Page 45 of Of Sinners & Salvation
“After you apologize for being such a dick,” he says to Angel, never taking his eyes from the bigger man. “Or what was it you said? Beg? Grovel?”
“I’d sooner die,” Angel snaps.
“No sweat off my back,” Walker says, pushing away from the tree. “I’ll go sleep in a warm bed back there and take the boat back in the morning. Way more comfortable than wandering around in the woods all night in the cold.”
“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand.
“Let him go,” Angel says. “We have Nate’s number. He can guide us.”
“Except we don’t have service,” I remind him.
“I’m not groveling to a fucking Disciple,” Angel swears. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Now or never,” Walker offers, backing away with his arms spread. “Come on, tough guy. Show me what you got besides muscles.”
“I have a gun,” Angel says, drawing his piece. “Stay, or I shoot.”
“Aww, but your girl might want to see you grovel,” Walker says. “Don’t you want to show her how well you can apologize when you’re wrong? Not to mention you’ll be doing it to save her, not just cover your own ass.”
“I’m assuming you did that to his face?” Mercy asks. “What for?”
“Because he was pissed that my estranged uncle took you,” Walker says. “He took it out on little old me, even though I haven’t talked to the guy in a decade. He knew it too. Just wanted someone to punch.”
“Hm,” Mercy says. “Sounds like an apology might be in order.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Angel asks.
Mercy gives a devilish little smile. “I mean, if he’s saving our lives… Seems like an apology is the least he could ask for.”
“You’re getting off on this,” Angel says, sounding dismayed.
Mercy shrugs. “You’ve done some pretty mean things to me too. And somehow, you always get off without so much as a simple, ‘I’m sorry.’ Maybe it’s time.”
“I already apologized to him,” Angel grits out. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you there were cameras on us the first time I fucked you.”
“Whoa,” Walker says. “And you’re with him anyway, even though he never even apologized? Damn. I thought I got away with a lot.”
“You sure get away with running your mouth,” Saint mutters.
“I come from a long line of attorneys,” Walker says, flashing a grin, his teeth ghostly in the darkness. “It runs in the family.”
“Thank you,” Mercy says to Angel. She rests a hand on his arm. “Now put up your gun and apologize to our guide for being so rude.”
Angel tucks his pistol in at the small of his back. “There. Happy now?”
“Please?” Mercy asks, standing on tiptoes to skim her lips against his throat. “For me?”
“Sorry,” he grunts.
I watch in amazement. I’m not the only person who holds power over these brutal boys. I’m not even the one who holds most power.
Walker laughs. “Good enough. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now let’s go.”
He turns and lopes off through the woods. The others look to me, and I make a split second decision and follow. I don’t know anything about the island except that it has a lighthouse, the asylum, and a small boat dock. We’re now making our way in the opposite direction from that, but since Walker said they’d be watching the dock, and no one else knows their way around, it seems the best course of action.
I’m beginning to rethink my assessment of him by the time we reach the far side of the island. A decrepit mansion sitsoff to the left, while to the right, the island curves around toward the open sea. Directly in front of us, a steep incline leads down to the rocky shoreline.
“There’s a place we can hang out while the tide is low,” Walker says, leading us toward the edge. We scramble down the slope and follow him along the beach. Above the sound of the surf, we can hear water churning and sloshing, and when we come around a turn, the hideout comes into view—a small inlet carved into the rock face by the waves over millennia, forming an overhang. The sand inside is wet, and I can’t help but think it looks like a good place to get trapped.
