Page 13 of Psycho Sinners

That’d had to be something compared to the events of the last twenty-four hours.

I hadn't planned for any of this—the bar's smoldering remains, the lie spiraling out on the news, or the strange twist of fate that had landed me here, in the lair of a man as captivating as he was dangerous.

But Naomi's words clung to me, an omen I couldn't shake off. The mafia.

"Cristian Silvestri," I mused aloud as I pushed away from the sink, testing the name on my tongue like a new brand of poison.

I caught my reflection in a mirror on the wall and paused, my eyes widening. The woman staring back at me was wild-eyed, hair a tangled crown of rebellion, and marks on her throat like the kiss of a noose.

My choice in men was its own form of self-harm, something Noms and I had laughed over several times. Now, it was a blinding red flag as I touched my throat.

“Scar?” Noms voice pulled me from my haze.

“Heading out,” I assured her as I turned the kitchen corner.

“Good, you may have burned down the bar, but please don’t completely crash and burn with Cristian or his brothers. I’m downstairs, I’ll take you home to mine.”

“You’re already here?” I mumbled as my stomach churned, the front door only a few paces ahead.

“Yeah, Steve had me in the back rooms all morning. Then when I came out, I caught Ray. We’ve been down here worrying over you since.”

“Well, Steve has some stamina for a man of his age,” I smirked, and she snorted on the other end of the phone. “Besides, Noms, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I know you can take care of yourself, but this time, I’ll worry. I don’t want to see you go up in smoke too.”

Naomi was right. I'd already burned down one part of my life last night. No need to add more of myself to the pyre, especially not with a made man. That was too much, even for me.

I paused, my gaze rolling over the front door as unease set in.

“Noms… there’s no door handle,” I whispered, fear raising its wretched head as I rolled my eyes over the damn door. There was nothing but a keypad, and I pushed the enter button, hoping it would open the door.

It just blared red at me, and pushing on the door resulted in nothing.

“What?” Noms voice hitched. “What do you mean there’s no handle?”

“I’m saying this freak has locked me in here. Can you open it from the other side?” I hissed as I dared a glance over my shoulder. Across the living area was the other hall, which I could only assume led to his room and a bathroom or something.

“I can only open the staff door, the doors after that only work via their key cards and codes.” Noms voice was unsteady, and I heard Ray’s in the background.

“What do I do?” I asked, both to herself and I, as I tested the door again. But it was pointless—I wasn’t leaving via the front door.

“I’ll see if I can find a bathroom or something.” My voice was barely above a whisper, my heart now pounding in my ears.

Good job, Scar, look at the lovely mess you’d found yourself in. I swear, someone had it out for me overhead.

How was I going to get out of this?

4

SCARLET

My gaze drifted across the living area, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings with a detached sort of curiosity, still trying to force away the hangover riddling me. I’d not really taken it in last night, not with Cristian’s hands and mouth claiming every inch of me. The reminder made me shiver, and I cursed my body inwardly for its reaction as I eyed the area. Bare walls, minimalistic art, everything screamed controlled aesthetic. Cold. Calculated. Definitely mafia men style. Then again, it could just be a bachelor pad.

My focus moved to the frame and plaque on the far wall, and I tiptoed closer, wondering where my boots had ended up. No matter, I’d buy another pair.

I frowned at the framed plaque, taking in the strange artwork there. It looked like leather, and my eyes rolled over the words engraved into the plaque beneath it.

I recoiled, the realization hitting me.

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