Page 52 of His Sinner

Right as I’m about to stop the video and delete it, the man she’s riding points the camera at a mirror above their heads. Displaying their reflections.

He’s wearing a mask.

S.T. Nicholson’s mask.

Saint’s mask.

In his office.

My stomach drops before giving a sickening churn.

That’s Saint. Or maybe he’s S.T. Nicholson this time. The masked, anonymous author with far more secrets to hide than his face.

He’s completely unrecognizable to me now. I don’t know this man.

Maybe I never really did.

Just last night, I let him in my bed. Let him in my body, let him use me exactly as he wanted.

And this is what he’s doing to me now. A level of betrayal I never would’ve thought him capable of.

My heart splinters. I knew he was the last person I should love, trust. But I did anyway. I fell for my stalker, a serial killer, knowing exactly what he was capable of. And I fell anyway.

He fucked April. My other stalker. Maybe they’ve both been in on this all along, from the very beginning. That’s how she got my address, my phone number.

She gave him pussy, and he gave her everything.

He fooled me into believing he did the same for me.

I hope you’re right, Briar. I really hope he doesn’t hurt you.

Trevor’s been right all along. I was the idiot who fell for a stalker’s pretty words. Who let him manipulate me into believing I was actually falling in love with him.

When all of it’s been a lie.

That’s why Saint said April isn’t stalking me. He was covering for her. In the moments he wasn’t with me, he was fucking her. Both of them probably cackling the entire time about all the things I let him do to me. How naive I was to fall for someone as dangerous and untrustworthy as a stalker in a mask.

Tears are sliding down my face by the time I finally register Trevor calling out to me, drawing me back from the horror show I just witnessed in Saint’s office. “Briar! What’s happening? What’s in the video?”

“Him,” I croak. “Fucking someone.” I hang up.

For the first time, I finally understand Saint’s inclination to murder. Mixing with the agony in my chest is a blazing rage like I’ve never felt before. Not even when I uncovered my father cheating on my mother. Not even when we learned he’d been unfaithful to her countless times before. Not even when I discovered Saint’s masked, shadowy figure on my property for the first time.

I want to kill him. Kill her. Both of them. I want to line them up and slash both of their throats. Shoot a single bullet through their heads. Fuck the consequences. Fuck prison. At least if I was locked up, I’d know it was for a good reason.

Maybe it would even help ease the aching, open wound in my heart.

The video ends, the frame freezing on their reflections—April’s back to the mirror and S.T. Nicholson’s mask facing the glass as she’s mid-bounce on his cock.

A tear slips down my cheek when I whisper the word to his reflection. “Grave.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SAINT

He said his name is Trevor.

Trevor James Hobart is a difficult man to track down. Even more so the Trevor he was ten years ago.

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