Page 112 of Sinners Atone
“Lesson three,” he says, sounding bored. “Never accept a drink from a stranger.”
David makes a horrible, wet sound. His eyes are wide now, red creeping into the whites.
My heartbeat spikes so fast I taste it in the back of my throat. “Make it stop,” I whimper. “Please. I’m sorry. I’ll do anything. Just…stop.”
He casts a disinterested look at my lips before slowly reaching into his pocket as though he has all the time in the world. As though the man to his right isn’t running out of it.
“You make it stop.”
I stare numbly at the syringe he places on the table. “What does that mean?”
“Say you won’t go on another date.”
I stare up at him like he’s lost his mind.
“What? What do you care if I date?”
He returns my look with an even glare. “You’re a safety risk to my family. Anyone who wants to get to Rory, would go through you.” He flicks a look of disgust down at my half-eaten salad. “All because you can’t resist the chance to talk about yourself over a free dinner.”
A beat passes before it hits me like a freight train.
He’s lying.
It’s in the heat behind his eyes. In the way his jaw tightens beneath his beard.
I breathe out so hard the room spins. “Oh, my God. You reallydohave a crush on me.”
His eyes narrow. “What?”
“Gabriel Visconti,” I announce, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear. “You have a crush on me.”
He barks out a laugh laced with unease. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
But it’s too late; the realization has seeded in my bones and is growing roots.
“It all makes sense now. Why you carried me through the forest after the port explosion instead of bundling me into that trunk. And then when youdidbundle me into a trunk, you felt so guilty that you took time out of your night to teach me how to get out of it. You also snapped at that poor sever for literally no reason. Oh—and then there was my panic attack in your garage, you talked me down from that too.” My gaze lifts to his. “And we both know what happened after that…” I trail off, leaving bruised wrists and gunshots burning over candles and white linen.
If looks could kill, I’d be dead ten times over. “Say it,” he growls. “Say you won’t date.”
“Say you’re jealous.”
David lets out a strangled sound, his face now alarmingly pale, lips tinged gray. He slumps over, grappling at crumbs and silverware and nothing that can help him.
Gabriel doesn’t even flinch. He just looks at me.
“Time’s running out.”
I inhale once, slow and deep, and lean back in my chair. I’m trembling, but I force stillness into my limbs, fold my arms across my chest and tilt my chin up, calling his bluff.
“Admit it.”
“No.”
“No, you don’t have a crush on me, or no, you won’t admit it?”
Frustration curls his lips. “You’re really going to let a man die because of your ego?”
“No, you’re going to let him die because of yours.”
