Page 156 of Sinful

“Asylum is on his way. He’s going to watch her while we’re gone—” The words weren’t out of his mouth before there was a knock on our door.

I pulled it open to find Asylum on our front step, his black beanie pulled low and his cheeks rosy.

Or Mirage, judging by his white rabbit mask.

“What the fuck. You fly here, witchcraft?” Stitches muttered at him.

Mirage smirked at him. “I had a feeling I’d be needed. So here I am.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Church was cool keeping Asylum/Mirage around, the guy who tried to die with her in a coffin, but had issues with Sin. His logic baffled me.

“I’m a good guy, Asher. You know that.” Mirage winked at me. “We want the same things.”

“Are you Mirage or Asylum today? I’d like to know so I don’t piss you off and have you correcting me every few minutes,” I said.

“I’m Mirage,” he answered, cocking his head to the right. “Asylum can be a pain, can’t he?”

“You’re a pain. Keep an eye on Sirena. Church drugged her and knocked her out. Don’t fucking touch her,” I warned.

“Of course. Fucking the unconscious is Church’s thing, not mine. At least not usually. I’ll be a good little nutcase and stay downstairs. The cameras are watching.” He pointed to various spots in the room. “Am I right, Dante? That’s where they are?”

“Some of them,” Church commented, grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on.

“Up the stairs. Down the stairs. In the rooms. Even watches while you brush your hair. Or hairs?” Mirage cocked his head to the right again. “Ah, well. Time is wasting. Run to little Sin by the lake before he freezes to death. Sirena, nor Asylum, would not like that.”

I crinkled my brows at him.

“You’re so fucking weird,” I muttered, wondering why he was speaking in the third person. I’d never figure it out, so the point was moot. Instead, I stepped outside, Church and Stitches behind me, and headed off to Sin’s favorite spot at the lake.

* * *

Sin wason his knees facing the lake when we came upon him. He clearly hadn’t moved. I admired that, but I knew he had to be freezing.

“Hey,” Stitches said, going to step in front of him.

“H-hey,” Sin answered, trembling from the cold.

“You should come inside. It’s cold out here.”

“No.” Sin’s voice shook as he shivered. “I’ve not paid my penance. I’ve not begged. I’m not forgiven. I don’t expect to be. Let me die at my spot. Tell Sirena. . . Tell her I’m sorry.”

Stitches let out an exasperated sigh.

“Man, come on. Let’s go.”

“No.” Sin shook again but remained on his knees.

“Sinclair,” I called out.

“Asher, I’m not leaving. Stop, OK? I accept my fate.”

I looked to Church, who frowned in Sin’s direction. We all knew Sin struggled with his emotions, and understanding love and all that. This was just one of those instances he struggled to wrap his head around. Everything always had to be so damn complicated with him.

“Sin, please. We can talk at home,” I pressed, shivering as the cold wind blew in. If his ass didn’t come inside, he’d be dead by morning. There was no way he’d survive these temps in nothing but his jacket. He didn’t even have a damn hat or gloves on. He simply stayed on his knees in his jacket and jeans, his fingers running along the rosary he held.

“Take care of my snake,” he said, his teeth chattering. “Sirena named him William Snakespeare. He means a lot in more ways than you can imagine. I want her to learn to not-not be afraid anymore. I think Bill will help with that.”

“Sin—”

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