Page 137 of Sixth Sin

Pennies.

Blood.

“These clothes!” I shove them in her face. “The ones stained with blood. You want to know where I found them?” She shakes her head, clawing the wall behind her, hysterically sobbing now. “In the east wing bedroom. Not only hidden under the mattress but stuffed inside it.”

“No!”

“Do you know how they got in there?”

“No!”

Keeping the bloody clothes held up with one hand, I reach back into the nightstand with the other and wrap my hand around the silver handle. “With this,” I roar, pulling out a blood-stained, ten-inch letter opener. Holding it against her cheek, I force her to look at it, my heart ripping out of my chest with every scream. “I promised I’d never lie to you again, Angel, but I need you to meet me halfway. Did you kill Rosten with this?”

“No! No! No!” Her knees buckle.

Dropping the clothes, I grab her around the waist, because I’m about to push both of us off the ledge. Turning the letter opener sideways, I hold it in front of her face. “Read what’s engraved on it!”

For a precious few seconds, there’s silence as Angel scans the words.

Then she lets out a blood-curdling scream before slipping through my hands.

CHAPTER FIFTY

ANGEL

Gregory Rosten.

Even with my eyes closed and the noises coming from my mouth, those two words are still louder and shine brighter than anything else. They can’t be real, but I’m too scared to open my eyes and look again.

I hear Dominic calling my name, but it sounds so far away—like he’s in a tunnel and I’m in another tunnel and there are too many rocks in between to ever get to him. I try, because I need him. Even as scared as he makes me, I need him to tell me I don’t ever have to count again. I need him to save me from the pennies. I need to kiss the cross on his hand because he’s the Angel of Death.

I try, but I fail.

And as I fail, I slip into that locked place in my mind. The one where Alexandra waits for me with her hand out and a soft smile.

It’s time.

I stop trying to break down the rocks and walk deeper into the tunnel.

My own sickness coats my cheek as I tighten my grip on the desk. Yet it’s not the desk. It’s cold and thin. It fits in my hand, and it moves. Yes. It moves. No more bad man. No more pain.

“Hold still, you little bitch!”

“Not yours!” I scream, my voice breaking. “Not yours! His! I’m his! You can’t have it!” With every word, I fight. With every word, I battle to keep my promise. “I’m his! Not yours! His! His! His!” My arm hurts, and I can’t breathe. Oh God, I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?

A soft voice whispers in my ear, “It’s over.”

She’s here, so I listen. I stop yelling and stop fighting, but I still can’t breathe.

Slowly, I open my eyes to see Rosten still on top of me, but he’s not hurting me anymore. He’s not saying ugly things to me anymore. He’s not moving anymore.

I can’t breathe because he’s lying on top of me.

“Get off,” I wheeze. “Get off! Get off! Get off!” He doesn’t. I wiggle and squirm and push until there’s enough space for me to crawl out from underneath him.

Why am I so sticky?

Then I remember what he did to me, and shame burns my cheeks. Oh no. Tears flood my eyes. I’m not Dominic’s anymore. He took what belonged to Dominic and left his stain.

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