Page 5 of SINS & Riley
What happens when my belly swells, and I can’t wedge myself through the iron bars of the mausoleum gate? Who will take my confessions then?
I rush down the path until I spot the sleek black car. Then I slow from a jog to a walk.
Dominic waves his hand. When I slow even more, he barks, “Riley!”
He pockets his phone and opens the back door. Impatience is carved deep into every line of his face.
“What’s the rush, dad?” I taunt. “Evil Master grants me three hours of freedom for being good.” I tap my watch pointedly. “Plenty o’ time.”
“Did you forget you’re having dinner with Zver tonight?”
“More like I blocked it out.” I snap back because, yes, I totally forgot.
Is pregnancy brain an actual thing?
And for the record, I figured if he found his Tonight, Zapretnaya note crumpled in the trash, he would’ve taken the hint.
Apparently not.
“I was promised a pharmacy stop,” I tack on quickly.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a heavy sigh. The deep scars across his knuckles remind me he probably likes this arrangement even less than I do.
And just how dangerous Zver truly is.
Dominic’s gaze narrows on me. “Just the pharmacy?”
Ah, he knows me so well. I can usually slip away to the bookstore before Zver’s guards scoop me up.
Sadly, both the pharmacy and bookstore seem to be under his thumb. Every note I passed them the first few times were promptly crumpled and tossed in the trash. Right in front of me.
“Yes.” My words are solemn, but it’s a bold face lie.
Dominic checks his watch, jaw tight. “Thirty minutes, tops.”
His stern don’t-fuck-me-up-with-my-boss warning bleeds from his expression.
“Thirty minutes.” I cross my heart and duck into the back seat.
Because half an hour is all the time I need.
2
ZVER
“Why? Whyyy?” he rasps, voice reduced to a pathetic, broken plea, scraping along my patience like jagged fingernails on a chalkboard.
God, you'd think these assholes would find a new question when facing death.
“You know why,” I growl softly, cold fury dripping from every syllable.
Slowly, deliberately, I smirk beneath my mask as his frantic breathing fills the silence. A flash of dark anticipation rolls through me as I lift a knife, turning it slowly between my fingers, feeling its weight, its balance.
I let the knife fly, the satisfying whistle of air splitting before it embeds itself deep into something solid. I note with satisfaction the blade quivering mere inches from his ear.
His eyes bulge, pupils blown wide with pure terror. His mouth moves silently, choking on pleas he’s too scared to voice.
Trust me, when I want him to feel pain, he will.
