The Art of Warren

Forty Five

Trent pulled Arana back, getting in front of her pointing the gun directly at the man's forehead. "Who the fuck are you and no sudden movements," Trent snapped as Arana suddenly gasped.

"Why are you in front of the bathrooms? Wh-why is their blood under your fingernails?" Arana's voice was shaking and Trent felt like taking the priest by the balls and tearing something off.

The man was shaking. "I-I was biting my nails. I was nervous about the lockdown is all."

"Turn around and open the fucking door." The man cringed and glanced towards Arana, almost in a pleasing look. "Don't look at her. Do what I say or else I'm killing you. I don't give a fuck if you're a priest. Open the door."

"Trent just let me go. L-let me go in and see."

The priest inched closer to the door but still was hesitant. Trent was sick of talking, he grabbed the priest from behind, locking his arm around his neck tightly. He pressed the barrel of the gun to the mans head. "Walk forward with me. Use those flabby fucking legs." 

The priest was acting like a newborn horse, being suspicious as fuck as they entered the bathroom. The stench of vomit and blood hit his nose immediately. And cleaning products. Strong ones.

"Arana check the stalls," Trent instructed her as she shook like a leaf as she did. He knew she was horrified but she did as she was told. No one was in the stalls...but he felt a draft.

Glancing up he realized that the bathroom window was up. Trent took all of his strength and shoved the priest into the wall. His stupid body slapped the tile before he slumped to the ground.

"Tell me what you did or I'll either break every bone in your body slowly until you tell me or-"

"-Trent let me," Arana spoke firmly, making him growl out in annoyance. He would have to do some messed up shit to get the information out and of course she was going to be all holy and saint like and not allow him to.

He glanced over to Arana while still having his gun on the idiot.

Arana was slipping out of her cream robes and revealing a dress that was a little more form fitting, a little more shapely than that robe. Trent immediately wanted to burn the offending garment. He knew Arana had a nice body but damn.

Then she lifted up her dress. "Close your fucking eyes," Trent snapped at the priest as he did what he was told. Trent on the other hand did no such thing.

He watched her raise the yellowish white dress up to her mid thigh, exposing her creamy brown skin. She had a holster or well a holder and she was slipping something out of it.

It was throwing knives. Silver ones. Probably the same ones that she threw at him when they first met. If Trent wasn't turned on before, he was one hundred percent drooling at this very moment, but he tucked that lust away for a moment to look at the completely infuriated Arana.

Her eyes were glowing, those curls that were just so perfectly clipped back were now springing free. Most likely due to her clips coming undone while she unshed her marshmallow robe. The throwing knives were in her palm and she was...the classically trained violinist, counselor, holy sister had a scowl on her face that could instantly be interpreted as she was going to fucking demolish Priest whatever his name was.