Page 18 of Sinful

“Try me,” I said.

He licked his lips. “Tell me how many you’ve killed first.”

I scoffed at him and looked back to the heater. “Well, there’s my old man.”

“You didn’t pull the trigger there,” Asylum said, brushing me off.

“Yeah, but if I weren’t part of the equation, he’d not have done any of the shit he’d done. He wouldn’t have shot me. Hurt my mom. Any of it.”

“He put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. That was all him.” He cocked his head to the left and hummed for a moment before a small smile turned his lips upward. “And he would have done it with or without you.”

“How do you know that?”

He tapped his head. “I just do.”

“You know that, but can’t tell us who hurt Sirena?” I looked back at him.

He sat forward again, a muscle dancing along his jaw. “It’s very fucking cloudy in regards to that. In fact, I only know what I know about your old man because I took a basic fucking psychology class. He was predisposed to violence. Depression. It was inevitable for him. With or without you, he’d have done it. Maybe even to a larger extent. End of story.”

We stared one another down for a long time before he spoke.

“How many people have you killed, Sinclair?”

I swallowed hard. “Do I count the ones I’ve helped Dante with? Or just the ones I’ve personally killed?”

“Just your count, Sinclair. I already know the level of monster Dante Church is.”

I closed my eyes, seeing Bells’s face in my mind’s eye. I heard her muffled cry. The way her body felt as she sagged against me, the life leaving her.

I shook the image away. “Three.”

Asylum raised his brows.

“What?” I looked over at him.

“Not really all that impressive as far as numbers go.” He shrugged and twirled his fork again.

“Sorry. I don’t run around murdering people for entertainment.”

“That’s too bad.” He winked at me. “It can be a hell of a stress reliever.”

“You don’t even like killing people. That’s what you’ve said.”

“I don’t hate it. I should clarify that. I really don’t. I just enjoy the torture more. Fuck, the screams.” He let out a low groan as he stared up at the cave ceiling. “Gets my dick hard.”

“Weird fuck,” I muttered.

He smirked at me. “Forty-seven.”

“What?”

“Forty-seven. That’s my number.”

“What the fuck?” I stared at him. “How?”

“Mostly with my fork—”

“No. I mean, how the fuck are you killing people like that?”

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