Page 51 of Psycho Sinners

The flicker of the flame danced in his eyes, a dangerous game unfolding as the warmth became scorching hot.

"You like the fire, don’t you, kitten?" he taunted, the heat close enough to singe reality's edges.

"Been burned more times than I can count," I shot back, the sarcasm a thin veil over the dread that coiled in my stomach.

He pressed the flame to my wrist, skin searing, the smell of burnt flesh invading my senses. My eyes glistened with unshed tears, but not a sound escaped my lips. I was not about to cave, not from this. He may be able to make my body betray me, but pain, now that was something that had become far too normal long ago.

Cristian grunted, a guttural sound of frustration or maybe admiration—it was hard to tell. Those dark eyes burned into mine, and I gritted my teeth, refusing to show him weakness. Not now.

His jaw ticked, and the lighter clicked shut as he cocked his head at me, those dark eyes dancing with something I couldn’t narrow down.

Then he was dragging me to the sink, the cold water rushing over the burn in a cruel twist of tenderness. It doused the burn, washing away the pain but not the memory.

The cool water eased my wrist, but it couldn't touch the heat in Cristian's gaze as he stared hard at me.

"Can't handle your own brutality?" I hissed through clenched teeth.

His jaw tightened, the muscles working like he was chewing on glass. No words came out; just a shadow passing over his eyes.

"Julian!" His voice boomed through the cramped space, commanding yet oddly strained. I flinched at the loudness of it.

Not even a minute later, Julian was stepping into my bathroom, and he arched a brow at us, taking in my naked form, before his gaze fell to my wrist still under the running water.

His brow furrowed, those dark eyes meeting mine for a moment before flicking to Cristian’s.

"Patch her up," Cristian ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Then he left, just like that—no backward glance, no lingering threat. Just the echo of his footsteps, leaving me in the hands of his brother.

Julian didn't speak as he took my arm, his touch surprisingly light. No comfort offered, no soothing words—just the methodical task of wrapping my wrist in gauze from a first aid kit he pulled out from under the sink after applying some cream. His fingers were deft, the bandage snug but not too tight, betraying a tenderness I hadn't anticipated.

I tried to catch his gaze, a bizarre curiosity winning out, but he focused on the task at hand.

"Thanks," I muttered, unsure why I felt compelled to offer gratitude in this twisted scenario.

He gave a noncommittal hum, finishing my bandage before standing back to assess his handiwork. He met my gaze for a fleeting second, something indecipherable flickering in his eyes.

"Try not to aggravate it," was all he said, his voice low and devoid of warmth.

Then he was gone too, leaving me with the ghost of an odd gentleness, naked and alone.

17

SCARLET

Ihid in my room for the entire day, holding my wounded wrist close and trying to drown out the ache with my shows. When dinnertime came, I was ordered to join them as per usual.

I joined them, sinking into my seat across from Cristian, glaring hard at him.

To my surprise, he was slouched back, no smirk on his face as he merely studied me.

“What happened?” Tyrone mused, although his tone didn’t seem overly concerned as he eyed my bandaged wrist.

“She got burned,” Cristian muttered as he drummed his fingers on the table, his gaze boring into me like he was trying to dig up some wretched secret. I had none that would mean a thing to him.

Tyrone arched a brow at this but didn’t say a word more on the subject.

We fell into a silent dinner, and Cristian didn’t make a single remark as we ate, although he continued to stare at me, his face oddly perplexed.

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