Page 14 of Sinner

“Nope.”

“For fuck’s sake, it’s ten bucks. What do you have to lose? Plus, if you ever get a hot date, which I’m beginning to doubt, you’ll havethe perfect little outfit to wear. I bet I can find clunky bracelets that will go perfectly with it.”

“Clunky bracelets?”

Shrugging, she grabbed three items, one after the other, folding them over her arm. “Think of it this way. You could always use them to ward off the evil men chasing you. Blunt force trauma? Oh, that’s right. The men in your world aren’t real.”

“Very funny.” A shudder slammed down my spine. Since the night before, I’d had the creepy crawlies, constantly looking over my shoulder. It felt as if the monster had me in a cage.

“But truthfully. When are you going to find yourself a hot man?”

“Hell, no, and when they’re born.”

“You’re not getting any younger. Try it on.”

“You’re a terrible person,” I told her. “Why bother if I’m not going to wear it anytime soon, since you insist I don’t have a life?”

She pointed toward a leaning full-size mirror that had seen better days. “Ha. Ha. At least go hold that up and look at your reflection. The color is going to bring out those gorgeous eyes of yours. Just do it.”

“Fine.” I grumbled under my breath as I headed toward the mirror, not noticing until I was standing in front of it the corner was cracked.

Much like my entire life.

I could not get my mind off the events of the night before. There was no way of possibly putting it into perspective. The man had acted like my savior. What if he had been?

Against perhaps anyone’s advice, I’d returned to the parking lot, the scene of the crime. While it was already filled for various matinee showings, I’d double parked and walked to the very spot. There hadn’t been any blood. Not a single drop.

Even the substance covering my shoes had been mud, not blood. There’d been no streaks on my face, no bloody fingerprints from where the monster had touched me. And not a single mark. The only indication I hadn’t completely lost my mind was the single scratch on one arm.

From all I knew, I could have inflicted the slight wound on myself in the middle of the night. During the sexual… nightmare.

“See?” Ashley asked as she came up from behind me. “Perfect. You’re buying it.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“So… Have you applied for that hot job that’ll finally pay you what you’re worth?”

“I sent in the online application, but haven’t heard anything yet.”

“Have you told your father?” She gave me one of her salacious looks as she ripped back the curtain, eager to head into the dressing room with her armful of clothes.

“You know how my father feels about the gaming industry.” He loathed my career choice, telling me I’d wasted my talent in a worthless attempt at gaining fame and glory. Since when was being good at something a detriment?

“A dozen times, but you never told me why.”

“Because it’s beneath me. Hurry and try those on. I’m starving.” Actually, I wasn’t certain I could stomach food. Not withgruesome images continuously flashing into my mind. However, I preferred enjoying a glass of wine to pretending I was having a good time. It wasn’t because Ashley was bad company at all. I simply had no feeling of control at the moment.

I’d almost contacted the police four times and every time had lost the nerve. What would I tell them? More important, what evidence was there that a violent crime had occurred?

“Ah. Parents. I’ll just be a sec.”

I chuckled. She had a mom and dad who adored her. My mother had died when I’d been a little girl, and my father had rarely been present in my life. My sister had been my constant until she hadn’t. I’d always thought my father’s absence had been because he hated that I was the one who’d lived. Not my sister.

Sighing, I held up the dress, staring at it while I thought about the job she’d mentioned. Being the head game designer for the Blackwell Group would be a dream come true. At four times the salary that I made now, their reputation alone would keep me in the top five percent of game designers in the world.

But that wasn’t the only reason I’d sent in my resume. Far from it.

My father would beg me not to consider working there. He had his reasons, yet he’d never disclosed them fully to me. He’d swept himself away into a prison within his own mind.

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