Page 34 of Ruthless Devotion (Gilded Monsters #3)

Heathcliff

I haven’t heard from Cathy in days. I texted her twice, and I even tried calling. I don’t usually call people. But she didn’t answer the phone or reply to my texts.

Maybe she’s rethinking this connection between us. Maybe she’s scared because she confided in me but I wouldn’t tell her what kind of supernatural I am.

Or maybe that fool Edgar got to her and convinced her that I’m bad news. Which I am. I just thought Cathy might see past that or not mind it.

Maybe she didn’t like the fact that I don’t own the truck I was driving that day. I guess living with my brother and not having my own transportation are red flags for a woman, especially one like Cathy, who’s desperate to escape Wicklow.

Maybe her father is keeping her from contacting me. In that case, I’d best let him have some time to calm down before I go over there. Me showing up might make him act out worse toward her.

Whatever’s going on, I can’t keep texting and calling like a lovesick idiot. I gotta stay focused on the plan and hope she’ll get back to me eventually.

I’ve got three new tattoos, and a couple of them are terminal clients. One of them’s bound to die any day now, which means a payout for me. One step closer to freedom.

My asking price for resurrection isn’t as high as Hindley’s.

He’s got contacts who can vouch for him, but since I’m working alone, going after folks with no connection to the supernatural world, my services are untested.

No good reviews yet, you might say—although Alan Wolcott was beyond thrilled with his resurrection.

In fact, he was so thrilled I had to get out of there quick, before he tried to make me get matching tattoos with his whole family.

They weren’t around at the time; the agent persuaded them to leave the house for a while, saying he’d oversee the morgue coming to collect the body.

I can only imagine how the family reacted, coming home to find Wolcott alive and healed.

I never told Wolcott or the agent my real name.

Never gave them my address. They could ask around near Moretti’s, I guess, throw cash at people in my area and maybe find me.

But the folks in the area ain’t talkative to out-of-town, big-money types.

Pretty much the only places I go are the brewery, the Grange, a gas station, maybe a couple bars.

I’m not really a regular anywhere, at least not enough to be recognized.

Moretti’s isn’t a place I usually frequent, what with being in the Wicklow town limits and all.

After I recovered from that resurrection, I took down the account I’d used to contact Wolcott and I started new ones.

I figure I’ll do the scorched-earth thing after every successful resurrection, so they can’t find me again.

I’m working out the kinks, finding that sweet spot, where the price is high enough to give my offer some weight but low enough so people aren’t too scared to shell out the 30 percent deposit up front.

I’ve got my own truck now, an old used Ford I bought with cash off a guy who let me keep the plates and didn’t ask questions.

I didn’t ask him where he got it either.

I keep it hidden at the back of the Lockwood property, behind an old shed draped in kudzu vines.

Hindley never goes back there since there’s poison ivy all through that part of the woods.

He’s probably forgotten that there’s also an overgrown dirt track cutting through a tree belt to Gumtree Road.

I don’t mind risking poison ivy if it means having my own wheels. I don’t dare use the truck often, though. Someone might tell Hindley they saw me in it, and he’d go find it and shoot it full of holes out of spite. Then there would be questions to answer, like where I got the money for it.

My life has always been shit, but it was mostly a relaxed kind of shit. Now it’s fucking stressful, with all these secrets and underground deals and the fact that Cathy hasn’t texted me back.

I want to go over to Aunt Nellie’s and see her.

But she has ghosted me on purpose, and she’s got her reasons.

I ain’t going over there to beg, no way.

I’m waiting until I’ve got enough money to really offer her something solid, something real.

Genuine freedom, not just my broke ass and callused heart.

I gotta wait until I can give her everything.

***

I’m fucking exhausted.

Since I’ve been doing my own resurrections, I’ve had to spend more time recovering.

It’s been tough to keep up with work at the brewery and avoid raising Hindley’s suspicions while getting the rest I need.

I tried energy drinks for a while, but they messed me up bad.

At one point I lied to Hindley and told him I had the flu so I could go to bed and recover.

In between work, resurrections, and recovery, I stopped by Cathy’s house and Aunt Nellie’s store a couple times, just to see if she was there.

I was determined not to, but hell…a man’s got his limits.

The first time—the Tuesday after I resurrected Alan Wolcott—I saw Cathy inside, restocking shelves.

She looked fine—cheerful, even. No bruises, no signs of distress.

From what I could see, there was no fallout from that night on the beach, no reason why she couldn’t call me.

She even glanced my way, and I’m pretty sure she saw me through the window.

But she turned back around without a second look.

The second time I checked on her was at Aunt Nellie’s store around lunchtime. I was hoping to talk to Cathy on her break, but no luck. She must have taken the day off or gone to lunch with someone. Better not have been Edgar Linton.

I’m going out of my mind fretting over why she hasn’t contacted me. But I don’t wanna push too hard, not until I have everything ready. Not until I can offer her a way out.

I’m still recovering from the last resurrection I did—some college girl who overdosed.

Two of her friends were scared for her and paid me to save her if she went too far.

They convinced her to get the tattoo design I sent them.

Now that she’s got a second chance at life, I hope they get her into rehab.

They could have checked her into a good one with the money they paid me, but I’m not here to judge how and when folks spend their cash.

I’m just here to get the necessary tattoo, collect my fee, and drag the soul out of the Vague.

With all the work I’ve been doing, my appetite has been fucking ravenous.

I’ve been grabbing a lot of burgers for protein, but I’m getting sick of them, and the only thing in our fridge right now is soggy chicken fingers and tough old fries.

I need something else. Lots of meat, maybe some vegetables for good measure.

“I’m gettin’ Brickley’s,” I yell to Hindley. “Can I take the truck?”

“Long as you bring me back some barbecue,” he calls from the couch.

“You got it.”

Okay, so maybe I have another reason for going to Brickley’s Barbecue. It’s past the barrier, well within the limits of Wicklow. Maybe I’m thinking of swinging by Cathy’s again.

But I head for the restaurant first. It’s one of those greasy spoons that doesn’t look like much from the outside, but locals know it’s got the best ribs around.

The second I walk in, every damn nerve in my body tightens because I recognize the guy sitting alone in one of the cramped booths. Pastor Linton. Cathy’s pastor.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye while I order the food. He looks fucking awful. Pale as beach sand, just sitting there, poking at his banana pudding with a plastic fork. Hasn’t even touched his pulled pork sandwich, which is a crime. Those sandwiches are damn delicious.

“We’re waiting on a fresh batch of macaroni and cheese,” says the woman behind the counter. “It’ll be about ten minutes.”

“Sure thing.”

Just as well, ’cause I’ve got questions inside me that won’t quit.

I need to find out if Cathy has gotten any blowback from that scream of hers out on the beach.

I need to be sure that Edgar hasn’t spilled her secret and that the Wicklow Church hasn’t done anything to hurt her.

The tattoo I share with her tells me she’s alive, but there’s other kinds of hurt that fanatical folk can cause.

Cathy didn’t seem to think the congregation would do anything drastic, since she’s one of their own and all.

Besides, mean as he is, I figure her dad would protect her, even if others turned on her—even if he’s been cruel to her himself.

Guys like that usually resent any outsiders abusing their family.

But I can’t be sure of anything. So while I’m waiting for my food, I saunter over to the booth and slide onto the bench across from Pastor Linton.

He looks up with eyes pink and swollen around the edges.

“Hey there, Pastor.” I grab one of his fries and bite it in half. “I’m here for some spiritual edification.”

“Oh, um…” He gulps, blinks. “Do I know you?”

“I visited your church once. Sat next to Cathy Earnshaw. How’s she doing these days?”

“If you know her, don’t you have her number?”

“Sure I do. Weird thing is, she won’t text me back. So this is me, as a friend, making sure she’s okay.” My gaze bores into his. “She is okay, isn’t she, Pastor? She doesn’t have anything to worry about from you or the good folks at Wicklow Heritage, does she?”

His bleary eyes sharpen with awareness. “You know about her. What she is.”

That’s the confirmation I need. “I do. I also know what your congregation has done to supernaturals in the past.”

He frowns. “Who are you again?”

“I’m someone with Cathy’s best interest at heart.”

“You think I’m not?” His laugh is hoarse, strained. “I’ve known that girl since she was a baby. Sweet kid, smart as a whip—smarter than her dad ever gave her credit for. I knew she was struggling. I just thought the cause was physical, not…not this .”

I lean toward him across the table. “You didn’t answer my question. Is she safe? From you and your people?”

“Of course she is.” His hand curls tight around the plastic fork, and his voice trembles, tears glimmering along his lower eyelids.

“I won’t deny I’ve been part of some questionable things in the past, but it’s all in the interest of protecting the world from an evil so powerful you can’t even imagine it.

We’ve lost good men to that evil lately.

But I won’t let Cathy become another casualty.

Even if she poses some kind of threat, I swear to you before God, we’ll handle it differently this time. She’s one of ours. One of the family.”

I sit back, partially convinced by his vehemence.

Pastor Linton picks up a napkin and presses it to his wet eyes.

“When she was younger, I used to imagine her and Edgar getting married. Thought maybe he could her get the help she needs, and maybe she could help him, too. Edgar, he’s…

well, he has his issues. But I thought if Cathy got her heart right and he got his mind straightened out, they could take over the church.

I pictured their kids running around the sanctuary someday.

” He chokes out another rasping laugh. “Guess God has other plans. Now I think she’d be happiest leaving Wicklow, and perhaps that’s best all around. ”

I almost tell him that I’m working on it.

That I’m piling up cash as fast as I can, and that my only fear right now is Cathy saying no when I ask her to come with me.

I’d never force the issue— hell no. I’ll die before I pull her out of this cage just to shove her into another one.

But god, I hope she agrees to run when I’m ready to go.

Pastor Linton watches me, gauging my expression. It’s his business to read people, and I suppose he’s gotten decent at it.

“If Cathy ghosted you, she’s probably got a good reason,” he says. “Might be too much for her, dealing with all this. We’ve had deaths in our congregation, frightening occurrences, visitors of the supernatural kind…like yourself, I’m guessing.”

I open my mouth to reply, but he holds up his hand.

“Don’t tell me your name or what you are.

It’s better if I don’t know. All I’m saying is, maybe Cathy needs space and some time to process all of it.

Sometimes we gotta let the Lord work. God knows I’m having trouble processing everything myself.

” His hands start to quiver, and he tucks them under the table to hide the tremor.

“I’ve always been the guide, the shepherd of the flock.

And now…I can’t shake this terror that I’ve failed at the one thing I was put on this earth to do. You got any idea how that feels?”

He doesn’t sound like the man Cathy and I heard when we eavesdropped under the Lintons’ window.

That man was firm and confident. Maybe it was a front he was putting on for his son.

Maybe the situation has gotten worse since then.

Sometimes it’s the little things, not the big tragedies, that put a man over the edge.

“I know how it feels to fail, sure,” I say. “And to be perfectly fucking honest, that’s how I’ll feel if any harm comes to Cathy.”

The woman at the counter calls, “Order for Heathcliff Lockwood!”

Pastor Linton’s eyes widen.

I give him a bitter grin as I rise from the booth. “I guess you know my name now.”

“A Lockwood? How are you even here?” His voice is faint, the tone of a man shaken to his core. “Has the barrier failed?”

“Maybe it has, and maybe it hasn’t. Just know that I’m looking out for Cathy, whether she wants me to or not. If anyone in your congregation gets out of line, you step in and protect her, got it? And if you see her, tell her to answer her damn messages.”

I head over to pick up the two plastic bags of food. On my way out of Brickley’s, I cast one more look at Pastor Linton. He’s staring at nothing, his eyes full of hollow despair.

Well, damn. Hope I didn’t break him.

He’s right about one thing. Cathy probably needs time and space to process all the shit that has been thrown her way lately.

So I’ll wait. For now.