Page 61 of Sinners Retreat

“Make sure it’s an extra-large so I can wear it too, please.”

When she says that, the light flip-flops become lead weights on my feet. Kindra may not realize what she said, but I did. She’s planning for something outside of this retreat. On some subconscious level, she’s thinking about a future I absolutely cannot be in. And that’s the most tragic part of this whole thing.

We continue on in silence until we reach the villa. His door is unlocked, and we slip inside.

Kindra pulls out her phone and types into an app of some kind, documenting things about Eighties for her article, I guess. Jim agreed she could out Eighties as long as no photographs were involved, and she’s holding up her end of the deal. What the organizer’s short-sightedness fails to realize is that words can be more powerful than a photograph.

And what my short-sightedness has failed to realize is that I’m only digging myself into a deeper hole.

When she finds those meat hooks, she’ll believe she’s discovered the identity of the Abattoir Adonis. She’ll write an entire article—likely a very extensive exposé—and it will all be for nothing when I tell her the truth on the last day.

If I can figure out why I killed her brother, I might be able to give her the information that will help her process his death, but this? I don’t know how I can make up for it.

While she’s busy typing away on her phone, I step into the kitchen and realize that Bennett is a lazy sack of shit. He left the meat hooks somewhere, all right. They’re plopped under the light on the counter. He had to walk maybe ten steps max to plant these here.

Who just leaves their meat hooks lying around like this? Not me, and I actually use meat hooks.

Kindra steps into the kitchen, and her eyes widen as she leans over and spies the gleaming metal. Her head tilts and pivots as she examines them without touching them.

“Eighties was the Abattoir Adonis?” she whispers, and the slight crack in her voice breaks my heart. Those metal hooks have thrust her back into some terrible memory that I orchestrated. And I still don’t knowwhyI did it.

“It sure seems that way,” I say, and a lie has never tasted so bitter on my tongue.

“He doesn’t seem strong enough to have strung up my brother, though. And he’s not exactly what I would have considered an Adonis.”

Her jab at Eighties’ meager physique is a compliment to me, but instead of stroking my ego, it twists the knife in my heart.

“Maybe he used hoists or pulleys?” I reason.

“I didn’t see anything that would suggest that.”

“I don’t know, Kindra. He must have done it somehow. Who else would have meat hooks like this?”

Me. I have meat hooks like this. I havethesemeat hooks.

“Can it be this anticlimactic?” She leans against the counter with the most heartbreaking look of defeat on her face. “I imagined it would be more glorious than this. I wanted to find him and make him suffer for what he did. Maybe not here on the island, but back in the real world. I could have gotten the vengeance my brother deserved.”

I feel fucking awful about this. Eighties being her brother’s killer is great for me but absolutely devastating for Kindra.

“You got to kill him,” she says, her eyes rising to mine. “Not me.”

“I’m sorry, pet. If I knew, I never would have killed him. I’d have served him to you on a silver platter.”

That’s a lie because I’d have to servemyselfon the silver platter. And for some reason, I’m struggling to do that. Self-preservation?

Or something else . . .

I go to her and put my arms around her. Instead of pushing me away, she leans her head against my chest and winds her arms around my waist. While I don’t want to take advantage of this moment of weakness, I’m running out of time to figure out why I did what I did.

“Do you think you could talk about what happened to your brother?” I ask. “I know it’s a sore subject, but it might help.”

She nods, and I seize the opening.

“When was he killed?” I ask.

“It will have been a decade ago next month.” She mumbles the words into my chest, then sucks in a deep breath. “Actually, I don’t want to talk about it right now, if that’s okay.”

I stroke her head. “That’s fine, pet. We don’t have to.”