Page 162 of SINS & Riley

---

Three bangs slam against the door.

My heart ignites—a live grenade in my chest.

“Someone’s here,” I whisper.

Static. Then the voice: “I can’t hear you. Speak a little louder.”

I try to swallow the sand scraping down my throat. “I can’t.”

I lunge for the nearest drawer, yank it open, and my fingers clamp around cold steel. A gun.

When the door handle rattles, I swing the barrel toward it, hands shaking, breath locked in my chest.

Three more knocks.

Still no words. It’s not Boris.

The handle jerks. My grip tightens.

I’ve never fired a gun before.

But the second the door blasts open, my body is on autopilot.

My eyes slam shut and I squeeze.

Hard.

51

RILEY

Gun in my hand, I fire.

But the gun doesn’t go off.

The silence detonates louder than a bullet.

My eyes snap open—and freeze.

The man in the doorway looks so much like Dante my vision tunnels.

Same eyes.

Same mouth.

Same goddamn smile.

Something’s off. My vision blurs; I rub my eyes hard.

He guides me back to the bed, grinning as he plucks the gun from my trembling hands. Casual and effortless, he spins it on his finger like it’s nothing but a toy.

Then, he takes the phone, and presses it his ear. “You there?”

Am I… dreaming?

“Maybe you should’ve given her a heads-up I was on the other side of the door,” he says into the phone, more amused than annoyed.

I stare at him, studying every line of his face like he’s living proof every last cell in my brain just snapped.

---