Page 66 of His Sinner

If he realizes he failed to drug me, that I recognized what he was planning the moment I lifted the scotch to my lips and returned it to the table without taking a sip, he’ll point his gun at me instead. And that I won’t survive.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” Trevor croons to what he assumes is my drugged, unconscious body. “You could’ve kept playing the villain, and I could’ve been the hero. But you had to go and screw it up. You took her away. You fucked her, brainwashed her into falling in love with a psychopath.”

With his foot, he rolls my limp body into the coffin, biting back a grunt as my heart jackhammers while I debate the right next move. Play my hand now, jumping up only for him to shoot me before I can get to her.

Or allow him to bury me alive, and hope that I can claw my way back out, to reach her before he does.

“Luckily, you gave me plenty of time to prepare this for you. A private cemetery with no visitors. A groundskeeper who was too afraid to make the trek up the mountain.” The lid creaks as he shuts me in. “Now you finally know how your story ends.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

BRIAR

My heart pounds the entire drive back to Nicholson Manor. What if Trevor has already beaten us there? What if Saint is on the floor, bleeding out, unconscious, and past the point of saving?

What if I’ll never get to apologize or tell him I love him? That I’ve been in love with him for a while, but I refused to admit it even to myself.

He already knows. But he deserves to hear me say it.

When we speed into his driveway, Saint’s car is the only one parked there. “Maybe Trevor isn’t here,” I say, heart leaping with hope.

Maybe we’re not too late. If Saint simply slept through my calls, I’ll be equal parts pissed and relieved.

Beside me, Mack visibly relaxes. We’re going to be okay. But I still need to make sure Saint is all right.

I’ve barely thrown the car in Park when I jump out.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Mack smacks my arm. “You two have been hiding this fucking fortress up here?”

“Not important right now, Mack!” When I run halfway to the manor, Mack stays rooted in place, chewing her lip and face paling again as she imagines the horrors she could face inside. “You can stay in the car. Lock it. Hide in the trunk or something.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’m coming with you. If he’s here, we’re ending this. For good.”

I race for Nicolson Manor, Mack on my heels. “Saint! Saint!” I throw the door open, the mansion eerily still and uninhabited. “Saint!”

Mack is my shadow as we fly up the stairs. “This is his house?”

We sprint through room after room, this manor way too fucking big to find anyone quickly. Despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins, I’m already breathless, heart racing toward collapse.

We’re clearly alone in here. Part of me is relieved Trevor isn’t waiting in ambush. Another part of me is terrified about what this silent, empty manor could mean for Saint.

When we finally stop in his room, he’s not asleep in bed as I hoped. My chest squeezes painfully.

We bend at the knees and heave. Mack pants, “Maybe . . . he’s not in here. Should we . . . look outside?”

“Yeah,” I huff. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” She stops me with a hand on my arm. “Do you smell that?”

She’s right. There’s a weird scent in the air—something pungent and acrid.

My stomach drops.

Smoke.

I race to the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, but there isn’t a fire raging outside in the creeping darkness.

Fuck. That can only mean?—

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