Page 68 of Sinful Sacrifice

When I asked Julian if my apartment was now a crime scene, he rolled his eyes, shook his head, and stepped out of the car.

“Totally fine,” I reply. “She’s the sweetest.”

“We’ll probably make it back around the same time.”

I only stayed at my mom’s for a few hours. She spent half the time screaming and cursing like my father was standing in front of her. She spent the other half calling his phone relentlessly, but it always went to voicemail.

When she said she was going back to bed, Lanie retreated to her bedroom, wearing her headphones, and I left.

My family is completely broken.

To be honest, I think it’s been that way for a long time.

Damien: I’m home now.

Me: Almost there.

As we pull up to Damien’s brownstone, I admire the historic building that overlooks the Hudson River. The brick is a dark red, and the front door is the same black as Damien’s hair.

Anyone would love to call this place their home.

Though with its location and size, it’s out of most people’s budgets.

I collect my bag from the back seat and sling it over my shoulder, and Julian follows me inside. Amara’s giggles greet us. The smell of fresh garlic and tomato drifts through the air.

It’s such a drastic change to where I just was.

This sounds, smells, feels like a happier home.

I pass the kitchen, noticing Monique and Clara, and shoot them a quick hello. As I move deeper toward the living room, I stop and watch Damien with Amara. He’s relaxed on the leather sectional while Amara animatedly tells him a story. She throws her arms up with every other word.

I love how attentive he is with her.

How his rough demeanor softens, layer by layer.

He does the same with me.

We’re the few granted the gentle side of him.

He wrinkles his forehead and throws his head back, laughing when she makes a funny face. When he lowers his head, his gaze angles in my direction.

I cheekily smile at him, and it’s like my nervous system settles as our eyes meet.

Amara’s attention follows his. “Hi, Pippa!” She skips toward me, UGG slippers sweeping the wood floor and ponytail flying.

I grin at her. “Hi, Amara!”

She comes to a sliding stop and points at my bag. “What are those?”

I peer down to find my ballet slippers halfway hanging from my bag.

“Oh.” I run my fingers over a sole. “My dance shoes.”

“So cool!” Her face brightens up. “Can I see them on you?”

“Of course.”

She follows me to the living room. I sit on the floor next to Damien’s feet, and Amara kneels beside me.

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