Demon Kissed - Katie May Page 0,12

my ear as he whispers, “I think we can easily show William just what he’s missing. I’d just need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for a bit. Think you could handle that?”

Pretend to be a demon’s girlfriend?

I start to laugh, and I can’t stop.

This is a joke. This has to be a joke.

5

When the “demons” leave, I do what any sane woman would do—I bleach the shit out of my house with one bucket of water and one of Clorox. I mean for the water to be holy water, but since the nearest church is ten miles away, I settle for praying over the washcloth and hoping that’ll work instead.

Because, yeah, my panicked mind isn’t quite logical, okay?

My thoughts are racing in tandem to my rapidly beating heart as I pull myself from the floor, my legs bruised from how awkwardly I held myself, and hurry towards my room.

I can’t stay here. I can’t risk those…those men coming back. Because I don’t actually believe that they’re demons, right? That’s insane, and I learned a long time ago that the mind has a tendency to play cruel, horrible tricks on you.

Checking my phone, I see a one sentence text from my mom stating she won’t be home tonight. Apparently, she and Dad have to travel to the city to meet with a client.

Well, fuck this. And fuck them. And fuck the men who claim they are “demons.”

With an almost blistering speed, I pack one bag for myself and one bag for Adam. Then I hurry out the front door and across the lawn interspersed with tall maples and perfectly manicured bushes.

Mrs. Johnson’s house rests on the other side of a neatly trimmed hedge, the floor-to-ceiling windows radiating a copious amount of light. The old bat currently resides on the porch, rocking in her ancient-looking chair. Adam sits on the steps in front of her, happily licking an ice cream cone. When he sees me, he drops his cone, white liquid splattering across the distressed wooden boards. Mrs. Johnson makes a face as she narrows her shrewd, all-seeing eyes.

“Have fun with your orgy?” the old woman asks snidely. I theorize she’s approaching eighty, maybe even ninety, but she’s too stubborn to move into a nursing home. Hell, I’m pretty sure she hasn’t even hired a live-in nurse, despite her children’s insistence that she should. Her body is frail, betraying her true age, and numerous wrinkles crease her face. Her white hair is curled around an ashen face. At one point, she made an effort to dye her hair some extravagant color every other week. The older she gets, the less shits she gives. I strive to be like her someday.

“Thank you for watching him, Mrs. Johnson,” I say politely, ignoring her curt tone. She huffs, rolling her eyes, but her expression immediately softens when she sets eyes upon my brother.

“Well…the little shit is welcome to come back anytime,” she croaks out, leaning forward to ruffle his hair. Adam grins toothily at her before interlocking his fingers with mine.

“Where are we going, Katty?” he questions, using his usual nickname for me. “Where are my new friends?” He pushes up on his tiptoes, as if he can find the guys lurking behind the bushes.

Oh fuck. What if they are?

That thought spurs me into action.

Ignoring Mrs. Johnson’s probing question about my apparent orgy, I tighten my grip on Adam’s hand and drag him towards my car. I keep a booster seat in the trunk for this exact reason; we can never trust my parents to take Adam to appointments or school or…I don’t know…actually fucking parent.

“Where are we going?” he asks, blinking up at me with wide-eyed innocence. What I wouldn’t give to be like him. To see the world through a rose-colored lens that obscures the darkness and transforms it into pretty lights.

“Away,” I answer briskly. There’s no way in hell I’m staying in this house a moment longer. I’ll call the security company and demand they change the locks. And then I’ll threaten castration for allowing these “demons” access to my home in the first place.

Why didn’t the alarm go off? It should have.

Logically, they must be rivals of my parents. Maybe they were sent to scare us? But my parents don’t know jack-shit about William. Are Stacy and David playing a prank on me? Stacy has our alarm code. Or maybe someone else from school? Maybe the entire school? I turn those theories over and over in my head, each