Here Lies a Saint (Here Lies #2) - C.L. Matthews Page 0,53

marathoner.”

I’d laugh, but breathing hurts. I just stay still, hoping it’s enough to keep him away. I’m so mad at this entire situation, at Bridger, at Just and Pru for letting Lux fuck me. I’m just fucking mad.

“Go away.” It’s so weak sounding, bone-tired, nearly dead.

Slowly rolling to my back, I see him crouched. He looks worn down like me. For once, his eyes hold bags. They’re sleepless and sorrowful somehow, and it hits me square in the chest.

He leans toward me, wiping something off my chin before tipping it toward him. “Why are you running?” His face, pained and solemn, tells me he knows why, but for some reason, he wants confirmation.

“I can’t do this.” My chin wobbles, swallowing back my fear and discontent.

His thumb traces the wrinkle, soft, gentle, so unlike the boy who has single-handedly made my life hell recently. When it drags across my lip, I whimper.

“You’re so fucking strong, Colton.”

Whenever any of the guys say my name, it breaks down my barriers. It’s as if they want to drill inside my soul where it's most vulnerable and keep digging after they’ve already found the center.

“Don’t,” I plead.

His face isn’t stoic like usually. It doesn’t hold this cocky quality, either. It’s full of everything he buries inside of him. Somehow, that part of him, the hidden one, is the part I miss.

Back when things were good and he told me he liked me a lot, he was like this.

Softer.

Just for me.

“You amaze me,” Lux admits. He holds an open book in his hands. He’ll never admit it, but he enjoys school work. Between being the top of class with Bridger, he’s a total nerd. Being taught, absorbing knowledge, it’s what he looks forward to.

Sometimes, I think it has more to do with routine, the need to repeat the same thing so life doesn’t feel as heavy, but then there are times right now as he’s helping me with my latest literary research where there’s an actual want in his eyes to help me succeed.

“Is it because I’m a good kisser?” It comes out super breathy, and for some reason, shame doesn’t coat my cheeks like normal. It just blows off like a feather in the wind.

“Miss Hudson, I’m not sure what you’re referring to? I would never.” He mock-gasps, clutching his imaginary pearls. “I’m a gentleman.”

We both snicker at that.

Lux may ask me when and how he can touch me, but nothing we do where we both moan is gentlemanly.

Shaking the memory free, I see how close he is to my face. A shudder pillages my frame. His mouth hovers mine, and it’s the last thing I want.

I’ve already betrayed the twins so much.

Even with them nowhere to be found, over in my head, they’re still mine as much as I’m theirs.

Would they truly care, though? They watched as Lux took me.

“Tell me, Corpse...” he trails off, his fingers wading into my hair, massaging and promising. “Does death become us?”

Gasping, he steals my breath with his mouth. His lips are hesitant and petal-like, soft yet somehow still demanding. Hot air travels across me. It’s cold out, but Lux keeps the warmth between us.

Our lips don’t move. We settle on this in-between of kissing and not, this stagnant want, hopeless need, disastrous ending.

That’s what me and the boys are.

An ending.

Unfortunately for us all, it won’t end well.

We don’t willingly pull away. It’s the sound of footsteps that separate us.

“Really?”

It’s Bridger. If not for his shadow, his entirety would be dark enough. If someone could describe a walking fallen angel. It’d be him.

He gives off perfection, almost too sweet, gentle, but he’s dark and depraved. He was forced down from heaven for a reason, after all.

“You were supposed to get her ready. Watch her.” Lux’s response sends me crawling away. He peers at me, his mask back on. He grips my ankle, pulling me back toward him. “Uh, uh, uh.”

“Let me go, or I’ll scream.”

Surprise traces his face for a flicker from my threat before he narrows his gaze.

He releases my ankle and stands, offering me a hand. “You won’t scream, Corpse. You and I both know your life is disposable. No point in making a scene.”

I catch the shock in Bridger’s expression before he, too, masks to indifference. “Off we go. Now, we’ve somehow got to fit in a shower before this ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” My question doesn’t go unnoticed, but neither of them answer anyway.

“After the ceremony, Edgington has us headed to the estate,” Bridger explains as if