Page 22 of Fatally Yours

The low hum of the engine was occasionally interrupted by a familiar popping noise, preventing me from resting my eyes.

Devin’s car was always going to shit. Even though I didn’t require sleep, it distracted me from what we just did.

The sins we committed weighed heavily on me, even if, at the moment, they didn’t.

I wondered if that was part of being dead, too, and if August felt the same way after he made me join him.

If he felt conflicted before, I doubt he did now.

We would continue to rot in mind and soul.

Like he said, everything but our bodies.

After some time, I turned to him, noticing he was staring out the windshield with a blank expression, something that was becoming more common as the days went on.

His smiles were fading into something more somber.

Consumed by the harshness of death, I figured.

I set my hand on him, and a strange sadness crept through my heart, making me recall all the times we spent riding down the country roads when we were alive.

“Where are we going?” I questioned.

“Wherever.” His deadpan expression never shifted.

I sighed—I think. Everything I did felt automatic, even if it wasn’t necessary anymore.

Breathing was just habitual at this point—ingrained by nature for survival.

I removed my hand from his and propped my head on my elbow, realizing he wasn’t in the mood to talk.

It was a stark contrast to how he was in life.

He glanced at me, and his steely face dissolved.

“We have to ditch this car, baby.”

“Why?”

“It’s not a good habit to hang on to your victim’s stuff.”

“Then how are we going to get back to town?”

He gave me a pointed look. “We’ll find another car.

” I pursed my lips as I returned my stare out the window.

I didn’t want to think about what we would do to obtain another vehicle.

Killing innocent people was out of the question for me, but I wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Maybe eventually, I would fade into that attitude, too. Then we would really be in trouble.

We spent the rest of the ride in silence.

Not even the radio was on, and he wasn’t singing a tune that would distract me from all the ghoulish ideas running through my head about how we would get a different vehicle.

Even the glittering stars in the sky that provided me so much comfort when I pulled myself from the grave didn’t bring me peace.

Soon after, he popped on the turn signal, and I lifted my head from the window, realizing he was pulling into a lone bar.

My face scrunched as I looked at him, hoping that this was just a mistake and we were taking time to regroup.

Hopefully, he was not planning to go in there and expose us to a bunch of people. Attention was the last thing we needed.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“You’ll see.” Without another word, he got out of the car, and I followed suit, not wanting to argue.

The doors slammed behind us, and I peeked over the top at him, watching as he placed the keys on the roof and motioned for me to follow.

He wandered to the door, but I remained where I was until he waved his hand again, this time more aggressively.

I knew better than to protest. He already proved he could kill me and bring me back from the dead. There was no use fighting with someone who held that much power, even if I hesitated to call it fear.

August held the door open for me as I entered.

The building was cozy and dark, with dim lights illuminating different rickety tables and framed photos on the walls.

A low but distinct tune played over the speakers, just loud enough to mask intimate conversation, and a multitude of grungy-looking characters were scattered at the various tables, locked in conversations or playing card games.

A blonde woman with rosy cheeks propped herself up between two leather-clad men and laughed obnoxiously at something, patting one of their chests with her palm. No heads rose when we walked in, much to my relief. I hoped the dull lighting would mask our unusual appearance.

He made his way to the bar while I trailed behind, feeling a fluttering in my stomach.

Despite no heads turning when we walked in, I couldn’t help but feel like every eye in the building was on us.

Neither of us fit in here, even August, in all his rugged glory.

I almost thought this was a place only fit for criminals and those who skittered along the underbelly of society until I realized that we would fit quite snugly into that category.

Not wanting to think about it, I caught up and placed myself beside him.

There was already a drink in front of him, and I hoped—prayed—that this was a result of guilt from the previous evening and not a celebration. I needed someone to share my conflicted emotions, but knowing how easy it was for him to take me out, that was just an empty dream.

Just like in life, August was reveling in this conflict. And why wouldn’t he? One of the men he hated the most was dead, he got to humiliate him before committing the act, and I was right there by his side, able to delight in the thrill of the situation. That was what that was. Delight.

I set my head on my hand, and when the bartender passed by, I muttered something about bringing me whatever he was having. The last thing I wanted was to be surrounded by people, but I could at least make the best of this situation by trying to forget about everything, just like I did when he died.

The bartender slid a drink across the counter and tipped his hat at me.

I returned a false smile and looked at August and his drink, which was already gone.

With another automatic sigh, I tipped my glass back, downed it, and motioned for another.

My shoulders trembled when I swallowed it, but a dulled, distinctly metallic tang was better than having to think about how much I enjoyed participating in a murder.

He was a fair number of drinks in, and I stopped after two, wanting to keep my wits about me in case anyone questioned why we looked so dead.

A comfortable buzz was running through my veins, surely amplified by my lack of life.

Just another thing being dead did to you—helped you get drunk.

And if I knew anything about August, it was that he got reckless when he was inebriated, and that was the last thing we needed.

Great.

Tapping my fingers silently along the counter, I set my head on my hand again. I hoped we could enjoy this moment as much and as fast as we could, but I had a feeling that was not how this night was going to go.

“You look miserable,” he said with a smirk.

“I’m not entirely,” I replied flatly. “Only a little.”

“It’ll get easier.” That comment made my empty stomach flip.

That implied that we were going to do it again, and even though I knew that would happen, I still wasn’t excited about it, at least, not like he was.

Maybe in the moment, I would slip into the icy hands of cruelty as I did previously, but as long as I was not drunk on death’s toxic ambrosia, I felt nothing but dread.

“This is not how I wanted my life to go.”

“Good thing this isn’t life anymore,” he remarked with a drunken grin, downing his sixth drink and setting the glass back on the counter. Now, I was going to have to deal with him being dead and drunk, a combination I was not ready to face when we needed to finesse something from the public.

“I think I hate you sometimes.”

“No, you don’t,” he said flippantly .

“Sometimes I do.”

“You know, I couldn’t imagine you saying something like that before.”

“Well, things change when you die,” I said. “I guess that’s what made me enjoy acting like a deviant, and that’s also what makes me sometimes think I hate you.” His gaze grew cold as his mismatched eyes bored into mine.

“No, you do not. I won’t let you.” It was another command.

I was sure of it. Not that he would convince me not to, but that he would make me not hate him—one way or the other.

For a brief moment, I considered all the salacious ways he would do that before I came to my senses.

With another sigh—purposeful this time—I folded my arms and set my head on the table, wishing for this night to fly by.

While I was resting, my eyes caught on a newspaper sitting on the bar beside me.

There was an article talking about a child predator who skipped out on parole and was now hiding, adorned with a picture of a middle-aged man with dark, greasy hair, but I didn’t want to think about that.

There was already enough misery in what remained of my life, so I pushed it away and put my head down.

The sound of uneven footsteps caught my ear through the low music.

The buzz in my stomach turned to a flutter as I sat up, hoping it was just someone walking by and not someone trying to converse with us.

Much to my dismay, the blonde woman I spotted earlier approached August with a sloppy expression.

Her gait was unsteady as she propped herself against the counter beside August. My August.

“Hey there,” the woman beamed. Her eyes connected with his as her face shaded. “Whoa, sick eyes.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, clearly not impressed.

The woman set her polish-tipped hand on his shoulder, and I shot her a glare.

The haze of death was creeping up on me again as a familiar feeling filled my head with nefarious thoughts.

It was a genuine, burning hatred spawned right from the depths of hell.

Maybe that was why it was so easy for him to kill me.

The ache in my empty vessel was gnawing at my vacant soul, almost ordering me to destroy this woman.

Pain we could not feel in death was coming back tenfold in fiery, vengeful waves.

The only thing keeping me grounded was that she was teetering on the edge of innocence, and I wasn’t keen on that, even if I did want to rip her hair from her scalp and watch her blood ooze down her blushing face for touching my man.

“You two seem like you’re having some issues,” the woman slurred. “How about you dump this bitch and spend some time with me?” I shot her a disgruntled glare and almost opened my mouth to speak until August stepped in with a similarly stony gaze.

“Fuck off, slut. I’ll make you see the devil,” he said blankly. I swore I felt my face flush. Even after everything, his blunt brutality continued to surprise and thrill me. The woman broke into a sly smile, seemingly relentless.

“So that’s what you’re into? I could try that,” she said.

August observed her uneven gait and how she struggled to hold herself up.

And then his eyes went to me. At that moment, my stomach dropped, and I knew something was going to happen.

The last person who called me a bitch was currently sitting lifeless in a grave.

“I like a man who can take control and do what he wants,” she added. He gave me one last unreadable expression, then turned back to her.

“Do you? Maybe I’d be interested,” he said. “As long as you don’t mind my bitch coming with us.” I flinched when he said it, but stayed silent. She broke into a gleeful smile.

“The more the merrier.” With that, August pulled out Devin’s wallet and slapped a few bills on the counter, earning a nod from the scraggly bartender. The woman led us out of the bar, stumbling the entire way.

By the time we reached the exit, she had almost fallen twice. August stepped in and opened the door for her, and she grinned at him, making my blood boil. I was confident he wouldn’t do anything obscene with her, but I wasn’t entirely sure I trusted him to not royally fuck this up.

Hell, I wasn’t sure I even trusted myself.

Despite hating this woman’s guts, I couldn’t bring myself to kill her, even if the urge was lingering in the back of my head like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

I thought I hated August for ending me, but this was real, genuine hatred brought on by the fires of death, only to be quenched by a flow of blood.

The warmth of the air kissed my skin as we stepped out into the night. The woman was a few messy steps ahead of us, and I took the opportunity to share another glance with August. I could tell by his sloppy smile that he was more inebriated than I wanted to admit, making my shoulders wilt.

This is not going to be good.