a hallucination…or a dream. But it’s not.”
She took another sip of her drink.
“So why don’t you want to talk about your boyfriend? What’s that about?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Unlike everything else?”
Kinzer didn’t respond.
Maggie whirled her finger around the rim of her glass.
She giggled. “Mom really was full of crap, wasn’t she?” A sad look in her eyes made her seem as if she was a kid that had just discovered Santa wasn’t real. “So what happens?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“This kid? What happens to it?” Her voice had lost its harshness. It was soft, soothing to Kinzer’s ears.
“We take care of it.”
“We as in…”
“The Leader’s Allies.”
“You gonna take my kid from me?” She stroked a hand against her stomach.
Kinzer hadn’t really thought any of this through. Everything was happening so fast. Too fast. He didn’t know how the Leader would want to handle the Antichrist or if he’d want Maggie to be involved in its life.
“Did you want to be a part of its life?”
Maggie’s gaze drifted behind the bar, settling on a poster of a pinup girl stretching across a motorcycle.
“No. I’m not a fucking mother. Probably be shitty at it anyway. I got my own life to live.”
“What life is that?”
“You got a problem with me?”
“It was just a question.”
“A life where I get to do what I want. Live how I want. You can’t do whatever you want when a kid’s involved. It’s all about the kid. At least, that’s the way it should be.” Her gaze sank to her belly. “I had a boyfriend…” She teared up. “…well, I called him a boyfriend. He used to say, ‘Life’s not worth living if you ain’t feeling good.’ He was an asshole, but I agree. You find the things in this world that give you something—that make you feel the way you want to feel, and you gotta hold on to them. You don’t ever let them go. They’re what’ll keep you strong. They’re what’ll keep you wanting to live another day. Can’t do that with a kid. They need you. Depend on you. It’s all about them. Well, I think so.”
“Lessons from an addict?”
“Lessons from someone that’s lived life.”
“Well, Maggie, I’ve lived a long one, and I gotta say, that doesn’t seem like a way to live. That seems like a way to die.”
“Well, that’s what I’ve got. I can feel pleasure. That’s real. That’s mine. Isn’t that what Hell’s all about anyway?”
“No. Like I said—”
“Right. All that shit about how it’s the reverse of what I think. Whatever. So you demons are all a bunch of prudes? Well, that fucking didn’t sound all that prudish.”
She
wore a scornful expression, like the one she’d had when he’d first seen her back at Dedrus and Treycore’s. Kinzer knew there was no point in arguing. Not while she was like this. She’d been through a lot. She just needed to adjust to all the news that she’d been bombarded with.
She turned toward the other side of the bar so Kinzer only had a view of ratty waves of dirty-blonde hair.
“Don’t you fucking judge me,” Maggie said. “I’m okay with a lot of things, but a hypocrite isn’t one of them.”
***
Feels like a fucking sauna, Kid thought. He stumbled through the thick, humid air.
Sweat created a rim around his shirt collar. The sun burned against the back of his neck. Treycore didn’t appear to be nearly as affected by the climate. Kid presumed this was a benefit of being an immortal.
He and Treycore had been walking through the jungle since dawn. Now midday, it was becoming unbearable.
Kid was already on edge. What little sleep he’d managed to get the night before had been laced with nightmares—flashes of his time at Jerry’s. He was tending to clients. He was being ravaged by them. Then there was Daddy. His fingers wrapped around Kid's throat. His belt slapped against Kid's ass. His dick invaded his hole. Kid, just a child, screamed out, begging him to stop.
As Kid had roused from the hellacious sleep, he’d felt that even though he would never have to live like that again, it still would always be a part of him. It would haunt him until the day he died.
Black gnats danced around Treycore as he slapped a stick against a branch in his path. One flew at Kid, landing in a layer of sweat that steadily thickened on his forehead. Its wings were bound to the sticky moisture. As it struggled to get free, Kid brushed his fingers over it, unthinkingly smashing it into his skin. He flicked its remains to the black soil at his feet.
How long are we gonna keep walking? We’ve been doing this for hours.
A question stirred in Kid’s mind. For a while, he’d been worried that it would sound moronic. At this point, he didn’t care. He’d been walking through the stupid jungle for too long already.
“Can’t you just fly us out of here or use your power to—”
Treycore tossed a harsh gaze back. The tension in his jaw and the furrow of his brow made Kid feel like he’d insulted his dead mother.
Treycore’s lips opened, but closed just as quickly. He turned and pushed a frond out of his path. “No,” he said curtly.
Touchy subject.
“What’s the point of having wings,” Kid began, “if you can’t fucking use them? Your ex-bitch can fly.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” Treycore said. “I can’t fly, so just leave it alone.”
Why are you so fucking mad at me? Kid thought. I’m not the one who dated the psycho who put us out here!
Kid was pissed. Treycore was being so dismissive, as if just because he was mortal, he didn’t matter. He’d already been made to feel that way by too many people, and he was tired of it.
“Must be pretty useless if it can’t even get us out of here,” Kid muttered.
Treycore stopped again. He turned around. His wincing eyes narrowed even further. He was giving a look that made Kid think that he was about to leap on top of him and pound into his face.
“Kid,” he said, “you should just stop talking, because in a second, I’m gonna make you.”
Kid rushed him and stood tall, pushing his chest out.
“Come on.” He knew that Treycore’s impressive physique, combined with his immortal strength, could easily overpower him, but he wasn’t going to let Treycore get what he wanted with threats and a pissy attitude.
Treycore stepped toward him. Kid didn’t budge.
“We don’t have time for this,” Treycore said. “We need to get back to Kinzer, so just follow me and keep the fuck out of the way.” He turned back around and started back through the foliage.
“You don’t have a power or something like that disappearing girl?”
“No,” Treycore snarled.
“So, what I’m hearing is that you’re like the most useless angel…or higherling…or whatever-the-fuck…in the world.”
Treycore threw his stick into nearby shrubbery. He charged Kid. Grabbing him by the arm, Treycore twisted Kid around and shoved him against a tree.
“Mortal,” he hissed into Kid’s ear. “I’m not in the mood.”
“And I'm not your slave.” Kid didn't show anger. He was matter-of-fact. Treycore could condescend all he wanted, but Kid didn’t have to sit back and take it. Not anymore. He wasn’t going to feign shame and humility just because that was how Treycore preferred it.
Treycore flipped Kid around and pressed his shoulder blades against the tree. His grip was severe. Kid wondered if he was intending to cause him that much pain or if, in his frustration, he had forgotten his own strength.
“Who do you think you are?” Treycore asked, staring into Kid's eyes.
Kid felt as if he was trying to tear his soul out with his rage.
“You’re nothing! I carry divine authority. You’re lower than the lowest fallen. I’m older than the earth. The trees in this jungle are older than you. I can live forever. You have to die. Have you seen me? Have you seen my body’s perfection? That’s my birthright. Compare that to your disgusting figure, covered in the imperfections of mortality. The scars of your pathetic, disgusting life.”
Kid imagined how he looked in the mirror. The welts, the dents in his flesh, many of which were a product of his time at Jerry’s.
“Oh, and you smell!” Treycore continued. He grimaced, as if just being this close to Kid was unbearable. “I wish you knew how fucking bad you smelled. Any immortal can smell you coming from miles away. It’d be like if you had to wander the jungle with a pile of shit. And I think that’d still smell better than you do to me.”
A tear formed in Kid’s eye, but he wasn’t going to show weakness.
“You’re not even very attractive. I can’t imagine how it feels to be lowly, even for a mortal.”
“Feels pretty good.” Kid struggled to keep his voice from cracking. He held eye contact with Treycore. If he avoided his gaze, Treycore would know that he'd won. But the more he looked into Treycore's eyes, the more he imagined his immortal senses could detect his vulnerability, his hurt. Was Treycore fueling his inner terror so he could stand there and take pleasure in his misery? The longer Treycore stared into his eyes, the more Kid hated him. He didn't just hate him, he despised him. How could some supposedly angelic being be so cruel, so brutal, so uncaring?
Treycore’s anger—intense, severe, and filled with fury—came at Kid.
Kid's fists popped up. He pressed his back against the tree and pushed off, projecting himself toward Treycore. He knew he couldn't win in a fight against an immortal, especially one filled with such unquestionable contempt for him, but he wasn't going to lie limp and take it. He'd already had too much of that.
He launched a fist at Treycore's cheek.
Treycore snatched it. Kid threw his other fist, but Treycore snatched that one too. He shoved Kid back against the tree, lifted his arms into the air, and pinned them against the bark.
Kid struggled, but Treycore was too strong. Sweat rushed down Kid’s forehead.
The tear in his eye slid down his cheek. Kid was embarrassed. Now Treycore knew that he was getting to him.
Treycore pressed his lips against Kid's, stirring a surge of heat that combatted the heat of his fury and rage.
Kid's mind told him to attack, but all he could do was kiss Treycore back. Treycore’s hot breath rushed across Kid’s upper lip and tickled the tip of his nose.
No, Kid thought. I don't want to fuck you. You're an asshole! I hate you!
But as much hate as he felt for Treycore, he couldn't stifle the inexplicable sexual pull that made him want to be fucked by this beautiful creation. His penis filled, expanding rapidly. Treycore's monstrous bulge stroked against the jean barrier between them. Their lips
opened wider. They pressed their lips closer together.
Treycore nibbled on Kid's bottom lip. It was painful—so painful that Kid thought it would bleed.
He wished it hurt more.
He moaned.
Treycore released Kid’s wrists. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Attempting to gain some control over the kisses, Kid set his hand on Treycore’s cheeks, caressing his thumb against the tiniest of bristles.
Treycore’s lips retreated. His nose slid along Kid’s cheek. Moisture and breath mixed across Kid’s earlobe as Treycore’s tongue assaulted it.
Kid rolled his head back, slamming it against the tree. A rush of pain ran from the point of impact to his upper back. It was intense, almost immobilizing. It wasn’t the sort of pain he desperately wanted Treycore to force on him, but he wasn't going to allow it to separate him from the passion of this moment. He wanted Treycore. He needed him.
Treycore left Kid's ear and offered intense kisses down his neck. Biting, sucking, licking. He pressed his pelvis against Kid's, squashing him against the tree.
Kid ground his teeth. The combination of the pain from his ass being smashed into the hard surface and the immortal pressure that was crushing his pelvis—making his penis feel like it was a nearly bursting balloon—was brutal. He released Treycore's face and balled his hands into fists. He could endure the pain. He'd done it plenty of times before. And this was a pain he wanted…a pain he ached for. It stirred a rush of electricity that ran from his hips to his chest, exciting him.
Treycore slid his hands under the back of Kid's T-shirt. He stroked up and down, digging his fingers into his flesh. The pressure was so intense that it rubbed Kid’s skin raw. Kid rolled his head against the bark and groaned through clenched teeth.
Treycore pulled one hand back out from under Kid's shirt. He snatched Kid's neck, stifling his breath. It snapped Kid out of his pleasure.
His eyes flashed to a red-faced, jaw-clenched Treycore. What was happening? Had he done something wrong? Was Treycore mad at him?
Treycore’s lips covered his.
Kid's face turned scarlet. As much as his body urged him to breathe, there was something so erotic about Treycore controlling his breath, his life, and he didn't want it to end.
Clipped (The Clipped Saga Book 1) Page 12
