Page 59 of The Wages of Sin

I slammed the tumbler down on the counter hard enough to send a crack up the side of the cut crystal. Sal jumped, surprised by the sharp sound echoing off the walls.

But he wasn’t the only one who was startled.

In the same instant, I heard a short, muffled cry off to the side of the room.

I broke my death stare away from Sal just long enough to find Kiera standing in the far corner, back pressed against the wall, face pale, hands covering her gaping mouth.

Shit.

Somewhere along the line, I’d forgotten she was there, that she hadn’t gone to the bedroom like I’d told her.

Instead, she’d just retreated into the background, silently watching, listening to every word.

Now, she looked terrified by the hideous monster standing before her. Her eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them, as if she couldn’t believe they could take in something so evil.

I let go of the broken glass and felt a trickle of blood drip down my palm. Forgetting Sal for a moment, I reached out to her.

“Kiera,” I said.

But she didn’t answer. After another excruciatingly long second of staring at me in horror, she turned and ran from the room.

Behind me, Sal laughed.

“Looks like I was worried over nothing,” he said smugly. “You may have lost your head over the girl, but clearly, she hasn’t lost hers over you.”

Chapter Twenty-One

KIERA

Ishould have run for the front door.

Maybe if I’d been thinking clearly, I would have. I would have thrown open the door, tore down the hall, and not stopped until I was out on the street.

Unfortunately, my mind was anything but clear.

It was mixed up and muddled, filled with fear and disbelief, unable to process that the man that I’d just spent the afternoon leisurely lounging in the grass with was a killer.

And not just any kind of killer but a cold-blooded assassin who could talk about his crimes with the calm detachment of a true psychopath.

It was horrifying. Terrifying enough to unconsciously send me running to the only place where I’d felt safe since the day my sister died.

Unfortunately, that place happened to be Dorian’s bedroom.

I didn’t realize what I’d done until after I’d slammed the door behind me, effectively trapping myself at the farthest point from an exit in the apartment.

As fast as I could, I threw the lock on the bedroom door and immediately started looking around for a weapon. I needed something—anything—to protect myself.

But Dorian’s room was as neat and tidy as always, and the most menacing thing I could spot out in the open was an alarm clock.

Somehow, I doubted I’d be able to threaten my way out of here with a one-and-a-half-pound chunk of molded plastic.

This was ridiculous.

There had to be something.

I ran over to the bedside table and threw open the drawers, but every one was empty inside. If Dorian really was an assassin, then he had to have some weapons hidden in the house.

Hidden.

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