Page 136 of Sixth Sin

This means Angel is in control.

“Dominic!” I stand from my seat on the edge of the mattress as she runs toward me and throws herself into my arms. She feels so fucking thin. The past few months have taken their toll on her. She tries to cover it up by wearing things like the long blue dress she has on, but I’ve always seen past the surface.

Even when I tried not to.

“I was visiting your mom’s bench, and…” I can feel her tense in my arms as she slowly pulls away. I fight the instinct that tells me if I hold tight enough, if I protect her enough, if I love her enough, nothing can hurt her.

I promised her I’d never lie to her again. As much as it drives a knife through my heart, I release her, watching that little vertical line sink between her eyebrows.

“Your eyes look funny,” she says, a catch in her soft voice. “Why do your eyes look funny?” She steps back again, her gaze darting around the room. “What’s happening?”

If only I could keep my angel in a cage. If only I could keep her from ever remembering what she did…everything she did.

But I can’t. Eventually, Alexandra will open the door and tell her.

“Rook, what did you do to Greg Rosten?”

She swallows hard, as if her breath is trapped in her throat. “I didn’t do anything. He did something to me, remember? He raped me.”

I wish she could see how much I believe her. How much I want to turn back time and put my hands around that man’s throat and feel the life slowly leave his body. My Angel’s truth is real, up until the very end where it dwindles away like mist.

“I believe he tried. And I believe he would’ve…if you hadn’t stopped him.”

Her hands clutch her chest. “What? Are you crazy?” She repeats the words over and over until it happens. Until she stills, and the frantic look in her eyes sharpens. “What are you saying?”

That voice. That tone. I close my eyes.

Hello, Alexandra.

“Rosten is missing.”

She cocks her chin. “So?”

There’s no turning back now. Love can’t exist on a bed of lies, and angels can’t fly with broken wings.

“I talked to Luciano today.” I meet her cutting gaze. “The guard who claims you weren’t there was paid to erase the footage and lie.” I saw it myself.

She blinks, and her clenched fists release as if she’s fighting to hold on to her own skin. When she looks back at me, there’s fear in her eyes. “What? By whom?” She presses the back of her hand against her mouth. “Why?”

My Angel.

“Luciano. To protect you.”

“You’re not making any sense.” She shakes her head back and forth.

I can’t drag this out anymore. Angel is with me, and she’s breaking. I have to do this before the scales tip and Alexandra beats me to it.

My arms ache from keeping them locked by my side, but I stay firm, holding my voice steady. “What happened to the clothes you wore the night you went to Silverline?”

“You know what happened. The hospital took my red dress to swab for DNA.” A flicker of recognition dances in her eyes. It’s only there for a second then goes out, but it’s enough to give me the strength to keep going.

“No!” I step closer and back her into the wall. “Not the clothes you wore to the hospital, Angel. The clothes you wore to the studio. I told you, the guard was paid to erase the footage. I didn’t say there weren’t copies. So, I’ll ask again. Where are the jeans and shirt you wore to Silverline?”

I might as well have slapped her. Swinging her chin to the side, she winces and whispers through a sob, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Fuck this.

Jerking open the nightstand drawer, I pull out a pair of jeans and a splotchy shirt. Both covered in stains so thick the fabric is barely recognizable.

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