Page 126 of Never Die for a Sinner
Cherry rolls her eyes, vigorously wiping a spot that’s already clean.
“Yeah, whatever you say, Casanova.”
She stalks off to the other side of the bar, and I sit with my beer, thinking about last night.
The sheer fucking panic I’d felt when I couldn’t find her, only to spot her in the overgrowth by some stroke of a miracle.
I don’t want to think about what would have happened if I hadn’t found her, and Ialsodon’t want to think about what the fuck that means.
Do I care about her?
Sure. As much as any human being.
Am I in love with her?
Absolutely, fucking not.
It doesn’t mean anything.
Needing to see her doesn’t mean anything. The guilt I feel for the way I treated her this morning doesn’t mean anything. The ache in my chest when she laughsdoesn’t fucking mean anything.
I’m not in love. Love is simple.
This feeling is anything but.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
I stiffen. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s my brother. He has that effect on people—the kind that creeps in just before the storm breaks.
Christian slides into the stool beside me, his presence heavy. He scans the bar with a grim expression, lips pressed tight like he’s already made a judgment about the entire place. He’s probably right.
Fuck.
“I’m going to need something stronger,” I call to Cherry. She flicks a wary glance toward Christian when she hears his voice and sets down the glass she was polishing.
Christian lifts two fingers and gives her a look that says he’ll take the same.She hesitates, as if expecting him to flash a badge. Being former FBI, Christian still carries himself like he could ruin your life with a single phone call.
She pours in silence, eyeing him like he’s here to arrest her for slinging watered-down drinks before she disappears back down the bar.
Christian lifts his drink but doesn’t take a sip.
“Place really suits you. I think the moldy rat carcass at the front door is a nice touch.”
“You following me now?” I ask, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.
“Don’t need to follow you when I already know where you are,” he replies smoothly, cocking a brow. “If the bruises and cuts you come home with weren’t enough, that car may as well be a fucking beacon.”
“Should have bought a fucking minivan,” I grumble, swallowing half my whiskey in one go.
It does nothing but piss me off because it’s not what I want.
No, that unfortunately rests in the little ghost living across the hall from me.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You sure? You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. “Glad I could be of service.”
