Page 13 of Sinners Reunion

“How’d you manage it, hmm?”

He rises to his feet, and I lack the energy to kick him again. At least I’ve hobbled him; he winces with each step around the chair.

“How’d you get Jim in on this? Your last name isn’t Brickle, so you can’t be related to Terrence.” He pauses. “Is there even a damn sloth?”

“Same mother, different fathers,” I say, “but I’m fucking touched you remembered my last name.”

“Well, save it, because I never said I remembered your last name, only that it wasn’t Brickle.”

Ouch, that stings, but I’ll take a hot-chocolate enema before I ever let him know it. I smirk up at him and nibble my lower lip. “Don’t lie. Remember when we went to the drive-in and you carved our initials into that guy’s forehead? We were the local headline for months. You know my last name.”

“We never went to a drive-in,” he says.

“Oh, shit. My bad. That was one of the other killers I fucked. I get all of you confused.”

King nods and looks down at the dock. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your spark. Are you feeling better? You sound much more sober now.”

“Yeah.” I nod back, and he finally looks me in the eye as he circles the chair again. “I’m feeling a little tired, but⁠—”

He grips my wrists and wedges a knife blade beneath the rope. I keep silent and still as he breaks through my bindings. With a sigh of relief, I go to stand, but King steps into me and sends me into the water. I spin and reach for the ledge, but I’m already going under.

Jim wasn’t lying. I can’t fucking swim, and King knows it.

My hands flail in front of me and find a rope. I grip it and haul myself toward the light. I break through the surface and sputter as I look into his grinning face. He squats at the edge of the wooden dock, holding the other end of the rope in his hands.

“You tried to kill me!” I scream. “What happened to the fucking code you taught me, jackass? We don’t kill our own!”

“Tsk, tsk. I didn’t try to kill you. Not yet, anyway. If I wanted you to die, you would be dead.”

That’s supposed to be a threat, right? Like, that’s supposed to make me afraid or, at the very least, cautious. Instead, I damn near moan.

It brings to mind the first kill he ever took me on, when I saw his depravity firsthand. So yeah, I know what he’s capable of, and he’s right.

If he wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.

“Help me out of here,” I say as I remember that I’m in deep water and have the swimming ability of a skyscraper. I raise my hand toward him, but he lowers me into the water a bit more, and my hand moves back to the rope. “Cut it out.”

“Will you tell Jim where the sloth is?”

“What? No!”

He lowers me until water touches my chin. I try to climb higher, but he swats my fingers at every turn.

“If you tell me where the blasted beastie is, then I’ll let you live, and you can go on the road trip.”

“Lies. You’ll just drop me into the water!”

“That outcome is far more probable if you make me ask a third time.” He looks down at me, and my heart aches in ways it shouldn’t as I stare into his stormy blue eyes. “Tell me where you’ve hidden the sloth. We know you have it.”

I press my forehead against the rope and sigh. Yeah, I know where the sloth is, but I’m not telling him or his little friends. I saved that animal from absolute hell, and I’ll be damned if she’s thrust right back into the brimstone lake.

Taking a deep breath, I shake my head and trust that he won’t let me go. We have too much history for him to⁠—

Well, shit.

Water covers the top of my head. I kick my legs, but I continue my downward trajectory. It seems I’m swimming after all, just not in the correct direction. The light shrinks away, and I’m shrouded in darkness. I don’t panic, though. Not yet. His heart may be a shriveled, cold thing in his chest, but it exists.

Right?