Page 68 of Sinful Desires
Her voice hit me before anything else. A low, almost haunting hum that cut through the steady rush of the fountain, an undercurrent of sound that got under my skin.
Then I saw her.
Red hair. Like fire, like blood freshly spilled. It cascaded down her back in waves, tangled and wild, moving with a mind of its own.
She was climbing over the fountain, stumbling. One leg hooked over the edge, the other nearly sending her face-first into the water.
But she didn’t stop. She kept pushing through, the water rising up her thighs, soaking her black dress, the wet fabric clinging to her body.
I should’ve walked away. Just turned around, disappeared into the night.
But my body betrayed me, locked in place as I watched her. For reasons I’d never understand, I found myself oddly curious about what the hell she’d do next.
She staggered again, almost losing her balance before reaching out for one of the devilish sculptures, her fingers wrapping around the stone.
She laughed, sharp, bitter, like she was mocking it before saying something to it, wiggling her finger in the air.
Then, she straightened up and walked forward until the cascading water touched her arms, letting her fingertips brush against it.
This girl was insane.
She jerked back with a messy hiccup, half a sob punching out of her chest. “I h-hate him,” she spat, voice cracking as her fists slapped the water. “I hate himsofucking much.” Then softer. Wrecked. “But I l-love him too.”
I took a few steps toward the fountain now, brows drawn tight, watching her.
Then she dropped down into the water, knees folding under her like her body had given up. The water climbed to her chest, soaking through whatever thin excuse of a dress she had on.
She threw her head back, eyes closed to the night sky. “I w-wish I could just disappear?…” Her voice barely held together. “And n-not be his daughter anymore.”
Then she let go. Just tipped back like she was done fighting. Like the water could finish the job she didn’t have the guts for. Her whole body slipped under.
Shit.
She was drunk. High. Maybe both. But whatever she was, she was about to drown in a fountain built by bastards for show, and no one inside would hear a thing.
Maybe that was her plan.
I turned, gravel crunching under my boots. Let her die.
Not my fucking problem.
I didn’t save damsels in distress. I buried the men who made them. Big difference.
One step. Two.
THÉO!
Water in my lungs. Chest tight. That filthy kind of panic you never forgot.
My stomach dropped, my hands already shaking. Sweat prickled under my collar even though the air was cold.
Putain de merde.
I swore under my breath and spun around, moving fast. The water bubbled where she’d vanished. My arm shot in and I grabbed her by the wrist, not even bothering to roll up my sleeve. I yanked her toward me, dragging her heavy frame up until I could get an arm under her knees and the other around her back. She came up coughing, sputtering, fighting for air.
Still breathing.Still ruining my night.
I carried her to the bench a few steps away, arms full of soaked regret and bad choices. The stone was cold. I dropped her there.
