Page 24 of Of Sinners & Salvation
The Angel
“I have a question,” Heath says, stepping out of the convenience store where we stopped to stretch our legs, empty our bladders, and grab some food. We haven’t stopped for a meal since leaving Faulkner, surviving on takeout, fast food drive-throughs, and gas station sandwiches.
“Let me guess,” Walker says, nodding to Heath’s latest acquisition. “You want to know if you’re at risk of death by hot dog if you eat that thing.”
“Nah, the heat kills the germs,” Heath says, biting into the end of the dog. “That’s why they keep ‘em rolling all day.”
“The fact that you know it’s been there all day and you’re still eating it makes me question your friend’s insistence that you didn’t try to off yourself,” Walker says, twisting the top off a bottle of tea.
“Hey,” I bark, interrupting them. “Don’t act like you’re one of us, asshole. You’re here for one reason and one reason only.”
“Yeah,” Walker says calmly. “The reason is called kidnap.”
“I don’t see you running,” I point out. “In fact, you’re acting pretty chummy with my boy here.” I throw an arm around Heath, who grins through a mouthful of hotdog.
“So my question is,” Heath says. “What if we get there and Mercy’s not there?”
“Then we kill this asshole,” I growl, glaring at Walker. “He said all of Salem’s clues lead to some creepy island the Sincero family lives on. If he’s leading us into a trap, he’ll pay for it.”
He may think I’m being a dick, but if he felt half the fucking torment I’ve been in since she disappeared, he’d be on the ground writhing in agony.
I just fucking found the love of my life, and I barely had a chance to tell her before she was ripped away. She didn’t even get a chance to say it back. I said I loved her, and she didn’t say it back. I didn’t press it because I know she loves Saint too, and she’s confused, and I figured we had time for her to figure it out. But we don’t have time. We have nothing.
Mom once told me that any girl I loved would be ‘the one,’ but she’s wrong. I didn’t make Mercy ‘the one’ by deciding it, or by loving her. She always was the one, and she always will be. It’s nothing I did. It’s all her.
I have to tell her that, but I can’t.
I can’t because she’s gone because of this asshole’s family.
So I’ll look for Mercy, and I’ll show him none until I find her. If that makes me a dick, then so fucking be it. I am a dick.
Walker takes a swig of tea. “And what happens then?” he asks. “Seems like you’ll still need me to figure out where she is, maybe try to decode my cousin’s cryptic comments another way.”
I take a menacing step toward him. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means just what I said.” He doesn’t back down, which shows how arrogant the asshole is. He’s not a small guy, so we’re nose to nose, but he’s downright willowy compared to me. I puff up on him, but he just blinks at me like he doesn’t notice and takes another drink.
“Sounds like it means you led us to the wrong place so we’ll keep you alive longer.”
“Now why would I do that?” he asks. “Seems to me that I’d want you to find her so you’d let me go. Unless you’re not planning to let me go either way, in which case, why would I help you?”
He starts to lift the bottle again, but I rip it from his hand and slam it down on his head. The glass shatters, and he stumbles back a step, cursing and swaying. I slam my fist into his gut with all the fury in my body—which is a pretty fucking lethal amount. He falls to his knees, and this time, I smash my fist into his face. His head flies back, and blood spews in a wide arc as he topples to the ground. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m on him, pounding my fist into his face like I’m going to pulverize his skull, beat his head in until it looks like a fucking watermelon shell full of pulp.
“Whoa, come on,” Saint says, grabbing me under the arms and dragging me backwards off Walker. Heath helps, glancing around.
“We better get him in the van,” he says. “Before someone inside calls the cops.”
“Did I kill him?” I ask, breathing hard. I wipe my brow with the back of my hand, and it comes away bloody, but it’s not my blood.
“Not sure,” Saint says. “Dante is bringing the van around.”
The church van pulls up, and we pick up Walker and toss him on one of the bench seats.
“That looked unnecessarily extreme,” Dante says, arching a brow.
“Fuck you,” I say, sliding the door closed before hopping in the passenger seat. “Trust me, it was necessary.”
“What if Nate finds out we offed his cousin, and he won’t help us anymore?” Heath asks, leaning forward over the seat tocheck the motionless body of our captive as we turn out onto the road.
