Page 8 of In the Light of Sin

I felt his eyes on me as the tension between us increased. Scenes like this in movies usually end with the heroine flattened on the kitchen table. Seeing as though Sarge didn’t have a table and this wasn’t a movie, I guess we’d just sit here awkwardly until one of us did something.

But we didn’t have to. His cell phone ringing broke the tension between us. He growled as he pulled his phone out to answer it. “What!”

There were mumbled words over the receiver, Sarge’s head still in the direction of where my forearms covered my chest. “You’re not fuckin’ talkin’ to her tonight.” I assumed it was someone from the Souls contacting him about the operation tonight. I couldn’t help but let my smile linger as Sarge’s protective side of me shone through again, like killing someone for me wasn’t enough.

I should probably be more afraid of him than I was acting. I’d literally watched him bludgeon a man to death tonight for simply touching me.

He deserved it.

More disgruntled voices over the line. “Your fuckin’ stunt almost got her killed. You can fuckin’ wait!”

He threw his phone on the ground, the pieces scattering on the white tile as his body heaved, trying to calm himself down. So much for kind Sarge, but I shouldn’t be surprised that his fuse was so short, either. Hopefully, he had replacement phones. “Phones are expensive, you know.”

“Got more,” was his simple reply as he stepped away from me, walking to the closet and pulling out a broom and dustpan. “Guest bedroom is down the hall, first room on the right.”

“The man who lives alone has a guest bedroom? How scandalous.”

“You’re the first one to ever use it.”

“Am I the first person who’s ever been in here?”

A pause. “Yeah.”

“Aww, you’re making me feel all warm inside, Sarge.” I laughed as I hopped off the counter, pulling my shirt back on. My mania was high right now, but as soon as I was alone, I knew it would wash out of me in waves. Would he get mad if there were mascara stains on his pristine pillowcases? I guess I would find out and suffer the consequences later. “You should get some sleep yourself. Not everything has to be cleaned up right away.”

“Military training,” his voice was almost scripted as he pitched the pieces of his phone into the garbage bin. “Cleanliness is effectiveness.”

“Is that why you try to clean up my messes?”

He was quiet as he walked over to the towel, picking it up from the counter before turning to me. “Go to sleep, Joslyn.”

I wasn’t going to push my luck tonight.

“Goodnight, Sarge,” my voice was soft as I felt his eyes on me as I made my way to the guest bedroom and flicked the light on, almost blinded by the brightness of everything. Of course, it was colorless and neat. Right down to the tucked corners of the bedding. Hopefully, he didn’t hate me for messing them up. I may be five foot three, but my starfish sleeping style took up an entire queen-sized bed.

My chin wobbled as I closed the door, immediately flopping myself onto the unwrinkled bedding, burying my face into the unblemished fabric.

I tainted everyone’s lives; the white will just show the ugliness more.

* * *

I stifled my yawn as I made my way out of Sarge’s comfortable guest room. Of course, the bedding, the walls, and the carpeted floor were all pristine white. Didn’t he know that the blood of his enemies would stain white? But the bed was like a pillow, swallowing all of my sorrows for the night.

Unfortunately, today was a new day to face my traumas. How fun.

I hope he didn’t mind me taking one of his shirts. I wasn’t planning on staying the night and didn’t want to sleep in my shirt and pants, even if his shirt reached below my knees and could be considered a dress. But this one was much more comfortable than the moderately skintight dress I wore last night.

And an added bonus? It smelled just like Sarge. Woodsy like the trees that surrounded his hidden sanctuary.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my footsteps light as I exited the hallway. My feet immediately stopped moving as I spotted Sarge, my mouth falling open at the view in front of me.

Holy shit.

Sarge was shirtless, the rippled muscles of his back exposed to me. I’ve only ever seen him in his cut-off sweatshirt he always wore. His arms were the usual, bulging with defined muscle as his palm rested on the counter, and he took a sip of whatever was in his mug. Trailing my eyes to his back, I noticed the taut skin of his left arm didn’t stop there. No, it painted his back, too, more burned than smooth skin on his left side.

I itched to trace the uneven skin with my fingers, to try absorbing some of the pain that lingered along with his permanent scars.

I doubted the physical ones were the hardest scars he dealt with.

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