Page 27 of Sins that Find Us


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“I don’t want you to hurt,” he says.

There’s something in his tone, like a kernel of truth that I hate because that’s not fair. That’s absolutely not fucking fair. “What do you think you’ve been doing to me this whole time?”

He backs up, and then before I can taunt him more, he’s gone. I flop back down onto the bed and think about crawling to the toilet, but there’s no point. I only got a few bites down, and those certainly aren’t going to save me now.

The fucking jig is up. They know now, and if they have to shove a tube down my throat just to keep me alive, I know that’ll take all the fun out of it. My days are obviously numbered—hell, my hours are now.

But it’s worth it.

To finally end all of this—it’s worth it.

* * *

I think I sleep.I don’t mean to, but between my last thought and the sound of the cell door slamming open, I drifted into blackness. I wake with a gasp when I hear feet enter, but they’re not James’. Everything about this figure is big and foreboding and dangerous.

I manage to crack an eye open, and I find a tall, broad-shouldered figure looming over me. He smells like cigar smoke and something else—something woodsy and almost addictive. I catch myself taking a deep inhale before his fingers are curled into the front of my shirt and he’s hauling me up, shoving me against the wall where the bed sits.

My head cracks on the concrete, and it swims, but he continues to stare at me with a look that says I won’t find mercy with him.

“Explain yourself.”

I blink, and he shakes me—not enough to hurt, but enough to tell me hecouldhurt me if he wanted.

I lick my lips, my tongue painfully dry, and then I shrug. “I’m dying.”

“I’m aware.” He glances behind him at where James threw the food, then back at me. When he lets me go, I almost fall over, but I manage to catch myself on the side of the mattress as I watch him grab the spare chair in the corner and plop it down in front of the bed.

That’s also when I notice a new tray. It’s on the blanket, covered in thick slices of baguette, all slathered in butter. My stomach churns because for all that I’m willing to let myself die like this, I am starving, and it looks like a feast.

The stranger sits, taking up all of the chair and then some. He looks like the devil himself—gorgeous and on the cusp of charming. Maybe that’s who’s here. Maybe Iamdying, and he’s come to cart my soul off.

“You could only be so lucky,” he says.

Shit. I didn’t know I was thinking aloud. I push myself up further and take a breath. “Why do you want me alive?”

“Because you’re no use to me dead,” he says simply.

Okay, that much I could figure out myself. I open my mouth again, but he shakes his head, and on some sort of weird instinct, I obey him. His brows shoot up in surprise, and then he pushes the tray toward me.

“You have questions.”

I do, and my God, I burn for answers. “Who are you?”

He cocks his head to the side and studies me with his dark, dark eyes like he’s stripping my skin and bones away to stare right into my soul. After a short forever, he picks up a piece of bread and leans in close. “Eat, and I’ll tell you.”

These crossroads aren’t as difficult to navigate as they could have been, and it doesn’t really matter if I do eat. I can just cast it up again. My fingers shake as I take the bread from him and meet his gaze as I tear off a huge bite and chew.

Once he’s satisfied with my swallow, he leans back and folds his arms over his chest. “My name is Kane—”

“Walsh,” I finish, the realization hitting me hard. My father’s worst enemy. He looks mildly impressed, and I just shrug.

He chuckles, though I doubt he’s actually amused. “Clever girl.”

I bristle at being called a girl, but from him, I don’t think it’s rooted in misogyny. Not with the way it curls from his lips like thick smoke. “Why did you take me?”

He gives me a pointed stare, so I huff and tear off another large bite. He waits for me to swallow before he speaks. “Because I needed to find a gap in your father’s armor the way he found gaps in mine.”

A thousand new questions arise, but there’s not nearly enough bread on the tray for them. I eat another piece before I ask, “Why do you think he cares about me?”

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