Page 96 of Sinners Retreat

Iwake the next morning, blessedly sore in all the right places. My limbs sing with utter relaxation as I stretch them and open my eyes. Light peeks over the horizon as the sun begins to rise on another glorious day.

Turning onto my side, I look for Kindra, but her spot on the bed lies empty. The ruffled sheets and the errant come stain tell me last night wasn’t a dream, but where has my little minx got off to?

I sit up and swipe my hand down my face, then reach for my glasses on the bedside table. Once I have them on, I look toward the bathroom. The door is ajar and the light is off, so she isn’t in there.

Then the scent of fresh coffee slips under the door and finds my nose, followed by the sound of something sizzling on the tiny stove. Is she making breakfast?

With a smile, I rise from the bed and hurry to the bathroom to make sure I’m presentable. I can’t exactly greet the love of my life with a puff of dragon’s breath.

To be fair, the morning after is a new experience for me. Most of my conquests don’t stay the night, or if they do, they’re gone before I wake. They understood the assignment. Now, the assignment has changed. I want this to be one morning of many that we spend together.

My breath fresh and my dark hair shaped into something manageable, I dress in a thin button up and a pair of khaki shorts. As I fasten the last button, my good mood falls.

No. It doesn’t just fall. It plummets, collides with the ground, then disintegrates on impact.

Because it’s time to come clean.

I’ve toyed with keeping this a secret forever. I’ve come up with plans and schemes, and I’m certain they’d work, but our foundation would be built on a lie. Losing her forever is better than lying to her forever. She deserves nothing less than my honesty.

Plus, there’s still a chance I could salvage this. If I’m the one who comes clean to her, she has to see the merit in that. Maybe not right away, but eventually.

I’ll wait forever.

With a steeling breath, I open the bedroom door and step into the main living area. It takes a moment for my brain to register what I see because it varies so greatly from my expectation.

Instead of Kindra swaying her hips in front of the stove, it’s Maverick. Instead of Kindra holding a warm mug of coffee toward me, it’s Bennett.

“Drink this now,” Bennett says. “You’re going to need it.”

I push the mug away. “What are you on about? Where’s Kindra?”

Maverick’s hand stalls mid-flip, and the eggs land on the stovetop. Then I spot the gleaming meat hooks on the counter.

“What the fuck did you do?” I bellow as I launch myself at Bennett.

Because this is all his fault. He’s wanted to split us apart since the moment he realized this was more than a fling.

Gripping his shirt collar in my fists, I sling him against a wall and begin choking him. Incredibly, he puts up an abysmal fight, merely clutching my wrists as his face shifts from red to purple.

Arms wrap around my torso, and a lean body presses against my back. Maverick might be nearly twenty years my junior, but he lacks my unmitigated rage at the moment. With a quick turn, he’s off me.

“This isn’t your battle to fight!” I shout at him before I turn back to Bennett and press my forearm to his chest, pinning him against the wall again. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit,” Bennett wheezes. “You should have told her. None of this would have happened if you’d listened to me.”

“Why are my meat hooks on the fucking counter, then?” I press my arm into his sternum a bit more, and he winces.

“Ezra, it was my fault,” Maverick says behind me.

I release Bennett and turn to face the traitor. “Why? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I didn’t know you were keeping your identity a secret!” He rushes back to the pan on the stove, which has produced an impressive cloud of thick smoke.

Cue the fire prevention system.

The lights cut off, and the villa becomes a concert of shrill beeps and flashing exit lights. Seconds later, the sprinklers come on, drenching us in a cold spray of iron-scented water.

Maverick rushes the pan toward the sink, and though he douses the charred eggs under a running tap, the sprinklers and alarms rage on. The damage is done.

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