Page 101 of A Sin So Pure

“Are you going to tell her my entire life story?” Wrath snaps.

Silas shrugs. “Why not? Don’t you know hers?”

“You know my facts, Silas.” I roll my eyes. “Not my story.”

At least, not the whole one.

Thankfully, the kettle sings: a high-pitched whistle piercing the air.

I busy myself with filling the cups with hot water, watching it leech color from the tea bags and fill my nose with a sweet aroma. I don’t bother trying to find sugar or cream; they can have theirs plain or not at all. I bob the tea bags in and out a few times for each mug until it’s steeped evenly.

Grabbing two, I walk them to the men and place one in front of each. I get a murmuredthank youfrom Wrath, and I shoot him a tight smile.

When I’ve got my hot mug tucked between my hands, the hot ceramic nearly burning my palms, I turn towards the door.

“Sit with us,” Silas calls from behind me, and I freeze.

Pivoting, I eye Silas through the steam floating from my mug. He tilts his head to the side, motioning to the empty seat beside him and across from Wrath.

“Sit.”

The word is devoid of the tipsy-humor I’ve come to expect from him tonight. I war with the command, weighing the consequences of disobedience that his tone warns against. Then I remember what I have waiting for me beyond the kitchen door—an empty bedroom with only my mind for company—and my decision is easily made.

Without a word, I pad over to the bench and sit, leaving about a foot’s distance between me, the end of the bench, and Silas.

Now that I’m sitting with them, I notice their state of dress. Their suit jackets are strewn lazily over the bench at Wrath’s side. Both their shirtsleeves are rolled to their elbows, and their collars are unbuttoned, revealing a sliver of dark hair on Wrath’s chest and a peak of black tattoos on Silas’s.

“So,” Silas says, gently blowing on his tea. His rings clink as he taps his fingers on the ceramic mug. “You both killed your fathers. Maybe we could talk about that.”

“Adoptivefather,” I correct.

Wrath groans, his head falling to the table with athunk.

“Why are you groaning?” Silas says, voice pitching up an octave. “They were both assholes that the Court is better off without. I would have found a reason to get rid of them at some point, but you both beat me to it.”

Wrath’s hands run through his hair, tugging on the strands as his head lifts. He glares at Silas. Though it conveys more exhaustion than anger.

“Silas wants us to get along,” I say to Wrath, taking a sip of my tea. It’s too hot to taste and it burns my tongue until it tingles.

“Clearly,” Wrath deadpans.

“Why?” I quirk a brow at Silas.

“Because we need to be a team if we want to kill Patience,” Silas says, matter-of-fact.

“Are we not a team by nature of cooperating?” I ask.

Silas shakes his head. “I need you two to trust each other in case something goes awry.”

“I trust in your desire to kill him and Wrath’s desire to follow suit. Is that not enough?”

I place my mug on the table. I pause, and Silas purses his lips. His gaze slides down my arms to my hands, where my ungloved thumbs run small circles on the ceramic.

“I’d prefer it if there was a stronger bond than that,” he says.

“Friendship doesn’t come easily to me. And I imagine it doesn’t for him either,” I say. I meet Wrath’s eye. “Though I am curious, whydon’tyou like me? I understand why Envy doesn’t care for me, but what have I ever done to you?”

Wrath sighs, cheek resting on his forearms. “I see you for what you are, Pride. Someone willing to sacrifice others to get what you want. As I did.”

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