Page 69 of Sinners & Saints (Sinners & Saints)

“No.” His fingers burrow into my hair, trapping me in an awkward position. Half kneeling on the floor, half pinned flat to his chest. “You look like the kind of girl who likes stories about fairy tale princesses and shit. Let me put it this way—Silas, that black-haired bastard, fancies himself a king. He’ll do anything for that crown.Heis the villain of this story. Don’t forget that for a fucking second.”

“How?” I counter, my throat thickening. His voice is a dangerous weapon when it’s raspy like that. Gravelly and throaty enough to resonate in my skin like thunder. It’s enough to counteract the joking nature of his words, betraying the seriousness lurking underneath. “I want to know.”

“How? By putting his nephew in danger,” Daze growls. “By lying to my sister’s face day in and out. By getting involved in shady fucking shit. The truth is, winning that fight is the start of my comeback andhisdownfall. I want to change, Frey, I do. But—I can’t just fucking sit back and watch everything turn to shit under his command. I can’t do that. I won’t do that. There are much bigger things at stake now.”

“Like what?” I question.

“That wig was so not your color, baby.” He says, tugging on a piece of my natural hair. “You’re a blondie, through and through.”

“Answer the question.” I form a fist and lightly punch his chest. “It has to be bad if you were going to jump off a bridge because of it.”

“Jump…” His tongue flits along his lower lip as if he’s tasting the word, marveling at how it sounds when said out loud. His eyes lower to mine, but they’re darker than they should be. Sterner—as if for the first time, he’s dropping the playful act. “I know you have the tortured rich girl thing going on, but do you have any idea who you are?” He swipes the swollen pad of his thumb across my upturned cheek and frowns. “Daughter of the holy politician. The man who makes it his fucking mission to ‘eradicate evil from the city.’” He parrots Father’s musical baritone. “Do you have any idea of what some people might do to gain control over a man like that?” He observes me and shakes his head. “No, I don’t think you do.”

He lets me go and shifts, forcing me to back away. Partially crouched on the floor, I watch him stand, surprisingly steady on his feet despite how he clutches his head with one hand.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says, starting for the bathroom. His face is so swollen his lecherous smirk barely registers as he adds, “Care to join me?”

He expects me to say no, of course. I probably should, like good ol’ Frey.

But he owes me. Not money per se, but something intangible that I can’t describe. Something to erase the pain and the emptiness that threatens to sink in as he starts to close the door behind him. He owes it to me not to leave me alone.

A grunt escapes him as I brace my hand against the door before he can close it fully. The room is so small he has to press himself against the wall to allow me enough space to slip inside.

Aware of him watching, I strip my clothes before pulling back the flimsy curtain blocking the shower stall. He already has the water running, and I sigh as I climb in. “You coming?” I ask with my eyes closed as the water pelts me from above. It feels fucking amazing, and a part of me hopes he’ll be the one to back down and run away.

Instead, he whistles low, and his footsteps resonate through the tile floor, lumbering in my direction.

“I should have known better,” he mutters amid the hiss of swishing fabric. His shirt? A heavier thud makes me swallow hard. That didn’t sound like cotton. Denim, maybe. I’m too chicken to open my eyes, rendering me blind as to how naked he is as his heat radiates against my back, driving me closer to the spigot. Warmer fingers part my hair, boldly stroking the strands all the way to my shoulders. “This girl was going to jump,” he says thickly near my ear. “What’s a little shower with a stranger to slow her down?”

“You could leave,” I counter while tilting my head back to wet my hair.

“I could…”

A gasp rips from my throat as I feel him. He isn’t wearing his jeans, but some sort of material brushes my hips rather than bare skin. His boxers? Not that it really matters. He towers above me from behind, and the sensation startles me into opening my eyes.

Of all the reckless things I’ve done…

This moment shouldn’t feel so grounding. I shouldn’t lean back, sensing firm muscle brace my weight with little effort. He feels good—I can’t deny it. He feels real.

“But I don’t plan on it, Frey,” he reveals. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

A strangled sound catches in my throat, and I sense Daze stiffen.

The next second he spins me around as if knowing… My face meets his chest, and I break. As my choked noises echo within the stall, I can’t tell if I’m laughing or crying.

Maybe both.

He holds me anyway, wrapping me in massive arms that block the water from reaching me. “It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he mutters against my scalp, and I can feel the vibrations of his voice ripple down to my toes. “I’ve got you.”

NINETEEN

We toweloff what feels like an eternity later. As we leave the bathroom and enter his bedroom, he tosses me a pair of boxers and an oversized shirt while dressing himself in gray sweats. Then he climbs onto his bed as gingerly as an old man.

For whatever reason, I follow suit.

His hand brushes mine as I roll onto my side. His fingers curl, far too insistent to be by accident. Focusing on breathing, I shut my eyes, giving in to the exhaustion that takes over.

Then he lightly strokes my palm with his thumb. My pulse accelerates from his gentle gesture. My breathing hitches. All the erratic thoughts in my head seem to vanish.

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