Page 55 of Make Me A Sinner
Her fingers tremble as she takes the box from my palm. I can see it in her eyes. The power is there, and she wastes no time proving how much stronger she’s become.
The lit match arcs through the air, lands on the gasoline, and within seconds, the whole place reminds me of home.
I wish I could stay and admire it longer, but I need to keep her at a safe distance.
I won’t put her in danger—not even for a second. Her life is more precious to me than even my own.
twenty-seven
-Serena-
Things are changing. Set is changing. I know he once gave me power over life and death when we were in the basement. He let me choose who should deserve to live and who I should kill. But now things are different. The woman I let go is a possible threat. I don’t believe she’ll say a word, especially since he gave her the money, and she’d probably go as far away as possible to get herself a new life. But there’s that one percent chance—that loose end he never leaves dangling. Yet now he’s done it because I asked him to, and that terrifies me at a twisted level. Against all odds, he’s keeping up his promise. He’s giving me power over everything—including himself.
I don’t say that to him. I don’t say a lot of things to him because words materialize things. They make things real, and that’d mean he’d also have more power over me. Honestly, at this point, judging by the ache between my thighs, that’s highly possible. The damn piercing reminds me of that. And then, there’s the adrenaline. The power to take revenge on the ones who hurt you, because I have no doubt Xuan would’ve smiled, delivering my head to Chen on a silver tray.
My eyes stay locked on Set as we drive back home. He’s too calm, foot heavy on the gas like his mind’s somewhere else entirely. He’s in the car with me, but his thoughts aren’t. And since we just burned the place down, either he’s concerned about repercussions—which is not in his nature, or he’s thinking about my promise—which I’m still hoping to weasel out of. Not sure I’m gonna make it, but a girl’s gotta try.
I don’t interrupt him, though, and risk getting his attention on me. I’m afraid of his attention right now, especially after the surge of heat rushing through our veins. But without warning, he turns to look at me. His eyes filled with something I’ve never seen before. I think it’s pride. An electric feeling that somehow reflects inside of me. I don’t regret what happened. I regret all the dead bodyguards. But not Chen’s henchman. I’m sick of people trying to hurt me one way or the other. I guess I’m sick of being afraid. And I’m still a little afraid of Set, I must admit. But it’s not like in the past. It’s a different kind of fear. The fear that he’d do something scandalous, that he’ll take me somewhere unexplored—push the limit until my body morphs into something more. An object meant for his pleasure, the same way he is meant for mine.
And just now, I realize I don’t fear him anymore. This man would never hurt me—demons or not.
The same pride reflected in his eyes now lingers in my own. Because he’s mine, no matter how hard I want to fight it.
“You okay?” he asks, waiting for confirmation that I’m finally here with him. That I don’t hate him for burning down the place or going after Chen or turning feral on everyone. He just needs to know we’re in this together.
I don’t say it with words, but my hand slips over his on the shifter, my fingers gently curling over his. I think it’s the first real sign of affection I’ve ever shown him. And I don’t mean the sex, or the cuddling, or whatever it is that we usually do in bed.This isn’t driven by adrenaline or survival. It just comes from pure feelings. We’re in this together, even if it takes me a few seconds to remind myself that I shouldn’t get too soft.
Set’s forced to slam the brakes as some idiot pulls out of an alley without checking the main road. And the jolt suddenly reminds me of the damn piercing that’s now painfully rubbing against my panties. I could curse him for that. I definitely want to hit him just enough to make him feel this bullshit pain I’m in right now. It’s not unbearable, but it’s damn uncomfortable and I blame it completely on him. So why not use this as ammo, make his life a living hell for as long as I can. Everyone pays for their mistakes, and I’ll make sure he’ll pay for this one. “Well, since you asked, I’m not okay. I’m tired, and my pussy feels like it’s got hit by a bus.”
“Want me to kiss it and make it all better?” he asks in an all too seductive voice, which only manages to make things worse. My body has no self-control around him, and that makes a painful throb radiate straight to my core. I could list a few places where he could kiss me, but I’m sure I’d just give him new ideas. And I’m too exhausted to try to stop him on that, too.
“What I want is for you to stay away from me,” I mutter, even though I know I don’t have a real chance of that happening.
“We both know you don’t mean that. Because let’s be real,you’rethe one who can’t stay away,” he gives me the most sinful smile. The one that calls back to the couch. To that night my willpower gave out, and I let the insanity win.
God, how I regret that.
Well, not really, really regret it, but I think a normal person would. My problem is that I don’t seem to be able to act normal—at least not around him. And that thought has me twisting my seat, reminding me, every damn second, of the steel he left in me.
Sometimes I swear I have split personalities. One of me hates Set. One wants him to the brink of insanity. And then there’s the third that sees the good in him, even though most of the time I’m not sure it’s even really there. Maybe it’s there because I want to see it. Or maybe he shows it because he knows I need to see it, and that means there’s something in me that makes him better.
He parks the car indoors, in the underground garage, and I get the sudden urge to ask him for some stupid thing, like stop by the groceries or, maybe even the pharmacy, pretend I need something. It’s not really about needing anything. I just want to delay getting home. I know what he’s expecting of me, and even though the heat of his body is turning into some kind of twisted addiction I can’t live without. I still don’t want him to see how badly he really gets to me. How much I’m influenced by what I see behind the mask, because part of me still wonders if the mask ever comes off—or if deep down, he really is just pure evil.
The second we enter the apartment, I head straight to the fridge to dig out a slice of white chocolate coconut cake. Set knows I’m a sucker for these. Diving headfirst into the fridge isn’t new for me, so it’s not anything out of the ordinary.
I’m actually planning my escape without him noticing it, but I know that hungry look in his eyes. It’s still there, even after I force-feed him a forkful of cake. He’s not really into sweets, but at this point, I think he’d be into anything I would give him, especially with that anxious glint in his gaze, heating the atmosphere around us without even lifting a finger. Feels like the kitchen’s about to catch fire soon, and I didn’t even turn on the stove.
I need to get out of here, so I slowly slip out of the kitchen and head to the living room to pour myself a glass of wine. I need something after the night I’ve had. Or maybe I just need something for what’s following.
I’m sure I left Set behind. I even left half of the cake there—like I was coming back for it. As much as I love cake, I’m still trying to make a clean getaway.
I don’t make it, though. I’m just finishing pouring the glass of wine—which I also intended to ditch, pretending to go and change. It’s actually smart of me because I’m leaving all of this behind, like I plan to come back. The idea is, by the time I shut myself in the bedroom, Set would have no choice but to sleep it off. Though, before I even settle the bottle down, the sound of his voice breaks through the silence. “I’d say you’re avoiding me.”
“No, I… I was just going to pour myself a glass of wine,” I say, tilting my glass, trying to sound as genuine as I can—not that it helps me in any way. Before I can blink, his hand clamps around my neck. The pressure’s so intense, I think he’s about to break it.
He’s on the edge. I took him there and I have no plan on stopping doing so over and over again. “Finish your drink,” he says, easing the grip, then lifts the glass of wine to my lips. My breath goes shallow, my pulse almost erratic as the hand he held over my neck moves under my chin, holding me as he makes me drink the wine.
A guttural grunt escapes him, watching me struggling to obey him. Because he can feel the fire burning inside me—I fucking like it. The force, the demand, the raw need. With every sip, my nipples tighten under my shirt, aching for him to touch them. My whole body tingles for him to touch me—even if it hurts.
