Page 127 of Never Die for a Sinner
Christian rests his elbows on the bar, glancing sideways at me. “Mila tells me you’ve upset her friend.”
Tattle-tale.
“Mila needs to learn to mind her business.”
“Careful, little brother,” he warns, voice dipping low and dark. Fucker’s as protective as they come over his wife.
Unfortunately, as much as I fucking hate it, I think I’m starting to understand.
“What’s really going on?” Christian asks, nodding at the rundown warehouse we’re drinking in. “Why are you here?”
“Got a better idea?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s called therapy.”
“Fuck therapy.”
He snorts and downs his whiskey, then leans in with a smirk.
“I’d suggest you just fuck the little housekeeper, but it looks like you’ve already had that idea.”
I finish my drink and slam the glass down harder than I meant to.
I don’t feel a goddamn thing.
“Did you come to talk about my sex life, or do you want a rundown of my cholesterol levels too?”
Christian’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. His stare is sharp—cutting.
“Actually, I came to ask what you plan to do about your little problem.”
Of course, he did.
“What do you think?” I murmur, voice low enough to get lost under the low hum of metal playing over the speakers.
Christian exhales slowly, like he’s weighing his next words.
“You sure you want to go down that road? Once you cross that line . . . there’s no coming back.”
“You’re not the only one who’s had to spill a little blood, brother.”
“I’m just saying,” he mutters. “Shit like this? It changes you.”
I grit my teeth, jaw tight. Should have had Cherry leave the fucking bottle.
“Why didn’t you come to me about this?”
“You’ve got your own shit. I can handle it.”
“Like you’ve handled it so far?”
“Fuck you,” I snap. “You finally have your life figured out, Christian. You think I’m going to let you throw it away to fix my mess?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just studies me like he’s looking through me instead of at me.
“When I was in your shoes, what did you do?” he asks.
“That’s different. I’m single. You’ve got a wife to think about.”
