Page 68 of His Sinner

The abrupt shift sends a glacial chill down my spine.

“You can choose to go with me or I can take you. Those are your options.”

“The hell they are?—”

“No.” Mack’s voice is hard as concrete, silencing both of us. “You can be in prison or dead, James. Those are your options.”

She drops my hand to grab the gun on her hip.

Trevor lunges for her, both of us screaming as he rips us apart. Trevor shoves me, and my ass hits the floor.

My heart gallops as I jump back up, refusing to let him take her away from me. Over my dead fucking body.

I slam into his arm, trying to get her free of him, grabbing for her shoulders. “Mack, run!”

But something hard strikes me in the side of the head. Fireworks burst in my skull.

I hit the floor, vision spinning and head throbbing as unconsciousness draws near. Unable to do anything other than listen to the crackling fire crawling toward me and Mack screeching my name. “Briar!”

Pain lances through my temple and I groan, barely able to roll onto my back.

Mack lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

He’s got his hands on her.

Trevor wraps his arms around her like a straightjacket while she screams and thrashes.

“Leave . . . her . . . alone,” I gasp out around the agonizing pain in my head.

But neither of them hear me over Mack’s wails. Her arms are pinned at her sides. She tries to kick out at him, but he doesn’t budge.

Fuck. I should’ve made her stay behind. I should’ve kept her safe; I should’ve protected her.

“Don’t do this, James!” she yells. “Why do you think I left? I don’t want to be with you!”

Trevor shakes her, even as his voice comes out soothing. “This is a fresh start for us, baby. Call me Trevor now.”

As he drags her out of the house, the last thing I hear before my vision goes dark is Mack’s scream.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SAINT

Trevor made one crucial mistake—he only read one of my books. If he’d read my debut, he’d know that the hero escapes being buried alive in the first chapter. Sometimes, the research an author does comes in handy.

I keep my breathing slow and steady to ration the limited oxygen. I brace my feet on the lid of the coffin, grateful Trevor was stupid enough to choose a flimsy option for my burial.

With one hard kick, my feet break through the bottom of the lid.

Dirt begins pouring in and collecting at my feet. I break the lid apart slowly, keeping the dirt at my sides while I gradually rise to sit.

At last, the lid is crumpled entirely, my escape somewhere above the feet of dirt.

I’m coming, muse. I won’t let him hurt you. I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe.

He will never part me from her. He will never take her from me.

This is not the end of our story. We have several more chapters left to write. Whole novels, a series of installments of our adventures together. We have gardens to grow, books to write, countries to visit, food to taste, love to make.

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