Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

After shouting a final goodbye, Jazz turned on her music app full blast. Pop music filled her room, shaking the walls and drowning out the usual house noises that seemed so much louder when she was home alone. She’d never admit it to her mother, but being home by herself freaked her out. Every creek and rumble of pipes made her jump out of her skin. On the flip side, having no one around to yell at her over her loud music was always a great thing.

Half an hour later, she’d actually made significant progress on her paper. Tapping her pencil against her desk in time with the music, Jazz scanned her textbook. All she needed was a solid conclusion and this paper was done.

As the verse ended and the chorus kicked up, Jazz belted out the lyrics alongside Taylor Swift. Just as she opened her mouth to sing her favorite part, the music cut, plunging her room into immediate silence. With a loud shriek, she spun around.

“God, Paul, you scared the crap out of me.” With her hand over her chest, she tried to keep her heart from bursting through her rib cage. “I, uh, didn’t know you were coming here. Your dad will be back in a little bit.”

Her words didn’t seem to click with her wide-eyed stepbrother. He scanned her room with frantic jerks of his head as though expecting the boogey man to appear at any time. A ten-year age gap wasn’t the only thing that kept them from being close step-siblings. Something was off with Paul. He was twitchy, always rubbing at his arms and legs with his eyes darting around. And he stared at her. A lot. A few times, she even caught him rummaging in her room. He seemed to have some fixation with her she’d noticed shortly after meeting him three years ago, and no amount of denial from his father or her mother would change her mind.

The guy gave her the major creeps. Luckily, he’d never lived in the same house as her, and didn’t come around often, but when he did, he hardly left her alone. At least she didn’t have to worry about him hitting on her. Paul was gay, despite his father’s many attempts at changing that situation. Supposedly, he’d sent Paul to one of those horrifying conversion camps when he was a teenager. At least that’s what her mom claimed.

Poor guy. Must have been awful. And it probably explained why he spouted so much religious talk.

“Paul?” she asked as his haggard appearance finally registered. “You okay?”

His hair was a rat’s nest of unkempt brown curls, sticking out in all directions as though he’d slept on it wet and hadn’t bothered to tame it when he woke up. A wrinkled T-shirt and baggy jeans covered his slight frame. The look didn’t appear to be a style choice, but just clothes that were too big. He’d always been a slim guy, but now he was practically skin and bones.

Wide eyes met her gaze. “Huh?” he asked, then was back to scanning all around her room. “I’m not here to see my dad. I’m here for you.”

The hairs on Jazz’s arms stood straight on end. In the years she’d known him, they’d hardly spent any time alone. She made a point of it. “What?” she squeaked. “Me?”

“I’m here to save you. He’s coming. He might be here already.”

Okay, this was weird even for Paul. Sure, she’d caught him talking to himself a few times and he always seemed to be spouting one conspiracy or another, usually religiously based, but someone coming for her? “Uh, who, Paul? Who’s coming? Your dad is on his way home, but he’s the only one coming here.”

He looked her straight in the eye. “The Devil.” Were this any other time, Jazz would have laughed and rolled her eyes, but a frigid shiver ran down her spine instead. Paul’s gaze portrayed just how much he believed the two words that just fell from his lips.

His head jerked to the right as though he’d heard something coming from near her bed, then he took three steps toward it which finally moved him from her doorway. Keeping one eye on him, Jazz tip-toed toward the door.

Paul lifted her pillow, peeking under it as though Satan might actually be hiding there.

Blood rushing in her ears, she took another soundless step toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he shouted like she was across the house instead of five feet away.

She froze, then looked over her shoulder. His bloodshot eyes were wide as saucers, staring at her with true panic. Was he on something? “Um, maybe we should go out into the living room and wait for your dad. He should be here very soon.”

Paul’s body went still, but his eyes still scanned the room. “He’s already here.”