Page 111 of Sinful Lord

I just hope I’ve prepared her enough to take the worst of me.

Because when I return, it might be all that’s left.

22

Tytus

This night feels colder than the rest.

The wind harsher. The darkness more opaque. The emptiness less forgiving.

The reason is obvious.

This is how the world feels when you’re a monster. It’s lonely and dangerous and endlessly hopeless. And it’s all my fault.

I’ve locked my free little dove back into another cage.

It feels awful. But that awful feeling is exactly what I deserve.

It doesn’t matter that Melina was right—about how we couldn’t sit around waiting for the fight to come to us; about how we couldn’t run either—it still hurts.

So does the fact that this is all I’m good for.

My skillset is useful for one thing, and one thing only. Attacking. So, that’s what I’m going to do.

First, though, I need to find out who I’m attacking, And that’s proving more difficult than expected.

Fortunately, it doesn’t look like I’ll have to pick a fight with the Kilpatrick’s first.

From my rooftop vantage point, I carefully watch the shady figure leaning against the alley wall below.

Maksim Smolov.

It really looks like he came alone.

How is that possible?

“What tricks do you have hiding up your sleeve this time, old man,” I grumble to myself.

Reaching into my pocket, I feel for my phone. Part of me wants to call Rozalia, maybe even Gabriel, and get an update from someone I can trust.

Why isn’t the entire Kilpatrick army racing around Berlin looking for their lost princess?

The answer escapes me. Still, I think better of calling my estranged siblings. My guilt is already strong enough. Talking to them would just weigh me down more.

I need to push forward, and I need to do it on my own.

Sliding down the fire escape ladder on the opposite end of the building, I crank my neck and promise myself I won’t hurt Maksim, no matter what kind of mood he’s in.

For any of this to work out, I’m going to need to use my words. But I can’t allow myself to get trapped either. I’m the only one who knows where Melina is, after all. And if I die, then she just might too.

No. You won’t let that happen, my conscience interrupts.

It’s right. There’s no ignoring it. I wasn’t lying when I said I was falling for my little runaway. If I die, I’m not taking her with me.

Pulling out my phone, I write the location of the lake house in my notes app, then I take a screenshot. That photo becomes my lock screen.

If I get killed, someone’s going to search my body. They’ll find my phone, and then they’ll find Melina.