Psycho Devils (Cruel Shifterverse, #5)

by Jasmine Mas

Sometimes life was a chill, but then there were the horrors. It was exhausting being a girl.

“Could you imagine if I called you ‘baby girl’?” John gasped for air and wiped at his eyes. “You’re not anyone’s baby girl. I can tell you that for free.”

The flames in the fireplace screamed in a frenzy, and I pretended they were aggressively yelling compliments at me. You’re so pretty and smart. You’re so cool. You have an impeccable sense of style. No. Coping was not a linear process.

Men thought they were so big and scary, but a gossiping woman was evil incarnate. They knew how to eviscerate a person with a few words. I aspired to be like them.

“Okay, sir. Sounds good.” My voice was icy. Normalize gaslighting men.

John patted my back. “Don’t fall apart now.” He flashed his dimples and whispered, “It will ruin our street cred.” I choked. “What street cred?” “Exactly.” He nodded gravely. “Honestly, I can’t be your friend if you’re going to fall apart over nothing. It’s bad for business.”

I smacked his hand away from my hair. “You talk a lot of crap for a man who shares a name with unidentified corpses.” He arched a dark brow. “Oh, please, like Aran is much better. Who even spells it with two as? You don’t see me spelling my name J-o-n or G-o-n.”

I wasn’t born to be a trailblazer. I was born to kill men and suffer.

Jinx rolled her eyes and said, “Plans change. We both know my talents were wasted at that childish institution.” She studied her cuticles like she was bored, and my heart swelled with pride. Jinx had learned that mannerism from me.

Mentally, I was a slut. Physically, I was terrified of intimacy. Spiritually, I didn’t like men.

I choked on a laugh at my sarcastic thoughts. Every day, I got sexier and funnier.

My voice was scratchy. “What happened? You guys scraped our carcasses off the lawn and brought us back here to heal?” John winked and pulled at the stethoscope hanging across his neck. “That’s literally exactly what happened.” He raked his hand through his sweaty hair. “Witch John, at your service. As you can see, I sped up the healing process by helping push all your”—his smile wobbled—“pieces back into place.” Since it felt like my arms were about to fall out of their sockets, I believed him. “But don’t worry, I fixed everything.” John pointed at my arm. A small yellow bandage was placed over a tiny, centimeter-long cut on my hand. The yellow rectangle was next to a gaping wound that ran up my forearm. My sleeve was pushed up to expose it. We both watched as I moved my arm and blood gurgled out of the open wound. I wheezed, then made a serious expression. “Thank the sun god you put that on. What would I do without you, John?” He flashed his dimples. “You’re welcome. No need to thank me. I live to serve.” I prodded at the bandaged paper cut. “Yes, I can see that. Did you clean the cut first? I can tell. It looks great.” A mischievous glint sparked in his dark eyes. “Actually, I just rubbed some dirt and spit on it.” “Oh, perfect.” I nodded. “Very nice.”

From their coy smiles and effervescent laughter, they still possessed a will to live. I made a mental note to ask them after the party where they got their energy from. Was it journaling, drinking green juice, or hitting men that kept the light shining in their eyes?

Some people just had that “it” factor. I was some people. I said all these realizations aggressively to the woman in the bathroom. She narrowed her eyes at me. Rude. It took me a second to realize I’d been talking to my reflection. Awkward. “We will never speak of this,” I whispered at her furiously, and we both nodded in agreement. Good. Good. All my plans were working out.

Good news was that the dozens of cuts covering my body were now healing over. Bad news was that I was now covered in inflamed, crusty scabs. Physically, I was hideous. Mentally, I was worse. Spiritually, I was a slut. So basically everything evened itself out and I was thriving.

Objectively, it was a nice body. Subjectively, immediate smash.

Sadie threw her arms around me and buried her head in my shoulder. She trembled against me as tears soaked my sweatshirt, and she whispered softly, “I don’t want to go to war.” I held her tighter. “Same, bitch.” “I’m too pretty for war,” she whined. I nodded in agreement and said sarcastically, “Military uniforms have never been my style. I don’t have the boobs for a slutty soldier look. It will make me look too boxy.”

I pulled my head back and gasped. “There are people around.” Luka grinned wickedly. “So?” “Good point,” I mumbled as my cheeks flushed from the embarrassment of momentarily forgetting my slutty values.

My jaw dropped when I’d woken up to find the massive ugly mark on my face. Then the emotion set in. I was ecstatic. The scar was sexy yet understated; slutty yet slightly horrifying. It made me feel dangerous.

“I see that fire ass still hasn’t gotten the psychological counseling he needs.” Sadie gestured to Malum. “I’d recommend you to Dr. Palmer, my and Aran’s therapist, but she told us that she was considering reporting us to the authorities.”