Cade
“We should go,”I finally said, pulling away from my one and only comfort. “If Tate knows we’re gone, he’ll be having an aneurysm by now.”
Journey’s arms dropped from my waist, and she nodded, seemingly uncaring that the headmaster might be aware that we took a little field trip. She always was a quiet rule-breaker, but she used to be hesitant with our escapades, never truly wanting to get caught, but now, her mind was on other things.
We were both fully dressed, looking less disheveled than a few minutes ago when I drove my cock into her mouth. Again, that was never supposed to happen, but the second she kneeled in front of me, I couldn’t fucking help it. How could I have denied those somber gray eyes as she peered up at me with her tongue darting out of her mouth like that? Fuck.No one can get to me like she can.
I traveled behind her as she exited the room and stepped into the dark hallway. Instead of going to the front doors that we came in through, she walked in the opposite direction. Her footsteps were light, and she walked the hall like nothing more than a silent presence. Her finger curved against the side of the wall as she rounded the bend and stopped at a tall, heavy door.
My brows fell as she remained unmoving. I walked beside her, aching to touch her again in even the simplest of ways. There was something about Journey that called to me. It had always been there. Living, breathing, running through my veins like she was made for me and no one else. I sensed her conflict, watched her body tighten with anger.
Sweeping her hair back from her shoulder, I gazed at the side of her face, giving her the space that she needed. When she turned toward me, I was jolted. Locking onto her gaze always seemed to stun me at first. There was an instinctual part of me that wanted to grab her face and shoot breath down her throat to give her life. It was as if I was put on this earth to keep her alive.
It was unnerving.
I felt consumed by her, more so now than ever.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, rubbing the pad of my finger against her soft cheekbone.
Her shallow breath filled the empty space, and the parting of her lips caught on every one of my freshly satisfied nerves. “I’m thinking I want to burn this fucking place to the ground.”
She turned away from me and continued to stare at the door in front of us. I had a hunch that it was the door that led to the Covens, where Gemma was kept and punished. Tobias, too. If there was one thing I knew for certain about Journey, it was that she hid her emotions well, too afraid to give them the space they needed to breathe, because deep down, she was afraid.
She was afraid to give anyone or anything the power to hurt her, but just because she kept her emotions locked down on the outside didn’t mean they didn’t fester on the inside. Hate was brewing, and she smelled like the sweet scent of revenge.
“I have an idea,” I said through a half-grin. “Come here.”
Our hands joined, and I pulled Journey quickly through the darkened hallway until we met the light of the moon near the front doors. The cool air greeted us as we left the psych hospital, and Journey turned and looked over her shoulder once, as if she were leaving behind a limb.
“What are we doing?” she asked as I pulled her over to the motorcycle.
I spun around quickly, and she jumped with her eyebrows furrowing. “I’m going to light this fucking place on fire, and we’re gonna turn it to ash.” I stepped in close, tipping her chin up because I truly couldn’t help myself. “For you.”
The reluctance was lingering as she thought over what I had said. But there was no time for second thoughts. My Journey girl loved the taste of rebellion, and I was lucky enough to be the one to give it to her.
“It needs to be burned to the ground.” I opened the small compartment on my father’s motorcycle, having the mere thought that maybe I should burn the hunk of metal, too, right along with the Covens. “Let’s burn it for you and Gemma.” I snatched the small pack of matches that I knew were in there. “And for Tobias.”
Pulling us back toward the psych hospital, I stopped in the lobby and peered over at her with an obvious deviant edge to my words. “Where are the medical supplies? We need something flammable.”
She raised a hesitant finger and pointed to a door just off the left side of the hall. Journey followed closely behind as I went inside the room, allowing my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and found a line of rubbing alcohol in glass bottles. Bingo. I snatched one, opened the cap, and poured some onto the floor, hearing it splash below us.
“Let’s go,” I said, holding the half-full bottle of flammable alcohol in one hand and her palm in the other.
Another second later and we were inside Dr. Melrose’s office again with a shelf full of files just waiting to be burned. I snagged onto Journey’s wide eyes after placing the rubbing alcohol on the desk and slowly prowled over to her. I lifted up her black hoodie, feeling her warm body heat. There were so many things floating behind her eyes, and all I wanted to do was give her a life raft. “You in?” I asked, gripping the bottom of her thin shirt underneath. My fingers brushed over her soft skin, and I felt the rise of her goosebumps. If I didn’t know her well enough, I would have been reluctant to do this, but the slight nod of her chin was all the push I needed.
The ripping of her cotton shirt echoed between us, and each time I pulled the fabric, her supple body would slam into mine. I kept a hold of her torn shirt as I bent down, resting my calves against the backs of my thighs, and I snagged the cotton with my teeth and ripped it the rest of the way.
Journey’s hands fell to my shoulders, and before I stood, I placed a quick, soft kiss to her skin, feeling another bout of heat creep up my neck. Jesus.
“You’re my favorite flavor,” I said, hopping back up. Journey’s cheeks reddened, and it was a swift punch to my chest. That’s my girl. She hadn’t blushed like that since before she ended up here.
Journey’s lips rolled together to keep her soft smile at bay, and I turned around and shoved the torn, bundled fabric into the rubbing alcohol bottle, soaking it on the bottom half and pulling the cotton so it was airtight at the top of the bottle.
“Are we really doing this?” Her tender voice cut through the quiet office.
“Yes,” I answered, inspecting the Molotov cocktail that I’d been forced to make many times before.
“This is illegal.”