Page 115 of Beautiful Sinners

When Aleksander doesn’t say anything, I cross the living room and take a seat on the coffee table in front of him. I shouldn’t feel an iota of sympathy for this man. He may not have had control over the things that happened when he was younger, but he’s an adult now. Everything he’s done, he did so by choice. Yet, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. In a way, Aleksander and I are very similar.

“Let me take a look.”

Bright crimson blots the white terrycloth he’s holding to his neck.

“I’m good. Just a scratch.”

Just a scratch my ass. I shove his hand out of the way. The blood hasn’t clotted yet and slowly weeps from the wound.

“Where’s your first aid kit?”

“I’ll get it,” he says and tries to stand, but I none-too-gently push him back down.

“I’ll do it. Just point me the way.”

He motions with a tilt of his blond head in the direction of the kitchen. “There’s one in the cabinet underneath the sink.”

On my way to the kitchen, I study the layout of the place. Nice, modern décor. Clean. There are maybe two bedrooms down the hallway that leads from the living room. The kitchen is small and utilitarian. Hendrix would hate it.

I miss them.

For fuck’s sake, stop thinking about them.

Opening the bottom cabinet at the sink, I immediately spot the first aid kit… along with a small revolver duct-taped to the inside of the cabinet door. My fingers itch with temptation when I lightly touch the hilt.

It would be so easy.

Ignoring it, I hastily grab the small plastic box and go back to the living room.

“I hope you’re up to date with your tetanus booster.”

“I am.”

His eyes briefly fall to my right hand when I kneel in front of him and something akin to relief flashes over his face. He knew damn well the gun was there when he told me where the first aid kit was. He’d been testing me.

“If I was going to kill you, I’d have done it in the alley. No cameras. I don’t play games, Aleksander, so don’t play them with me.”

The side of his mouth curves in a bemused half smile. “Noted.”

I roughly jerk his chin up so I can clean and dress the wound. “Speaking of games, you’re an asshole for leaving those photographs in my journal for me to find.”

Ripping open an alcohol wipe, I clean away the crusted blood and inspect where I sliced into his neck with my knife.

His vocal cords vibrate under my fingers when he replies, “You would have never believed me without proof.”

I don’t disagree because he’s right.

After dabbing antibiotic ointment over the area, I use two butterfly strips to keep the cut closed so it heals properly, then choose a large, waterproof adhesive pad instead of gauze and gently smooth out the edges to make sure it stays secure.

“You’ll live,” I tell him when I’m done.

He covers my hand with his, and softly says, “Thank you, Aoife.”

Aoife was the girl I used to be. The woman I am now is someone entirely different. In order for me to begin taking back my life, I have to make a choice. Be the naïve girl whose life wasn’t her own or become a strong woman who will never let anyone control her again.

“It’s Syn,” I reply intentionally. I pack everything back into the first aid kit and move over to sit on the couch across from him. “And you can thank me by telling me where to find the man with constellation tattoos.”

I refuse to say his name out loud. The next time I utter it will be the last thing he hears before I kill him.

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