Page 29 of Where Sinners Repent

Her full lips twist to the side, a smirk full of sin. “And who said I wanted to fuck you again?”

Most people survive my stare. They last a few seconds before their eyes drop, folding beneath my gaze.

Not this girl.

She holds it with a challenge, the corner of her mouth curving up, as if she’s daring me to look away first.

I won’t.

“Anyway, I’m already taking low-iron tablets,” she taunts. “Another night with you and I might not have any blood left.”

She sticks her tongue out, and sure enough, right down the middle is a faint pink cut. Mostly healed now.

My brother is clinical with his knife. Knows where and how hard to cut, to draw blood, or pain, or death. The one on her tongue wasn’t put there to hurt.

The leather around my knuckles strains, wrists throbbing.

Her lips wrap around the plastic straw, throat bobbing with each swallow. She sips her drink with infuriating slowness.

A glassiness shines in her eyes, and it hits me that she skipped breakfast and has nothing in her stomach except three strong fucking drinks.

Reaching over the table, I take the drink from her, sliding it out of her reach.

Her mouth pops open, narrowing her eyes on me. “Excuse me?” She reaches over, trying to grab it from me, and failing miserably. “I wasn’t finished with that!”

“You are now.”

Her arms cross stubbornly, and my heart slows. The motion lifts the swell of her tanned cleavage. The thin fabric clings to her soft frame, leaving for too much skin exposed for winter. It’s December, but apparently, she doesn’t know that.

Patches of ink run up and down her arms and legs. It reminds me of the one I saw between her breasts. The one of the black heart wrapped in barbed wire.

“If Maddy were here, she’d let me wallow and drink as much as I pleased,” she grumbles, sticking a pouty bottom lip out. “If you hadn’t noticed, my entire life has been turned upside down. So, excuse me for wanting to be a little self-destructive for five fucking minutes.”

I want to sigh. To tell her I have more important things to be doing than baby-sitting a Wraith’s sister. A stubborn, bratty one at that.

“Eat first,” I murmur.

She watches me for a second before huffing and pushing herself up from the table. I stay where I am, watching the bar. Unable to stop myself from glaring at her round backside as it sways with each step.

Winged moths stretch across the backs of her thighs; intricate lines etched into her toned legs.

She seems to recognise the man at the bar. Just as he seems to recognise her. The smile that curves on his face is all too familiar. Roxy leans against the bar, that long, black ponytail of hers spilling down her back all the way to her hips.

Her laugh grates through me. It’s raspy and free. Tinged with tipsiness.

The man leans closer to her, and she throws her head back at something he says. He smiles wider, victory flashing in his eyes.

He’s too close. My jaw tightens.

Tattoos snake up his arm, the one that settles on the bar right next to hers. For a second, I wonder if she put them there. If she sat for hours, letting him make her laugh while she decorated his skin.

The image of holding her by the throat, against my body while I force her to watch Kaleb peel each drawing off his skin with a knife makes my groin ache. It makes me reach into my pocket and fiddle with the bloodstained shard of glass. I don’t know why I took it.

Exhaling, I focus on the door. On the other visitors. The docks that stretch out through the glass windows.

Her laugh cuts over the tinny music again, and my body jolts upright. Fingers curl with the need to kill. I close the distance between us, stalking quietly until I’m next to her.

She didn’t hear me approaching, but when she feels me next to her, she smirks as if she is trying to get under my skin.