Page 20

After June finally calms enough for me to leave, I ease from beneath her and let her relax in the shower.

“Don’t come out till the water gets cold,” I tell her, taking the belt used to torture her with me. “I’ll get you something to wear for after.”

I leave the bathroom door cracked just a bit, and immediately remove the rest of my dripping clothes, throwing it all into the kitchen sink before I hurry back to the bedroom. I throw on a white T-shirt and some gray sweats before pulling out another T- shirt, boxers, and socks. Hopefully, it’ll make due for the night, and tomorrow I will figure out how to get her clothes.

“I’m putting the clothes here,” I call as I nudge the door open just a bit more, and place the folded bundle on the sink.

“Th-thank you,” she says, and I’m happy to finally hear her put more than a singular syllable together. Even if it’s just two.

Turning back to the small living room, I put the TV on just for the background noise—funny enough, it’s a ghost hunting show claiming they’re being scratched and oppressed by demons. Fucking fakers. The host would shit his pants if he ever came face to face with the bullshit I’ve seen.

I search the floor, quickly finding my belt I tossed from the bathroom earlier. No more belts. Shrugging on a hoodie, I take the two belts and run through my back door, back into the rain.

It’s still pouring, but thankfully the large trash cans are relatively close to my apartment. Without a second thought, I throw both belts into the garbage—wishing I could burn the one that’d been wrapped around June. Hell, I wish I could use it to do the same to the two fucks that did that to her.

As the dumpster door slams shut, a small meow comes from under it.

Fucker.

He’d make June happy right now. She needs happy.

Fucker .

I drop to my knees and look under the trash to find two gold eyes staring at me.

“You wanna come inside or what?”

Diablo hisses at me, but after another beat, he inches his tiny paws forward and crawls from under the trash. I pick up the beast quickly, not giving him a chance to second guess, and shove him under my hoodie.

“ Fucker! ” I yell, as he hisses under the fabric and claws at my skin, scratching my chest and biting my arm.

Instead of letting go—like I definitely should do—I run back to the apartment, back into warmth, and close the door behind me. As soon as I’m through, I let the hellbeast fall from my hoodie, but the bastard predictably lands on all fours, turning back and hissing at me.

I hiss right back, baring my teeth to the fucker—

“Marcelo?”

Looking up, June steps from the bathroom, steam following her. My black T-shirt looks oversized on her, as it reaches down to her hips, the shorts fitting her wide thighs snuggly, but not uncomfortably, my socks too big on her, the heels well past her actual heels, scrunched just above her ankles. Diablo hurries up to her and rubs against her legs, knocking his head on her shin, before squeezing between her calves, and making a figure eight.

“A—Are you comfortable?” I ask. “I can get you a different shirt, or a jacket, or—”

“I’m okay. Your clothes are so soft.”

I choke down how desperately I want to run over to her and take her out of my clothes right now. Being Marcelo the priest is too fucking hard when it comes to this woman. Marcelo the masked stalker? Now he’s easy. I so desperately wish to be myself in this moment, so desperately wish to take her and show her exactly how beautiful she is, how safe she is, how nothing will ever hurt her again.

“I put the TV on,” I say instead.

June bites back a small smirk. “I see.”

I scrunch my eyebrows, wondering when exactly I became such an idiot. “Are you hungry? I can make you something.”

“Ah—not right now. Thanks.”

I stand there, not quite sure what to do with myself—should my hands be in my pockets? Do I move to the couch? Am I just assuming she’ll be staying here? Maybe she has somewhere else—somewhere better. Fuck, I thought I was suave, but I am totally fumbling this right now. I try for anything, picking the first thing that pops into my head.

“How are you fee—”

“I need to make a confession,” she blurts, her fingers gripping the hem of my T-shirt like it’s a lifeline.

“Okay? I’m listening.”

“A . . . a holy confession . . .”

It takes me an extra moment to realize what she’s actually asking for.

“O—Okay. I’m all ears.”

June is staring at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. “I don’t think I can say it to your face, I don’t—I don’t know.”

“Would you like to go to the booth or—”

“I think I need the other you.”

I pause. All my senses are on full alert, as if a fight were about to break loose, as if I needed to run. My hair stands on end, even as the damp hoodie drips raindrops onto the hardwood floor underneath me.

“Other me?” I breathe out.

She continues fidgeting with my shirt, and I fight to stay here, across the room from her. Fight to not take those few strides toward her and pull my fucking shirt over her head, revealing her perfect fucking body to me, to force her to confess to me, to force her to tell me what the fuck happened.

“I know you’re the man that’s been sneaking into my room.” She exhales. “I know you’re the masked man.”

A flurry of emotions punch into me. How the fuck was I so obvious? Did I say something? Did she read it in my eyes when I pinned her to that wall outside? Did she see the cross tattoo on my ring finger one of the nights I snuck in?

Fuck, how could I be so stupid? Of course she’s uncomfortable. I’m her priest —she should feel completely safe with me, not lusted after and stalked and—

“And I really , really need him right now.”

The thoughts racing through me shut the fuck up.

She needs him right now. The masked man.

Him. Me.

Thank fucking God.