Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
* * *
SATAN: Why?
* * *
I didn’t respond to that. He wasn’t dead. I didn’t need his life story, though I was sure I’d get it. I went back to my paper and managed one word before my phone dinged.
* * *
SATAN: Miss my charming personality?
* * *
SATAN: Or my massive, pierced cock?
* * *
Me: Neither.
* * *
SATAN: I don’t believe you.
* * *
Seconds later, a picture of his erect dick popped up.
* * *
SATAN: Hard as the flagpole at National Mall
* * *
No words. I had no words. Just when I thought Hendrix could no longer shock me… National Mall…
I had to wonder where he could be with his hard dick out, who with… I hated the nasty little spike of jealousy that lanced through me, the way I zoomed in on the picture like some psycho looking for evidence.
I placed the phone down and took a deep breath before I went back to my paper.
My pen tapped the table in an angry rhythm as I stared, unseeing, at the words on the page. I tried not to care; I really did.
We were friends. I was the one telling him we could only be friends…
But screw it, we were who we were. A psycho is as a psycho does. If I had to be insane, I was taking him down with me. I tossed the pen to my book and snatched the phone, stamping my fingers over the device.
* * *
Me: I just wanted to check if I have a free house…
* * *
Bubbles immediately danced across the screen. Then stopped. Then started again. I could practically feel the rage coming through the phone, and I delighted in it far too much.
* * *
SATAN: For who? You and a soon-to-be corpse?
* * *
Me: Maybe…
* * *
SATAN: If you stick a soon-to-be-dead dick in you, you may as well just go ahead and call yourself a necromaniac. ‘Cause that fucker has one foot in a shallow-ass grave.
* * *
Me: It’s a necrophiliac!
* * *
I smiled as I sent the text. God, I was a hypocrite for liking his volatile possessiveness.
* * *
SATAN: Same thing. They both end with ac and my baseball bat in their skull.
* * *
Yep. Insane. Both of us.
The doorbell rang. I tossed my phone to the kitchen table and got up, knowing it would drive Hendrix crazy if I suddenly stopped responding.
I answered the door to a scrawny guy in khakis and a dress shirt. He thrust a pink flyer in my face. “Our church is having a revival this week. Free pizza and root beer.”
I glanced down at the crinkled paper while he rambled about the merits of his church—
* * *
Come one, come all, to the revival at Parkway Pentecostal Church. Be touched by the Holy Spirit and know the Lord.
Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. 8 pm.
* * *
He started in on how his preacher could save my soul. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. No doubt he was well versed in dodging the non-believers. I debated shutting the door in his face, but just as I glanced up from the pink paper, Wolf’s truck rumbled into the drive.
Hendrix’s head popped over the roof when he got out of the passenger side, then slammed the door. Glaring, he rounded the front bumper with a wooden baseball bat clutched in his grip.
I looked from him to Church Boy, remembering the text he’d sent moments ago about a corpse, a baseball bat, and a skull. Oh, shit.
Hendrix marched through the yard, swinging the bat like a psycho. As much as I secretly liked riding the crazy train, Church Boy was not going to be all aboard.
“Um,” I said, interrupting his speech on the End Days. “You should go.”
But he kept talking, obviously not one to be dissuaded by heathens trying to kick him the hell off their property.
Hendrix’s footsteps clomped up the porch steps. He gave the guy’s pressed slacks a very judgmental once over. “Shit. Your dick has never seen the light of day, has it?”
The guy turned round, slowly tilting his head back to take in Hendrix’s muscular frame towering over him.
Hendrix snatched one of the flyers, skimming over it on snort. “Parkway. That’s that cult church, isn’t it? Don’t you guys speak in tongues and have snakes and shit?”
The guy audibly swallowed. “Wh-why would we have snakes?”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Hendrix glanced from the flyer to me, readjusting his grip on the bat. “Is this the soon-to-be corpse?”
Church Boy dropped his stack of papers and took off down the steps and across the lawn, tripping over himself several times before he made it to the street. Hendrix watched him go, baseball bat propped on his shoulder.
When the guy finally disappeared around a bush, Hendrix turned back to me. “Going for good boys now?”
“Uh, no. Give me some credit.”