Page 56 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“No. We started this. Let’s finish it.”
“I don’t know what you want from me,” he shouts, cutting his hand through the air. “I see the way you look at me too. Don’t pretend it’s part of your job. You give me signals, and then you push me away.” He stops, chest heaving, eyes blazing. “You think this is easy for me? You think I planned to have feelings for someone like you?”
“That’s rich coming from you.” The liar he is.
“You don’t even know what you want.”
“I want you to hurt me.” Punish me. Be my penance.
“This is getting out of hand.”
My mouth opens to give a retort, but nothing comes out. It’s because he’s right. He’s rocked the foundations of my existence, and I still have no idea what’s happening. All I know is that my mind and heart have been in turmoil since he came into my life. I know his rejection hurts more than anything. I’m not worth the dirt on his feet, but I want to be. I’d rather him force himself on me than not touch me at all. How fucked up is that?
I grip the fabric at my chest. My face is twisted in pain, and I’m floundering in uncharted territory, unmoored, adrift.
Something hard collides with my midsection, knocking the wind out of me. I careen to the side. Instinct sharpens my reactions. I tuck my shoulder, hit the ground, and roll to my feet. I expect to face Liza—the vigilante who senses lust—even though Wes and I never got to the deadly part of our sin.
I face my attacker head-on, ready to surrender, but it’s not one of the Deadly Seven.
Nineteen
Wesley
Shock punches my gut as Thea is attacked. I’m already opening my backpack to retrieve a weapon when she rolls to her feet and faces her enemy. Something about the exchange stuns me, and I freeze.
Who is that?
I narrow my eyes. The masked attacker is in a dark suit—much like the one Thea wears, only this one seems slicker—like it’s made from high-tech material that I probably need a degree from MIT to understand.
The attacker has curves. Must be a woman. A hood and red face scarf cover her nose and mouth. Red. Just like Thea’s.
I almost back off, thinking this is the ex-Sinner Thea mentioned, and after the exchange we just had, I know absolutely nothing about what these women need. But then the masked woman intensifies her attack. There’s nothing Thea can do but deflect and defend. My eyes widen. My heartbeat thuds in my chest, and then I’m down on my knees, rifling through my pack.
I shove clothes, holy water, blessed items, relics, and occult weaponry out of the way. I don’t think the attacker is possessed, which reduces the effectiveness of most of my weapons.Fuck. Panicking, I almost give up and toss the bag. I’ll have to use my fists. Then a gleam in the bag catches my eye—Enochian-sigil-carved knuckledusters. I slip them onto my right hand and straighten.
Thea might be the most complicated, conflicted, and stunning person I’ve ever met. But I can’t stand by while she’s hurt.
I step toward the brawling couple and wait for an opening. I raise my fist, but a punishing grip wraps around my wrist. Heat bathes my spine, and a gravelly snarl prickles the back of my neck. But I’m not afraid. The grip is human—sort of. It’s unforgiving metal, but it belongs to a human. After facing monstrous demons… humans and robots don’t seem so intimidating.
Even one as stacked as the vigilante with flashing gold eyes and a bionic arm behind me. A purple face mask covers his mouth. The rest of him is covered by a gray hood and battle suit, much like the one the attacker is wearing. He’s bloody big… like, mountain-man big. One arm is metallic. The other is seemingly ordinary flesh and blood… no, not ordinary—sharp claws at the fingertips.
The wordsgenetically modifiedanddeadlybounce around my head.
Thea’s cry of pain snaps my attention back to the fight. She’s on the ground now, and her attacker isn’t pulling punches.She needs me.I yank on the vigilante’s grip, ignoring the pain shooting through my wrist.
“Envy.” The big brute’s voice is modified to sound monotone and deep.
I don’t understand what he means—envy? Then I catch the silhouette of a hooded figure leaning against a dumpster, watching the fight. Twin katanas are strapped to his back. A green scarf covers his nose and mouth, but his eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Envy.”
He glances, annoyed at my captor, and says, “Yeah?”
“A little help?”
“But I’m watching the girls.”
“If you’ve taken bets, I swear to God I’ll—”
