Page 96 of Sin of Love
47
“I thought you were dead.”
Julep snakes forward, grabbing my arm and spinning my back to his chest. The gun strokes my side, a cold line through my T-shirt.
“You know what the biggest benefit is to being labelled the crazy one in the family?” he murmurs into the back of my head. “I’m constantly underestimated. By my peers, my father, by my enemies. You think I didn’t know what you were planning? I saw the way Paulo looked at you, like one of his whore daughters, and how he looked at me like I was some kind of monster. He’d never let you pass up an opportunity to escape me.”
“What did you do to him?”
But I know.
“He’s dead. His whole family is fucking dead because of you.” The gun strokes my temple as his laughter, low and vicious, crawls down my body. “I must say, I’m enjoying your shock. It’s even sweeter than I imagined.”
The reality of what’s happening finally sinks in. Panic grabs the back of my neck like a clawed hand, digging in, breaking skin. My legs tremble, my breath cycling shallowly in my throat.
He’s alive.
I’m going to die.
“You believed what you read in the papers, hmm? Stupid doll. They print what La Familia tells them to print. Aww,” he coos, “look how you tremble. Have I ruined your day? It’s only going to get worse.”
The gallery is quiet now, empty of bystanders save for Gideon, out cold on the floor. I silently beg him to stay unconscious.
I don’t want to die.
“Someone called the police, Julep. They’re on their way. If you leave now, maybe you can evade them.” But my voice is feeble, my threat thin. I’m out of practice. I’m afraid. A side effect of feeling safe these last months—I have something to lose. Everything to lose.
“Don’t worry,” he replies breezily, “we have a little time left.”
Without warning, the fingers in my hair clench and yank. I grind my teeth to avoid crying out as he pulls me across the gallery. At least the floor is smooth, my heels sliding with little resistance. And we’re moving away from Gideon, which is all that really matters to me.
Julep comes to a stop before one of the Seven Sins paintings. Gluttony. In it, I’m sitting in a meditative posture, my face serene as I pour water from a pitcher into a bowl. But the pitcher is bottomless, and water overflows the bowl, spilling across my lap and forming a pool around me. The quote on the little placard reads: Allow for balance; use less, waste less.
“I’ve decided this one is my favorite. Do you know why? Ah, but of course you do. You know me better than anyone. Ev-ery-thing in mod-er-ation.” Each syllable is punctuated by a tap of the gun to my head. “My personal motto, and it’s worked for everything except you. You, I can’t resist. You shatter all my discipline. That’s why I love this painting, you see?”
My eyes roll toward the windows, searching for the telltale flash of blue and red. Though I hold out little hope of a happy ending to the night, I know the rules: if I can stall him, keep him talking, stay visible, then who knows?
I want to live.
“No, Julep, I don’t see. Can you explain? I want to understand, but—” Stars explode as the gun cracks against my head. “Fuck.”
“Ah-ah. No bullshit. You tell the truth or you don’t speak.”
People snapall the time, losing control in the grocery store checkout. In traffic. Over a conflict at work or in the home. Usually the event happens after a buildup of frustration spanning days or weeks.
My buildup to snapping has been happening for fifteen
fucking
years.
With a mindless scream, I jerk against his hold. “You want truth, asshole? Here you go. I don’t know why this one’s your favorite, and I don’t care. You’re a sadistic psychopath. I wish you were dead, but since you’re not, I wish you’d just kill me so I don’t have to keep listening to your pathetic pontificating!”
He laughs, a sharp bray, then leans down behind me. Hot breath cascades over my hair. My spine undulates with revulsion.
He whispers, “I didn’t start killing girls until you left me to die in that shed. How’s that for pathetic?”
My stomach drops with horror, then my fury intensifies a thousandfold. Red haze washes my vision. My body vibrates with the desire to hurt him. Claw, rip, shred, tear him apart… but his grip on my hair is inviolable, the muzzle of the gun a cold pressure against my neck.
