Page 88 of SINS & Riley
It's easy to forget how young she is. How innocent.
My pulse kicks up a notch. Is she hurt?
Or worse?—
Is it the baby?
The thought twists through me, and something cuts so sharp, so brutal, it drags out a feeling I haven’t touched in years.
Helplessness.
I crush it down, locking it in irons.
And because I’m not exactly fluent in the subtle art of couple’s communication, when my voice finally rips free, it lashes the air like a whip. “What happened?”
She doesn’t react. Which annoys the shit out of me.
My tone dips, softer at the surface, edged like a blade just beneath. “Pom?”
There’s no venom in her voice, no snap of defiance. Just a fragile, broken whisper. “Go away.”
I shove my hands into my pockets, the gesture a pathetic excuse for restraint.
Calm, I remind myself. Must stay calm.
But calm’s a runaway horse—long gone and out of reach.
I exhale hard. “Explain what happened.”
“No.”
Christ, this woman will bury me alive. The way she dances on the razor’s edge of my last nerve, it’s maddening.
Infuriating.
And so goddamned beautiful it aches.
I want to shake her. To reach down her throat, rip the truth straight out of her lungs, and end this torture-fest.
But then, I think of Trinity. My sister.
And the memory of her hits like shrapnel. The way it always does.
A brutal reminder of how easily a strong grip can crush glass to dust.
So instead of brute-forcing it out of her, I slide down the wall and sit beside her. Close enough to feel her warmth bleed into the space between us, but not to touch.
“Talk to me.”
“I don’t want to.”
My stubborn little vixen.
“Well, I’m not leaving until you do.”
The silence stretches, thick and punishing.
Minutes grind to over an hour. Then, two. Her shoulders quake, tears streaking unchecked, while my patience fractures one jagged crack at a time.
