Page 7 of Sin of Love
His shoes—shiny, black, expensive—stop before me. I drop my head and close my eyes as my failure finally sinks in. Tears of helplessness press against my lids even as deranged laughter tickles my throat.
I killed him. Three shots to center mass. Perfect.
But he’s still here.
“I killed you.” My whisper quivers with agony—with laughter. “And I still managed to fuck it up.”
And he says, “Now, you and I both know if you’d wanted me dead, you would have aimed higher.”
Above me, a bitter voice says, “She could have.”
“But she didn’t.”
“I still think it was stupid, risking yourself like that.”
“Enough.”
I recognize that tone, too. Margaret-whoever shuts up, which is smart. Nothing good comes on the other side of that voice.
At the touch of his fingers on my chin, revulsion spills like oil through my body. I feel it everywhere. Under my skin. In my hair. Between my legs. Every single part of me recoils.
Gentle pressure lifts my face. My eyes fully adjusted to the night, I can now make out his features. Handsome. Smiling. Like the average single guy living down the street who always helps carry your groceries, but who stabs cats in his spare time.
“So much hatred,” he murmurs, drawing an exaggerated breath through his nose. “Why didn’t you kill me, hmm? I’ve seen your targets at the shooting range—shredded heads and chests.”
The significance of his words hit on a delay. I must be in shock.
“You’ve been watching me. For how long?”
Releasing my chin, he taps my nose. “You always were a smart girl.”
Rage thins my voice, “I’m not a girl anymore. I’m almost thirty—way too old for the game. I don’t know what you thinkyou’ll get from me, but I’ve got scars and wrinkles. No one’s going to want me this time around.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken,” he murmurs. “You will always be mi muñequita perfecta. This time, you will finally be mine.”
The woman’s grip on my arm tightens as her fingers spasm. She doesn’t speak, but her tension radiates against me. She’s jealous.
My stomach turns. My mouth waters as I fight the urge to vomit all over his shoes. Breathing slowly through my nose, I glare up at him.
“The biggest mistake of my life was pulling you out of the burning house. I will never stop trying to kill you for what you did to us. Never. So let’s just get this over with. Kill me and keep your word that you’ll leave Nate alone.”
Julep sighs, glancing over my head. The muzzle of a gun—possibly my own—settles ominously against the back of my head.
I’ve been in mortal danger before. Many times. But the difference between those other times and now is drastic. Before, there was always a reason to fight or hang on or hope.
Now? I don’t feel much of anything. My life doesn’t flash before my eyes. I’m not sad or afraid or full of regret.
I’m just… tired.
Then Julep crouches in front of me, close enough I can smell the peppermint on his breath. He leans forward until our cheeks press together, bristles to smooth skin. My body reacts out of cellular memory—a shudder ripples down my spine, my hands and feet grow cold, and my teeth begin to chatter.
My mama used to tell me I was demon-spawn. Not until I met Julep did I know it for a lie. I’m not evil.
But he is.
“Why would I kill you, Deirdre-love, when I can torture you instead?” he whispers. “When I can make you become what you hate, all to keep your precious loved ones safe?”
Terror sparkles inside me, tiny electric surges in my bones.
“No,” I breathe.
He kisses my cheek and leans back, smiling, his teeth white in the night.
“Oh, yes.”
Light explodes behind my eyes, then fades into inky, endless darkness.
