Page 101 of Never Die for a Sinner
“And you think that means they’ve stopped watching you?”
Her gaze sharpens. “Why do you care?” she snaps, but the bite in her voice sounds more like deflection than anger.
I give a lazy shrug that’s anything but casual. “You signed a contract stating it’s my job to protect you. That means whatever I say goes.”
She scoffs, folding her arms in a way that pushes her shoulders back—whether she realizes it or not. “Well, I thinkyou’re overreacting. So, they got my number because I live here. It could have been anyone.”
I take a slow step toward her, letting the space shrink until she has to tilt her chin up to keep looking at me. “You really think so, baby girl?”
The nickname rolls off my tongue like a warning and a promise all at once.
Her cheeks flare hot, a blush that blooms fast and betrays her before she can look away. I see it. I feel it. And it’s enough to make me smirk.
“Thought so,” I murmur, not breaking eye contact.
“You’re impossible,” she growls under her breath.
“And you’re a brat,” I counter.
“So, if this is the Burelli’s, then who is Black?”
Lead fills my chest, but I shake the feeling off. I don’t have time to dwell on it.
“There’s a place I go to. Called the Tomb.” My voice flattens. “I don’t go by Levi or Cross there, Ava.”
She stares at me, the silence stretching long enough that I can almost hear the gears turning in her head. Then her eyes narrow with dawning realization.
“Let me guess . . .” Her voice is quieter now, colder. “You go by Black.”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. She knows.
“This is getting far too confusing,” she mutters, sinking onto the corner of the bed and scrubbing a hand over her face. “I mean, why would someone be pretending to be you to blackmail me into stealing . . . from you?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I grunt. I lean my shoulder into the doorframe, the wood cool against my arm. “Though,if they’re pretending to be me, I don’t think it’s so much of a coincidence that you were being followed.”
Ava’s lips flatten, the kind of tight line she makes when she’s holding back more than she’s saying. “Then that would mean they know about . . . us.” Her cheeks flame, and she looks anywhere in the room but at me.
“Exactly.” My voice is low, clipped. “And if they know about Black, they know about the Tomb. That means they’re not just some random street hustler with a vendetta. They’ve been inside my world. They’ve seen the shit that doesn’t make it into police reports.”
Her gaze lifts to mine, something like fear—or maybe recognition—flickering there. “So . . . what happens now?”
I push off the frame, crossing the short space until I’m standing in front of her. The air between us feels warmer here, charged. “Now? I find out who’s playing dress-up with my name. And when I do, they’ll wish they’d picked anyone else.”
Her jaw tenses, but she doesn’t break eye contact. “You can’t do it alone.”
“I’m not asking you to help me,” I say, though the words taste like a lie the second they’re out. She knows it, too.
Her gaze hardens. “Then you’re an idiot. Because if they’re after me, Levi, then we are already in this together—whether you like it or not.”
Something coils low in my gut, dark and unshakable. She’s right. I hate that she’s right.
I sit beside her, elbows resting on my knees, our shoulders almost touching. “Then start telling me everything they’ve said to you. Every word. Every threat. No holding back.”
She hesitates only a beat before nodding. “You’re not going to like it.”
Her voice is brittle, quiet in a way that makes my pulse slow.
“Try me,” I murmur, watching her closely.
