Page 153 of Sinful

The only thing I could think about doing in that moment was drowning his ass in the cold waters of Lake Superior and watching him fade away before I gutted him like a fucking animal.

“If you kill me, there will be witnesses. Not watchers.” Sin still didn’t look at me.

I smiled at his words. “I know. He’s been following us since we left the house. He followed me home as well. He’s never far away.”

He wasn’t the white rabbit, Mirage, but he was someone. Someone I’d get to eventually. Fortune smiled upon him for the moment, though, because I had Sin to deal with.

“Shadow,” Sin continued. “That’s what he’s called.”

“Good to know.” I nodded and twirled my knife again. “Did you mean it? What you told Ashes?”

“I’ve meant every word I’ve said since shit happened.” He turned to look at me.

“Except that part about staying away from her.” I clicked my tongue. “You have your moments of failure, don’t you?”

“We all do,” he said simply, looking back out to the lake. “This is yours.”

I chuckled at his words.

He turned to me again. “You think she’ll forgive you, Dante? Killing me won’t make her love you any more than what she already does. In the beginning, she was ours—”

I punched him in the face, knocking him a step back. Blood poured from his busted lip and nose.

He didn’t attack me back. Instead, he straightened himself and stared me down, letting the blood rush down his face.

“This isn’t the beginning anymore, Sinclair. It’s the fucking end,” I snapped at him. “You had a chance and fucked it up.”

He stared at me wordlessly.

“And now, here we are at the fucking lake in the middle of goddamn winter, and you’re bleeding all over the damn place.”

He grunted at me but didn’t snap back. He’d changed. He wasn’t the same Sinclair Priest I’d once known. This Sinclair was broken and pieced back together in such a way that left me curious.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” I sighed and rubbed my eyes, my knife in my hand. “Get on your knees.”

He stared me down for a moment before dropping to his knees, his focus in front of him at his beloved lake. I often wondered if he viewed it as an escape route. A way to just float away. A place to disappear. I found him here at the lake over the years. It seemed a fitting place as any to end this madness.

I watched him pull a rosary from his pocket and run the beads shakily through his fingers, his lips moving as he prayed.

I twirled my knife again.

That was Sirena’s rosary. I’d seen her pray with it before too.

I had a similar one that I often used. Not to ask for forgiveness but to give me the strength to keep going.

I suppose we all prayed differently.

I wondered what Sinclair prayed for.

So I asked.

“What are you praying for?”

He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking at me as I kneeled in front of him. I dragged my knife along his jaw, making him wince as it bit gently against his skin, a thin line of red telling me it was the perfect amount of pressure to ensure he knew I meant business.

“For her,” he whispered. “I always pray for her.”

I stared into his gray eyes for a moment, the truth clear on his face.

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