Page 49 of Sinners Retreat

I should go and help, but I’m frozen in place. I can’t seem to make my feet do their only fucking job. Instead, I’m destined to watch the rolling mass of muscle as Ezra fights off a man who wanted to kill me.

Where’s the fucking event coordinator? Don’t they have a response team for this kind of thing?

Grunts and groans overtake the sounds of the ocean as Ezra fights the Cattle. His muscles tense and flex, but he holds his own against a man that’s twice his size—weight wise, that is.

The machete skitters across the sand, and Ezra’s hands wrap around the man’s throat. He lays his weight into him as he strangles the ever-loving shit out of his body.

Sometimes watching him in his element feels like a fucked-up episode ofBlack Mirror. It’s like watching a golden retriever maul someone.

Ezra switches tactics and releases the man’s throat so that he can begin beating him until his features become a mixed-up sliding puzzle. I’m certain I couldn’t put him back together. I don’t even think doctors could help at this point.

His muscles flex and weaponize, all because of me. That’s fucking sweet, but what do I say after someone just saved my life? Thanks? Can I buy you dinner? Good game? I don’t fucking know.

Ezra goes back to choking the life from him. The man’s legs kick in near-death spasms, but Ezra doesn’t climb off his round body until he’s certain he’s dead. Once the threat to my life has been eliminated, he seems to heave a sigh of relief as he stands.

Jim picks up a bullhorn, and the feedback rings out and buffets my ears. “Due to unforeseen circumstances, the rest of the Olympics are canceled for today.”

Not very unforeseen. I could have seen this happening if I was blind. Pinning criminals against criminals is a recipe for a shit sandwich.

“No!” Cat says behind me. She stomps her foot in the sand, the picture of a child who reached the front of the line only to be told the ride is closed.

I turn toward her. “I’m sorry that me almost dying is ruining your opportunity for a kill.”

“It’s just not fair.”

“Neither is Ezra taking a machete for your friend.”

Her eyes sparkle, and the loss of the kill is all but forgotten. “You admitted we’re friends.”

Jesus Christ. I wasn’t thinking. It just came out. Near-death experiences will make you say some crazy things. I’m probably more shaken up than I thought. She’s just an annoying stranger who follows me around, and that doesn’t qualify as a friend.

I turn back to Ezra. He’s standing there looking like a bloody Greek god who’s just risen from the ashes after an earth-shattering fight.

No one should look that good after committing a homicide.

No one.

He walks over to me, taking my face in his hands as if he’s completely forgotten he’s coated in red. Warm crimson smears across my cheeks as his lips press against mine.

Bennett scoffs behind me.

Ezra pulls away. “Sorry, pet,” he whispers. He clears his throat. “I’ll show you where to clean up.”

I follow him to a shower station tucked behind some fencing. Rust clings to the drain in the concrete floor, but it’s otherwise clean.

“Are you okay?” he asks as he puts soap on his hands and begins to clean himself off.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m not a damsel in distress, though. If it was my time to go, it was my time to go.”

“If you have a death wish, it won’t be fulfilled in my presence.” He leans closer and gently scrubs the blood from my cheek, but it only gets bloodier because his wrist is still bleeding.

“Can you be a love and hold this together for me?” he says, gesturing toward the gaping wound.

I press the wound together. “If you pull a needle and thread from your pocket, I can’t promise I won’t laugh.”

“It’s super glue. We use it when we aren’t quite done killing one of the Cattle. It buys us a little more time.”

“Yeah, use it for them, notyou. That gash needs stitches, Ezra.”

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