Page 6 of Never Die for a Sinner
In this case, I’m not speaking about myself.
Yes, changing out the sheets of a dead man’s bed is not high on my top ten things I’d like to do list, but I’m also not sad he’s gone.
Even if he doesn’t deserve it, people are grieving for William Cross.
The Cross siblings not only lost their mother when they were young, but now they’ve lost their father. All that’s left is their mother’s sister, Paulina, who raised them like her own when Elizabeth was murdered by her son and husband.
They’ve suffered so much, yet they all carry their burdens silently. It’s just a reminder that my problems are just that. My own, and it’s no one else’s responsibility to help me.
Levi comes to mind. The way he buries everything so deep, I’m not even sure he knows it’s there.
Regardless of how much of an egotistical playboy he is, I know there’s a part of him he keeps locked away that won’t let him rest.
The walls may be thick, but I can hear him, up at all hours of the night, across the hall. I’ve debated on going over and asking if he’d like to talk so many times, it’s become a nightly ritual.
I won’t do it, though. After he essentially told me to mind my own business at the funeral, I’ve been avoiding him.
Levi Cross is not my problem.
The more time I spend cleaning the room, the more I feel like I’m being watched. Like someone is standing right behind me, just waiting for me to let my guard down.
I wouldn’t put it past William Cross to come back to haunt this place, though I’m sure he’d be much better suited as a servant of hell.
I focus on one task at a time, dusting the furniture in the room and cleaning the en-suite that William barely used. I even put all the belongings back exactly where they were after I finish, right down to the medicines on the bathroom counter.
Really, I’m just avoiding the bed, but that’s neither here nor there.
Finally, accepting defeat, I tug the sheets off and shove them in a trash bag, trying not to think about why they’re stained.
Bile slips up my throat, and I swallow it down, tying the bag in a knot and tossing it to the cart like it had caught fire.
I blow out a breath, closing my eyes.
The hard part’s over.
Time to get the hell out of here.
Unfortunately, when I turn around, I run right into a brick wall.
I scream, stumbling back until I fall onto the bed, only to be filled with horror and launch myself in the other direction until I crash to the floor.
When I look up, it’s into the eyes of the devil himself.
We haven’t spoken in three weeks. Not since the funeral when he treated me like I was Typhoid Mary, spreading the plague through all the lands.
He’s so handsome, sometimes it’s hard to look at him. In fact, most of the time, I can’t. I’ve always struggled with eye contact, especially with men. It was just a rule growing up in my family that you didn’t make eye contact, especially when you were in trouble. With Levi, though, it’s worse. Like little electric shocks that sing across my skin where his gaze touches.
Now, I allow myself one glance at that perfectly carved face. The light, barely visible scar on his lip. The strong, tall muscles of his body hidden under a black hoodie and dark jeans. The icy blue eyes that always seem to follow me as if I’m doing something wrong.
Dark hair, broad shoulders, dark stare.
Levi Cross is sin personified.
His mouth is moving, but I can’t hear him through the music in my headphones. Heart hammering in my chest, I reach up with shaky hands and remove them.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Levi snaps, his stare cold and his tone harsh. He towers over me, and I scramble to my feet, keeping as much space between us as I can.
“Cl-cleaning,” I reply, stuttering from the adrenaline rushing through me. I use the dresser to drag myself up onto shaky legs, my heart beating rapidly against my ribcage.
