Page 24 of The Sinner and the Gunslinger
Zeke leans casually against the hutch, hands in his pockets, puffing on a cigarette. He watches ash drop onto leaves and catch fire before stomping on them. With his old colt pistols holstered on his narrow hips, he’s the epitome of a modern-day cowboy, brooding over his thoughts, face hidden by shadows. He spots me and his lips curve on one side.
“Hey,” he says, voice deep and intimate in this private space.
I’m gobsmacked. I don’t know what to think. What the fuck?
“Are you spying on me?” I gape.
“Still doing your nightly checks?”
Outrage turns my vision red. How dare he think he has the right to slot himself back into my life so familiarly? I spray the extinguisher in his face... well, at his cigarette, narrowly missing his face.
“What the hell, wildcat?” He swats the air and coughs.
I stomp on his cigarette as it lands. Satisfaction blooms in my chest when his expression morphs from surprise into guilt and contrition. If only it didn’t make his face seem more youthful. I don’t want to be reminded of what we meant to each other in the past.
“You see me checking for hazards,” I growl, “and you know exactly why I do it. Then you do this?”
Neither of us concedes the lock we have on each other’s eyes. Who the fuck is this guy anymore?
Then he lowers his gaze and sighs.
“Yeah, I know.” His tone is self-deprecating, and he grips the back of his neck. “Wes said the same thing. But, fuck, it’s hard to quit.”
I see the guns. I see the self-indulgent habit. I see the devil-may-care attitude still flickering in his eyes despite what he says. I’m disgusted. He’s a grown man, yet he’s still behaving like he’s the only person in the world.
“I think this obsession with Doc Holliday is a little too much, don’t you?” I say.
His mouth opens, closes, then opens again, but nothing comes out. I take his hand and slam the dead cigarette into it, then shake my head and turn to leave. “I don’t need your help, Zeke. And I don’t need you following me.”
“Lei Ling, I was dying.” His deep voice punctuates the silence between clucking chickens.
Hearing my old name on his lips freezes my heart and steps.
Dying?
Every line in my body is rock hard as I let that word sink in. My eyes burn, and I focus on the Sisters at the tool shed to stop the tears. But he keeps talking, and I can’t move. I’m rooted to the spot with no thoughts, only the inescapable feeling that I’m falling down a deep hole I won’t know how to climb out of.
“I got sick. Real sick. It started as emphysema—damage from smoke inhalation.” He laughs bitterly. “And not the cigarette kind. I spent years investigating demonic fire activity, and then I developed tumors. It was then I took up smoking. I was ready to die, but then Wes found out about you Sinners, and the prophecy, and we came here. He hoped a Sinner would lead him to the healing relic and he could save my life.” There’s shuffling sounds behind me like he’s nervously dragging his feet through the dirt. “Cisco and Dom didn’t know what Wes and I had planned. They came here to dismantle the Sisterhood, but I wanted you to know it wasn’t why I—”
I whirl to face him. “Why are you telling me? I don’t give a shit. You could be lying in a gutter for all I care.”
“Wildcat...” The hurt flashing in his hazel eyes is like a dagger to my chest. But I wrap up that wound and bandage it hard.
“Stop calling me that.” I poke him in the chest, and he winces. “You lost the right to call me that when you made me think I killed you.Me—a thirteen-year-old girl, thought her stupid, selfish need to have her stupid, stuffed snuggle toy caused the only person she ever cared about to run into a burning building and die.” I choke on my words, hating how emotional I sound. Hating how I’m the first one to bring it up, and it’s been a week since I confronted him about not knowing me. It takes a moment to force the feeling from my voice, to remember I’m the fucking boss bitch in this situation. “Clearly, you’re alive and well. I should put a bullet in your eye, but I wantnothingto do with you so—”
“Look out!” He tackles me as awhirrbrushes my ear.
The wind knocks out of me as we land hard on the ground. I gasp, trying to catch my breath. Zeke’s hard and warm body is on top of mine, shielding me, his eyes full of concern and panic. For me. For my safety. It takes a moment for me to realize what’s happened. A gardening scythe is stuck in the wooden hutch above us, wobbling like it’s just been embedded hard. A furious nun glares at me with bloodshot blue eyes.
Oh shit.
Sister Agnes is infected with Asmodeus’s war sickness again.
Thirteen
Zeke
She’s safe.
