Page 17 of By Sin To Atone

“Incentive for you to tell the truth.”

“She doesn’t know about any of this. I swear. I swear on my life!”

“Relax, Blue.”

“She won’t understand! She’s not part of this. She’s not?—”

“I said relax.” He takes my elbows and gives them a warning squeeze. “Dex is going to wait in his car in the parking lot. He won’t enter unless he gets a call from me. You understand?”

“Just leave her out of it. All of it. I’ll tell you what you want to know. I promise.”

“Sadly, your promises don’t carry much weight here.” He gestures to Dex who is already folding up his paper. “Go. I’ll be in touch.”

Dex nods and is gone. I try to pull free of Ezekiel to do what I don’t know but his grip hardens as he walks me toward the sink.

“Hey,” he says, forcing me to look at him. “I said relax. You tell me what I want to know, and she’ll be fine.”

I don’t miss the fact that he says, ‘she’ll be fine’ not ‘you’ll both be fine.’

“But if you give me a hard time?—”

“I won’t.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Just a few things to cover before we begin. You and I are alone in this house. The door is locked. The property is vast and surrounded by a twelve-foot stone wall. The gate is closed. Just so we’re all on the same page here. Do not make me chase you. Understand?”

I nod.

“Good.”

He turns me toward the sink and switches on the tap, setting my hand under it. I wince and try to pull away, but he holds it beneath the flow.

“Keep it here. Understand?”

I nod. He lets go and I watch him take off his cloak and drape it over the back of a stool at the counter. He then begins to rifle through several cabinets. A few moments later, he finds what he needs. I turn to see him taking a large first-aid kit out of a cabinet before bending down for something else.

“There won’t be anything in that thing to sew me up,” I say. “You need to take me to the ER.” And from there, I can take off.

“You’re right about the first part,” he says, straightening and pulling out a second, smaller box that I recognize. That makes me queasy. “No idea why Bishop would have had this, but I’ll call it your lucky day,” he says, coming toward me. He nudges me out of the way and scrubs his hands before switching off the water.

I don’t know who Bishop is but that’s not my concern right now.

“It’s fine, you actually don’t need to sew me up,” I say, eyes on the kit as he goes through it. “It’s better already. It’s fine.”

He looks at my hand, which is not fine, takes out one of the gauze bandages and wraps it around the cut. “I’m not going to lie. It’s going to hurt.”

“And let me guess, you’re going to enjoy it.” I hold onto the gauze as he carries both boxes toward the table and sets them down. I notice the bottle of whiskey and the glass.

“Anesthesia,” he says. “It’s old fashioned but better than nothing. Sit.”

“I’ll do it myself,” I say, sitting down. My hand is throbbing, and I feel lightheaded.

“I don’t think so.” He takes the seat across from mine, pours a generous serving of whiskey into the glass and pushes it toward me.

“Drink that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.” He draws his chair closer and takes my hand, gently peeling the gauze from it.

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