Page 61 of Never Fall for an Angel

He watches me, gaze unreadable, and for a moment, I don’t think he’s going to tell me. Why would he? It’s a hypothetical situation, anyway, but he’s already determined I’m not strong enough for his world.

“I’d start by taking his hands,” he murmurs, shaking me from the fog. “I’d slice off each of his fingers. Then, each of his toes, one by one, so he could feel every second of it. Then, I’d pull his teeth. I’d make it hurt. It would be bloody.” He pauses as if he’s formulating the plan as he speaks. “I’d make sure he cried for his mother until the bitter end because it would be music to my ears while I removed his arms and legs until he was nothing but a torso and head. And once I was finished with him . . . I’d leave him alive, out in the middle of nowhere in the heat of the day, so the birds could eat him while he begged for mercy with every ounce of energy.”

My heart flutters in my chest, sickness pooling in my stomach, but it’s not for what he said.

It’s because I don’t feel a shred of remorse for that man.

That evil, awful man deserves all of that and more.

Christian raises his glass to his lips, finishing the rest of his whiskey in one drink. “So you tell me, little devil . . . does my punishment count as a sin?”

I shake my head. “No.”

He stares at me for a second longer, like he’s trying to determine if I’m lying, but I’m not.

“If I ask you something, will you answer it?”

“Haven’t I answered all your questions thus far?”

Save for one. . .

“Yes.”

“Then ask.”

“Promise to be honest with me?”

I sound like a fool, asking a man who lied to tell me the truth, but at this point, I’m out of options. He stares at me for a moment as if he’s going to say no, but finally, he nods.

“Yes.”

“It’s about . . . us.”

My cheeks burn bright under his gaze as he sits there, unmoving, like someone jammed a rod down his spine.

His jaw feathers, eyes flicking over my face as if he’s gauging my reaction.

“What’s your question?”

“Was it all a lie?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking it was.”

What the hell does that even mean?

I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“Then, why did you leave?”

He doesn’t seem to like that because his gaze narrows, but he doesn’t say anything.

A heaviness settles in the air between us. The thick silence makes it hard to breathe.

After the beach, he took me home, laid down with me until I fell asleep like he always did, but this time was different. He was different.

I never thought that when I woke up in the morning, he’d be gone.

Now that I’ve asked the question, I’m not sure I even want to know the answer. Wouldn’t it be easier to just ignore the past and accept that those two people who were “in love” are no longer here?

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