Page 33 of Make Me A Sinner
"Not on the fucking table," Set snaps, watching Eight-Ball roll all over the table and playing tricks for his brother. "Don't feed him there. Anywhere but the table."
Not that Whiro gives a damn what Set says. Actually, he's the only person I’ve ever seen defy Set like this and get away with it.
"If you teach him to get on the table, you're taking him when you leave," Set threatens Whiro, like he would ever give up my cat.
"I kinda like him, but I don't think I've been home for the last..." he takes a second to think about it. "Let’s say eight months. So yeah, probably not a good idea unless you want him to starve to death."
"You really need to take a break at some point," Set says with a hint of worry in his voice. And I get why.
Maybe it’s all the superhero movies I’ve watched, but he seriously reminds me of the Joker. Slightly unhinged, strangely attractive, definitely scary, and certainly evil. I might even throw bipolar into the mix. One second he's smiling, the next he's staring into space like he’s planning a murder. And there’s something else—something off. Almost unearthly, just like Set gets sometimes, but Whiro’s at a whole different level.
Just as I said, I watched too many superhero movies, and these two are definitely the villains.
"This isn't a courtesy visit, so what do you have?" Set cuts straight to the point.
"Heard you put on quite a show last night," Whiro arches a brow, sipping his drink before cracking an ice cube between his teeth.
Set immediately glances at me, checking if I’m okay. He knows I'm still not right after what happened. "He’s not a threat anymore," he responds to his brother, his sight never leaving mine.
"So I guess you found out it was Chen?" It's Whiro who asks.
Set nods.
"How do you want us to handle this?" Whiro goes on, eager to get in on the action.
"His hotel’s not that secure, but he always keeps a few personal guards around, especially since I got an artifact from his safe," Set stirs the ice in his glass while he speaks. "I don't want open war."
"Oh yeah, you and your fucking balances," Whiro mutters, like he doesn't give a damn about Set's politics. He's in it for the kill. "But youdowant to make an example out of him."
"You know me too well," Set smiles, downing his glass in a single sip.
They keep talking while I continue to prepare dinner, though I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore. Just dumping sauce over the meatballs, topping it with parmigiano, and sliding it into the oven for twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes. The last half an hour has been such a blur, it feels like a week ago when Set grabbed the knife and started chopping my vegetables like a Michelin-star chef. So much has happened since that moment, I don't even know where to start. Though there is an issue that won’t give me peace. It's not even the part where someone still wants me dead. Or the fact that we’re casually planning a hitover meatballs. It's my damn core that still twitches every time I so much as look at Set's.
There's no salvation for me.
The four of us have dinner. Me, Set, Whiro, and Eight-Ball, who Whiro sat next to him in a chair and fed until he curled up into a furry ball, and started snoring.
The conversation is as weird as ever, but I'm starting to get used to Whiro's dark sense of humor. And even though I still think he's pure evil, I’ll admit he does seem to have a few decent bones in his body. Just like Set.
I'm getting a little sleepy, and these two don't seem to be calling it a night anytime soon. So I walk over to Set to let him know I'm going to bed, just as they retreat to the bar in the living room. "I'll be in the bedroom," I whisper in his ear—just the way he always does to me—making sure my tone lets him know he’s still got some unfinished business.
"Might be a while," the bastard casually replies, like he's not interested anymore, and goes right back to torture me. I think he found Whiro as an excuse to keep him occupied and get his mind off what happened earlier.
I'm just about to leave without another word, when he catches my arm and pulls me back to him. "No touching yourself," he whispers in the most sinful tone possible, planting exactly that thought in my mind. "Don't make me come tie you up." He kisses my forehead like he's giving me a goodnight kiss, then lets go of my hand so I can go to the bedroom. Alone. Unsatisfied. And with a new idea buried in the back of my mind.
Fuck. My. Life.
eighteen
-Serena-
Before bed, I slip into the sexiest nightie I can find and only then snuggle under the sheets.
If I'm suffering, he’s suffering too.
I try to close my eyes and drift off. I really do. I should be able to sleep because I burned off some calories at the gym. I'm tired enough, I just can't do it. It's like my mind keeps me awake. And now I know he’s seen Inception because he just planted an idea I can’t shake. An idea my body is way too eager to accept, especially since the tension building up these days inside is killing me. I can't even think straight. I'm still supposed to be in the bed of the enemy, yet here I am, trying to seduce him into fucking me.
At this point, the wordconsciencemeans nothing to me—I clearly don’t have one. I only have cravings, and right now I need to do something about the ache pulsing between my legs.
