Page 196 of Never Die for a Sinner
Something Levi took with him the day he let me go.
“I’ll say this . . .” I pause, reaching for the door handle. I have to get out of here. “I wish I could hate him, but . . .” I shrug. “I just can’t.”
She doesn’t respond, staring at me with guilt.
“Goodbye, Paulina.”
LEVI
Of all the things you could’ve fixed around here, you chose the biggest piece of shit on the island. Congrats.”
Christian’s voice slices through the air like a switchblade. It echoes off the warped wooden beams of the old barn, sharp and smug and laced with that brand of brotherly disappointment I’ve known since we were kids—sharp enough to sting, familiar enough to burn.
I ignore my brother when he steps up to the engine I’ve got torn apart in front of me. I just needed something to do, andworking on engines has always calmed me when my mind was a warzone. It’s the only kind of broken I’ve ever known how to fix.
I’m fixing this damned boat whether it likes it or not.
“What part of ‘I want to be alone’ didn’t you get?” I mutter, not bothering to look at him when he leans back against the side of the old, beat-up boat that rests in the barn on Shipwreck Island. I can’t help but see the irony in the name.
Shipwreck Island is where he disappeared when life got too loud. Where he dragged Mila after saving her from whatever wreckage she’d barely crawled out of. There’s nothing here but an old, haunted cottage, a stubborn lighthouse clutching a cliff, and a few decaying shacks.
Well, and this piece of shit boat.
Shipwreck Island is quiet. Empty. The kind of place people can come to fall apart in peace.
—Unless, of course, your brother is named Christian Cross.
“Right,” he says with a smirk. “I forgot. You’re deep into your tragic lone-wolf phase.”
Fucking dick.
“Did you come out here to be a jackass, or do you want something?”
“You’re avoiding your problems,” he grunts.
“I’m not avoiding anything.”
“Bullshit. No one gives a flying fuck about this boat.”
“Maybe I do.”Maybe it’s the only thing left that I haven’t completely ruined.
Christian doesn’t seem to take the hint, instead falling into the old lawn chair beside the boat and kicking his feet up.
Jesus fucking Christ, why can’t he just leave me alone?
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be annoying?”
Christian meets my stare—steady, cutting.
“Right now, I’ve got a wife ready to murder my brother, a brother hiding out on my island, and a sad little brunette who cries herself to sleep every night, occupying most of my wife’s time. The least you could do is offer me a drink.”
Ah, of course. This isn’t a visit. It’s a goddamned siege.
My grip tightens around the wrench in my hand until my knuckles throb. That guilt I’ve been choking down for days swells, bitter and thick, rising like smoke.
I grab the bottle. Take a long pull that scorches my throat and does jack shit to ease the ache. Then I pass it to him.
It’s not a comfort. It’s a distraction that I thought I’d moved past, but it’s all I’ve got right now.
