Page 174 of SINS & Riley
I try to shift.
It was a mistake.
Nothing but white-hot, searing down to the bone, dragging me out of the dark one jagged inhale at a time.
I don’t know if I’m alive or if this is some twisted afterlife where torture is the welcome mat.
My body won’t move—dead weight, useless. My eyes fight to open, but everything stays blurred, unbearably heavy.
Pressure. Fingers at my face. Tugging, scraping, working the edges until something gives.
I half expect a straight-razor to my skin. God, I’d take it. Anything to tip me over the edge. One more hit of pain and I can drown in a blackout.
A voice cuts through the fog.
“If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to blowtorch the fucker off.”
Before I can react—not that I could if I wanted to—cold air slashes across raw skin as the mask peels away.
And then I hear it.
Another voice.
Not just familiar. So familiar it splinters me apart and stitches me back together in the same beat.
“Well, shit. He lives. Somebody cue the Imperial March.”
My voice is so choked and dry, the name scrapes out. “Smoke?”
I force my eyes open, just enough. Reality slams into me, narrowing to the only word that matters. “Riley?”
“She’s fine.”
It’s all I need to hear.
Relief unspools, relaxing me back into the mattress. My vision sharpens just enough to catch his grin. He smiles down… right before he drives a finger into my shoulder.
White-hot pain screams through me, ripping a raw wail from my throat. “Argh!”
“We almost didn’t figure it out in time. You’d be at the mercy of the Keenans by now.” He does it again.
I choke back a scream, grinding my teeth and taking it.
Smoke finally eases up. “That’s for keeping us in the dark, asshole.”
“I had to,” I seethe.
“And I had to shoot you in the shoulder.” Enzo leans into view, a cigar clamped between his teeth, smoke curling around his shit-eating grin.
“Enjoy that, did you?” I croak out.
“Not as much as stabbing you in the gut.”
I manage to lift my head an inch, glaring. “If you already shot me, why stab me in the gut?”
“You can’t fake good carnage. The Keenans were out for blood.”
Enzo punctuates the thought by flicking his cigar at me, ash raining down like holy water.
