Page 41 of The Secrets of a Sin

“I’m serious, Arsen. From now on, what we have is strictly business. What happened between us was purely out of your grief and anger, and my need for solace.” I spin back around and head for my closet where I can possibly change without being seen by him.

“And what’s wrong with mixing business and pleasure? I’ve never received any complaints about it before.”

Rolling my eyes, I use the open closet door to conceal myself and begin to undress out of my top. “Please don’t put me in the same category as your former conquests. Unlike them, I don’t get stupefied by your fictitious charm and good looks.”

Quickly wiggling my arms through the holes of the dress, I pull it down past my chest until it begins to pool at my thighs. “But aren’t you? Why else would you let me defile you in the school's library? Surely having been knuckles deep inside your pussy, I hope you at least find me somewhat attractive?” He declares so cockily that I can imagine the shit-eating grin that he has across his face.” Or were you just that desperate for a release?”

Tugging off the shorts that still cling to my legs, I quickly toss them beside me and step around the door. His gaze instantly latches onto the plain black dress that sticks to my skin; while the upper half is held tight against my chest, the bottom flares out around my lower thighs. “If anyone was desperate, it was you. I’m surprised you were even into me at all. Here I thought you were only interested in seducing older, married women.” The mention of Principal Welch piques his interest, and his body shifts up my bed.

Gnawing at his lower lip, he lifts his chin as his eyes flood with vigor. “When I need something quick and easy, I know who to turn to. They hardly give me any fucking lip, and I’ve found the older the pussy, the more desperate they are for cock.”

My face instantly grimaces and twists from his vile words. I couldn’t tell if he was just teasing and going off what I had said to him or if he was speaking the truth. If he was, I could already feel my belly swirl with jealousy and disgust, and from his smug face, he could sense it too.

“You’re disgusting.” I cross my arms over my chest feeling uncomfortable and out of place in my own room. His energy was too fucking strong and impacting all of my senses, making it difficult to breathe.

“And you're gullible.” He moves into a sitting position and begins to drag his fingers through his unruly hair. “I thought I told you I’ve never touched Welch.”

I hated how he noticed the scorching bitterness in my tone toward the vague comment about Principal Welch. I couldn’t let it show that I cared more than I led on. “I don’t care who you touch. As long as it’s not me.” I rotate on my heel, heading for my desk when I hear a low chime of amused chuckles coming from behind me. Blocking him out entirely, I snatch my hairbrush off the table and begin roughly combing through my snarls.

“I think I’ve touched you plenty of times to know that your body burns for me, angel.” He advises as I hear him rise off my bed. The sound of my hair running through the bristles of my brush dull out any other noise, but I’m not immune to the sensations of his body standing directly behind mine. “It recognizes something within me that it’s been longing for. Perhaps, it just wants a taste of something immoral, something that you know will ruin every perfect inch of your devout body until even God himself finds you unworthy of absolution.” He is breathing over my shoulder, and I realize as he was speaking, I’ve altogether stopped combing my hair. My breathing turns rough and ragged, but I remain facing the opposite direction for my own safety. “The lies you spew out of your mouth don't affect me like you think they do, not when I know the real fucking truth. They only make you look childish.” He comes up directly behind me, avoiding our bodies from touching. “Now, I suggest that from now you be the good girl I know you are and save the sinning for someone more suited for it.”

My breathing hitches, but anger never strikes me like I thought it would. Instead, all I feel is liquid-hot need course under the material of my dress and up towards my chest. His words were always so unusual and straightforward that I was afraid he was something other than human. Maybe my initial perception of Arsen was true, that he possibly was a fallen angel.

It would explain so much.

“If you’re ready,” He interrupts my thoughts as I sense him step away from me. “We have a funeral to get to.”

12

CHARLOTTE

My grandmother passed away when I was only ten years old, and I can perfectly remember the day from beginning to end like it was yesterday. From every emotion to the crazy amount of family members I never even knew existed. It was a day filled with joyous memories and love. Did I expect that at Phoebe’s funeral? Yes. I expected to meet the Hale family and friends and gather some answers on why Arsen was the way he was. I had a whole idea in my head of how this day was going to go, but as we pulled into a quant cemetery not too far away from the school, my whole concept went to shit. The afternoon sky was cloudy and gloomy as a haze of fog covered the tombstones, and colorful remembrance flowers rested against them. Given we were in a cemetery, it gave off eerie vibes that sent a coolness down my body.

As we continue down the narrow road, I notice a single silver vehicle ahead of us, parked off to the side. My eyebrows dip in confusion, but as Arsen comes to a slow stop behind the car, I realize this funeral may not be what I was expecting at all. Unbuckling the seatbelt, I swiftly tug on my black cardigan before stepping out into the cool October air. I peer over the car at Arsen, who’s fixing the hem of his long coat while his eyes are focused ahead. He appears to look relieved as he stares ahead, almost like there’s a warmth in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. They don’t hold the same dark intensity as usual. Now, they seem more human. Wanting to see what has caught his attention, I shift my gaze in front of me and notice an older man getting out of his car. From a distance, you can tell he is in his mid-to-late sixties with greying hair and tanned skin, dressed in some khaki pants and a black coat. He slowly spins around and connects eyes with Arsen. His expression is a mixture of remorse and melancholy, but it quickly vanishes as he begins to hobble over to us.

“Arsen.” The man gives him a sad smile as he sticks his palm out to shake, and Arsen swiftly grabs it. It is clear they aren’t related, but from the way they looked and greeted one another, you could tell they knew each other well.

“Detective Robbins.” Arsen responds with a firm shake before pulling away. “It’s been a while.”

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket, he wistfully peers down at the ground before meeting Arsen’s eyes. “You know I haven’t been a detective in over fifteen years now.” He chuckles while Arsen grins.

“Gotta give you a hard time whenever I see you, old man.” Arsen teases, and I can’t help but smile at his playfulness.

“It’s been a long time.” He sighs as his eyes fill with a hint of despair and sorrow. I slowly glance over at Arsen beside me and see that his posture is stiff and rigid as if he’s trying to conceal his emotions. Even from a side profile view, I can see the tightness in his jaw and the void in his eyes. He was crumbling on the inside, but the outside remained a wall made of stone.

“I see you’re still riding around in that death trap of yours.” Arsen teases, causing Detective Robbins to chuckle as he peers over at his truck.

“Hey now, she still runs as she did in her prime.” His new jersey accent comes out more prominent this time, and I can’t help chuckling at his comment. My laugh causes his stare to float over to mine, and he instantly grins. “And who might you be?”

“Charlotte.” I hold my cold palm out, and he slowly grasps my hand in a shake. “Charlotte McKinney.”

“Call me Kurt.” His eyes go back and forth between us knowingly, and I can already presume what he’s going to ask next. So, instead of dealing with Arsen’s embarrassing response, I quickly answer before he has a chance to ask.

“A friend of Arsen’s.” I add, and he nods slowly like he doesn’t buy it.

“Well, any friend of Arsen’s is a friend of mine.” He smiles sweetly as I feel Arsen’s eyes on the side of my head.

Was the word friends not the correct term for us? Perhaps, I should have said enemies turned ally’s instead.

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