Page 55 of Sinful
He follows me to my family’s old bedroom—one that mom and dad let me take over.
It's exactly how I left it three years ago—posters on the walls, books on the shelves, a life frozen in time.
The life of a girl who thought she could be normal.
Who thought she could escape what she was.
I close the door behind us. "What do you want?"
"To know what you're planning."
"I'm not planning anything."
"Bullshit." He moves closer. "I saw your face when Rati opened that box. I saw you run. And I see the way you're looking at everyone now—like you're saying goodbye."
Damn him.
Damn his dead eyes that see everything.
"It's none of your business."
"The fuck it's not. I'm here to negotiate an alliance, and that's hard to do if one of the Road Captain's daughters does something stupid that gets everyone killed."
"I'm not going to get everyone killed."
"No? What's your plan then? Turn yourself in? Trade yourself for your father?" He reads the answer on my face. "Jesus Christ. That's exactly what you're planning."
"It's the only way?—"
"It's a suicide mission." He's in my space now, crowding me, anger and something else burning in those dead eyes. "Los Coyotes won't just take you and let him go. They'll torture you both. Use you for leverage. Kill you slowly, but before that they’ll rape you while they make him watch."
"You don't know that."
"I know cartels. I know how they operate. This won't work, Helle."
"It's better than doing nothing!"
"It's not better than waiting for the actual plan! Runes has people working on intel. Damon has DEA contacts. We're in the process of getting more intel every hour, orchestrating a fucking rescue mission that will actually fucking work."
"And if that fails? If my Dad dies while you're all trying to be heroes?"
"Then he dies fighting. But you turning yourself in?" He shakes his head. "That's just dying for nothing."
"It's not for nothing. It's for him."
"It's for your guilt." His voice is brutal. Honest. "You want to die because you think you deserve it. Because you killed Andrés and you can't live with what you've done."
I slap him.
Again.
Harder than in the hallway earlier.
My palm stings, his cheek reddens, and we're both breathing hard.
"You don't know me," I say.
"I know you better than you think." He doesn't touch his face, doesn't back away. "I know what it's like to carry guilt that crushes you. To wish you could go back and undo what you've done. To think dying is the only way to make it right."
