Page 75 of Sinners Atone
I loosen the tie around my robe and press my palms against the countertop, but it does nothing to cool me down. I need cold air, need to feel the rain sizzle on my skin.
I need to breathe.
A rush of panic drives me to the glass door leading to the garden, but it’s locked. So is the one in the living room and the dining hall. I rattle doorknobs and handles along the length of the house with increasing frustration.
Finally, I find one at the back of a laundry room and burst through it.
The rain is louder out here, but it doesn’t fall. The air is colder, but there’s no bite to it.
Disorientated, I blink, trying to clear the tears blurring my vision. There’re stacks of boxes, and tools hanging from a pegboard. The smell of gasoline and burned plastic rise from the damp concrete floor, then I realize I’m in the garage.
And so is Gabriel.
Only his head is visible above the propped-up hood of a car, though the lone, naked light bulb hanging from the tin roof spreads his shadow along the breadth of the brickwork behind him. His gaze clashes with mine for a single heart palpitation before narrowing on my mouth.
Probably because of the sob that escaped it.
An awful scraping sound bounces off the walls, and a metal chair skids along the length of the car, stopping by the back tire.
“Sit.”
He ducks back out of view.
Nausea roils through me, my chest tightening with every ragged breath. I should go back out the way I came, but I won’t make it that far. It’s either faint, vomit, or sit, and the latter seems like the least embarrassing option, so I stagger over and sink down into the chair.
The cold metal burns the backs of my thighs. The sight of my slippers pulsating in and out of focus makes me feel even morenauseous, so I squeeze my eyes shut and silently beg the world to stop spinning.
It doesn’t and it’s relentlessly loud. The rain pounds down on the roof, and the wind rattles the roll-down door, desperate to be let in.
A voice slices through the chaos, as smooth as butter dripped in sin. “Hector Fisher owns a cabin on the lake.”
What? Mild annoyance grates my skin. I couldn’t care less about the Mayor of Devil’s Dip’s property portfolio, especially at a time like this. Like,hello,I’m dying over here.
“On the last Friday of every month, he kisses his wife and kids goodbye and spends the weekend down at the cabin.” The clanking of metal fills his pause. “Ask me why.”
I shake my head, choking on my next breath.
“Ask me why,” he repeats, his tone tightening.
“W-why?” I grit.
“To meet escorts.”
My ears prick up, an eye pops open, and my curiosity has me looking over to the shadow shifting along the wall. “H-he’s cheating on his wife?”
“Mm. With men.” An inked hand reaches out from beneath the hood and curls around a wrench on the roller cart beside it. “He pays them to dress up in his wife’s underwear, and then he fucks them.”
A cool breath fills my lungs, and I exhale it in slow disbelief. “Does she know?”
“Of course not.”
Wow. Hiccupping, I drag my sleeve under my nose and sit back on the chair. The midnight email has loosened its chokehold now that I have fresh gossip to feast on.
Mayor Fisher—who would’ve thought. He’s such a charming family man. I always see him walking along Main Street hand in hand with his beautiful wife.
I guess even the nicest people have secrets.
I ponder why Gabriel’s even telling me this, but then he steps out from behind the car hood and suddenly, it doesn’t even matter.
