Page 4 of Never Die for a Sinner
“I just . . .” Her voice is barely audible over the wind whipping down the cliffside.
She’s always so . . . submissive. Like she’s afraid to be seen. Unfortunately, for her, I’vealwaysseen her, and it’s turning out to be a real fucking problem.
“I know it’s been a rough day,” she continues, completely oblivious. “I wanted to check on you and see how you’re feeling.”
I can’t help but chuckle darkly under my breath. The lamb worried about the big bad wolf.
I don’t turn around for a long moment. When I do, I realize it was a mistake. She’s fucking breathtaking. My cock’s instantly hard in my slacks, and all manner of dirty thoughts slip through my mind about what I want to do to her.
The thought of pushing her down into the mattress, her legs clenching around my head while she cries out my name into the night—not God’s—now that’s something that could get addictive.
Fucking hell.
My gaze rakes over her prim and proper black dress. Soft waves fall down her back like rich chocolate. Perfect little body. Pouty lips.
Who the fuck am I kidding?
Ava Ryan is pure heroin. One hit is all it would take before I was hooked.
Which is exactly why I need to stay the fuck away from her.
A blush slips up her delicate neck and into her cheeks when my eyes meet hers. Instantly, she looks away—a bad habit of hers I can’t wrap my head around.
I hate how fucking perfect she is. Like she was handcrafted to ruin me. It would be so easy to lose myself in her for a few days until I’ve had my fill. Maybe then I could get some fucking sleep instead of wondering what the little ghost across the hall is up to in the middle of the night.
I grit my teeth, blowing out a cloud of smoke around my cigarette.
She can’t see this . . . side of me. This disturbed, broken, and unfeeling asshole that I try to keep hidden. The alcoholic former DEA agent, who spends his nights either drowning in whiskey or at the Tomb.
I know without a doubt, my jagged edges would be enough to scar her, and it’s exactly why I need to keep my distance.
“I pay you to clean my house, Ava. Not play therapist.”
The icy bite of my voice sends a shiver through her, and her mouth pulls into a frown. Hurt crosses her pretty face, and her cheeks flame. I ignore it before I do something stupid, like haul her over my shoulder and cart her upstairs to spend the night forgetting this fucking day. Forgetting who I am while I’m buried inside her.
Sweet little girls like Ava aren’t good for men like me. I’m rough. Crude. I drink too much, and I smoke. She’s too innocent. Too soft for a man like me. I’d break her and hate myself even as I couldn’t stop because, like an arsonist to a flame, I’d be fucking addicted to the destruction.
Getting the good girl to be bad only for you?
Nowthat’sreal retribution.
Ava is silent, unmoving in her place on the muddy cliffside. Poor thing walked out here in her heels.
Not that I care. It’s her fault. Always getting herself into trouble.
I’ve never met something so perfectly imperfect. Like something I wanted to break and cherish at the same time.
If she were mine, I would own Ava Ryan’s every breath. There’s not a thing on this planet I wouldn’t give her to watch her eyes light up with stars . . . and that’s a dangerous thought.
“Right,” she says, almost cheerfully, like she’s trying to cover up how much my words sting.
She still doesn’t meet my gaze, her eyes on the ground at my feet. From the moment I met her, she’s been this quiet, reserved girl. I want to see what it looks like when that timid shell shatters.
“I . . .” she chokes on her words, and I wait for whatever bullshit she’s going to say about my father. It’s been happening all day. Everyone offering their condolences. As if I didn’t celebrate with a bottle of whiskey just last night.
Ava swallows thickly, and finally, those green eyes meet mine, the fading sun making them shine in a way that sends an uncomfortable burn through my veins.
“Just know . . . if you need someone to talk to . . . I’ll listen.”
