Page 24 of Sanctuary (Deviant Hearts #0.5)
The approaching night swallows Wendy and me in its sticky black as we cross the remains of the festival grounds, stepping over electric cables that look like broken snakes and avoiding trash that hasn’t been picked up, keeping close as shadows play tag beneath our feet.
The same raw anticipation that thrummed right before our first real sober kiss back at the lake sparks in the crisp, fresh air between us. With our hands almost touching, but not for the sake of safety, we walk back to the artists’ area.
Everything around us has the feeling of an aftermath—the trailers folding up, the band buses like boxy ghosts slipping away. I catch glimpses of the old rides, dark and skeletal, covered with raindrops. It's a boneyard, stripped naked after its fever dream of sound and light.
Wendy's laughter sparks above it all, catching on my last punchline, pulling me in. Her hair, bright and defiant in the chaos, lures me deeper.
I want more.
I want a way to keep her, to wrap her around my heart and in my bed.
But she made it clear. She needs space. And I’m not Jett. I know that when a woman says no, it means exactly that. No.
"I’m so glad the rain is over," she rambles on next to me as we pass the line of security.
"Me too," I reply monotonously. Up ahead, a familiar face emerges. "Oh shit." I turn around before I’m recognized. I don’t want to socialize right now.
"What is it?"
"Just some dudes I know."
Wendy grabs my arm and yanks me sideways behind some trailer, her body warm against mine as we collide for a second. Her cheeks are flushed, but I can’t tell if it's from the chill or the heat of being tangled up with me in the rental.
"Let’s go through here." She pulls me further down between the vehicles and toward a different path.
We dodge another power line, a loose loop that trips her up, and she yelps.
"Festival booby traps," I say, seizing her by the elbow before she falls to the muddy ground. "Deadlier than landmines."
Her nose wrinkles in a mock pout, and it’s too fucking adorable.
I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her and not stop.
Her hair, a wild orange halo, is everywhere I look, and I’m wrecked by how much I’m starting to feel.
It shouldn’t hit this fast. It should be slower.
I try to mask the hunger, throwing another joke into the air like bait.
"Think they'll mind if I crash in your bunk tonight?" I ask flippantly.
"Yeah, I do," she says sarcastically. "Jett especially."
The name feels like a crack in the ground, one I might fall through if I'm not careful. I have to remind myself that Sonic Trash is heading back to the States before we reunite after our Morocco gigs. And that should be the end of our tour leg with Jett's band. The end of it all.
Only instead, it feels like it’s the beginning of something. She’s the beginning of something.
"It could work," I say, keeping my tone light, keeping my hopes from showing. I lean in and whisper in her ear, "We sleep together. Literally. And you hide me under your blanket."
"You think that's all I’m good for, Cruz?" she says, feigning a scowl. But her eyes, bright and teasing, give her away. She’s not one of those girls who takes everything seriously. She can have fun.
"I think you're good for a lot of things," I say as we round the corner of a building. "One night might not cover it. But an agreement is an agreement. Right?"
She's not talking, and I feel it then. In the quiet way her fingers slip from mine and the way she turns her head. She's not going to give me her number. She’s not going to make it easy. Besides, we’re not alone anymore. In the distance, what remains of a VIP section comes into view.
"You wanna get a drink?" I motion at the white tent. "One for the road, so to speak."
"Sure. But just one."
We change our course and walk toward the tent where those left behind for various reasons are congregating. I spot Zander and Justice and also a couple of execs. Some faces I’ve seen around the scene
We’re right in the thick of it, amongst the remaining guests clinging to the party that should’ve been over yesterday. But for many of us, it’s not just work but a mix of work and pleasure. Gotta live up to that rockstar reputation.
"Where the hell have you been?" a guttural shout comes from the crowd.
I turn to the sound.
Jett is cutting through the last scraps of hangers-on like a blade through butter. Messy hair, tasteless tats, his movements weaving and wild.
Next to me, Wendy freezes.
"Where the fuck have you been?" he yells, stopping right in front of us. His red-rimmed eyes land on her first, then shift over to my face. "I told you to leave my girl alone, didn’t I?"
"She’s not your property, asshole," I growl out.
"Who's the trash now, huh, Wendy?" the fucker wails out. His body is half on the attack and half about to collapse. I’ve seen this kind of drunk before, the type that turns violent when it can’t stand. I feel her stiffen beside me even more, a tension like a rubber band about to snap.
"We’re done, Jett," she says, her voice as sharp as broken glass.
"Like hell we are," he slurs. "Like hell we’re done." He whips out his hand and tries to grab her wrist, but she deflects it. "Come on. Let’s go. Before I paint this motherfucker’s face red." He jerks his chin toward me like I’m not here, like I’m two hundred pounds of an afterthought.
My instincts are buzzing through me, telling me to hold on to her, to hold tight.
But Wendy's not a girl you hold without her letting you, and she’s moving toward Jett now, small and fierce and unafraid. She’s moving toward him, and I’m helpless to do anything but follow.
"Why the hell are you embarrassing me?" Jett fumes. He can’t help himself, that little abusive weasel. He grabs at her hair, then slaps her cheek. It’s not hard but it pushes me over the edge.
I step in, putting my body between his and hers, and shove both palms against his chest, knocking him back a few inches. I want more. Want to snap this fucker’s neck for even touching her, but she’s been through enough bullshit this week. "Apologize," I demand.
"What? Get lost, Deviant," Jett barks. "Get fucking lost and leave us alone."
And then it happens. That stupid move every pissed-off, wasted asshole makes. That fucking stupid move where he thinks he's king of the fucking world.
He swings. No aim. Just a fist flying through empty air.
I block it with the hard line of my arm, my body moving like it’s done this a thousand times. Like it knows exactly what to do. Because it does. Growing up where I did taught me some decent fighting skills.
"Stay the fuck out of this!" Jett screams with his teeth bared and ugly. He lunges again, his balance shot to hell. But I’m faster. I’m faster, and he doesn’t see it coming.
My knuckles find his jaw, dead center, and I hear the satisfying crack of bone before he reels back, shocked and off-balance.
His eyes are wide with disbelief. Like he’s never been hit before. Like he’s untouchable.
"Fuck!" he cries, doubling over, grabbing at his bleeding nose.
I don’t hesitate. I don’t even think. I’m on him, twisting his arms behind his back. The world collapsing to the rapid thud of my pulse and his hot breath near my face as I hold him down.
Wendy’s forgotten me in the midst of it all. She’s focused, livid, striding in with her bright hair and bruised emotions.
"What the fuck, Jett?" she says. I can feel her heat, her absolute certainty.
"Let go!" Jett demands.
The crowd swells around us, everyone catching the scent of blood and drama that’s long overdue this weekend.
I tighten my grip, adrenaline eating my sense of time, drowning me in this insane blur of anger and noise and Wendy's fire. She’s blazing, fierce and pure, and in the split second before she speaks, I wonder what she’s waiting for.
"You're a disgusting rapey asshole!" she says, each word loud and clear. "My things won't be at your place when you get back home!"
What?
My mind short-circuits
Rapey?
I'm still processing when her hand slams into his face, a final, shattering punctuation, and the sound reverberates through me. A boundary drawn. A truth spoken. Everything, all of it, vibrating like a string pulled too tight.