Page 89 of Never Die for a Sinner
“Look at me, Ava.” Her gaze flicks to mine, and I study her face. “Sometimes, the people who claim to be good have the dirtiest hands of them all. I think you probably already know that, don’t you?”
She lets out a deep breath, and the silence in the room hums.
“So . . . you tell me. Do you think I did something bad?”
“If I did, do you think I would be here right now?”
Touché.
“I’m just confused as to why he’s after you. And why is he using me? I have nothing to do with this.”
“I told you, he won’t be a problem for you anymore.”
“You say that as if you know who it is.”
When I don’t respond, she pounces.
“You do. Who is it?”
“No one that you need to worry about,” I mutter gruffly. “Now, stop moving.”
She falls silent while I work, tossing the old bandages to the side and pulling out new. Is it overkill? Probably. I don’t care. I never intended for her to pull as hard as she did, and a part of me feels guilty for that, even if she enjoyed it.
“Why did you bandage my wrists?”
“Why are you so damned stubborn?” I retort.
“I’m not,” she argues, and I cock a brow at her.
“I don’t try to be.” She shrugs. It’s the most honest she’s ever been with me. “I think you bring it out in me.”
I chuckle, and she watches me slather her wrists in the same cream I used last night.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she says softly.
A tension settles in the air between us. I’ve fucked her in the woods. I’ve tied her to the rafters in my cabin. Fuck, I brought her home and cleaned her up last night after she fell asleep and bandaged her wrists. Still, somehow, this is the most intimate we’ve ever been. This silence between us feels almost comfortable.
I fucking hate it.
“I’m not going to.”
When she doesn’t speak, my gaze flicks up to hers to find her watching me, a curious expression in her eyes.
Last night when I brought her home, she was so soft, and warm, and fucking out of it. I won’t lie and say I didn’t think about keeping her at the cabin, but shit always has a way of finding clarity in the daylight.
Like the fact that the little brunette housekeeper I can’t stand means a little something more to me than I had originally planned, and it’s really starting to piss me off because I feel fucking powerless to stop it.
And maybe because I know someday, she’s going to wake up and regret ever meeting me. When she learns who I really am, and that I’m so much worse than she thought.
God fucking help me on that day.
“You had burns from the rope.”
When I got her into her bed and cleaned her up, she wouldn’t open her eyes. I was sure I’d pushed her too hard, and for a split second, I was this fucking close to losing my shit.
Then, she shot me a glare and grumbled something unintelligible, and the relief I felt was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. I’d bandaged her wrists and covered her up, watching her sleep for a few minutes before I forced myself to leave.
“That’s what happens when you tie someone up to the rafters in your cabin with rope,” she says softly, watching me work on slathering ointment on the rope burn. It’ll be gone in a few days, but I’m not leaving her like this.
