Page 7 of Capturing Sin

“Aren’t we all?” a hissing voice sneered behind me, but I ignored the poor demon currently strapped down to the operating table, slowly bleeding out.

The sharp stench of bleach covered most of the metallic blood, but I’d grown so used to both that neither fazed me as much as I wished it would. Touching the red stuff was a different matter altogether.

“Good.” Her nose lifted with her own self-importance. “You’re meant to be learning from my work and making yourself useful to our team.”

I already knew this, but Cara loved to remind me I was beneath her. She was one of those people that had to tread on others to feel tall.

I nodded, fixing my fake smile in place. “Yep, Cara, I’m super excited to help.”

Her thin brows creased.

I was laying it on too thick, but the quiet whimpers of the wounded demon behind me were burrowing through the thick walls I’d erected around my emotions.

How could anyone stand this? Even three weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been able to stomach this kind of cruelty. I’d stayed out of the research side of things, putting all my focus into making the streets of Riverside safe for humans, while trying to find a way to retire from the violence as much as my uncle would allow.

I’d always thought the research was a necessary evil, but I hoped like hell I would have been deeply unsettled if I’d known what it truly involved.

“Yes, well, let’s go over how to administer the test compound again. This can be the trickiest part, I’ve found.” She waved a hand towards the demon strapped to the table, as if their struggling for escape were such an inconvenience to her.

“No, please! Not again!” he wailed, thrashing on the metal.

I swallowed hard, bracing for another day of pretending everything was okay while dreaming of escape. If I was lucky, the screams in my head would drown everything else out.

Chapter 3

Locking down every emotion deep into the pit inside me, I twisted the lever and eased into the office.

The gentle tapping of fingertips on a keyboard reached out. My uncle continued to stare at his laptop screen, ignoring my entrance.

Somehow, it was cooler inside the office than in the climate-controlled lab where I’d watched Cara poke at demons all afternoon. When Martin had slithered in and snidely informed me I could no longer leave early because my uncle wanted a word, I’d panicked. Clearly, my boss had tattled about my lack of results.

I closed the door silently behind me and lingered in front of the solid wood.

Rich mahogany dominated the room, almost as much as the man who owned it.

A plastic chair sat opposite a grand desk of expensive wood, swallowing the middle of the space.

Weapons lined the back wall—half display, half armoury—accented by wooden panelling. It held his favourite guns, from simple pistols to customised Italian double-under shotguns and high-powered assault rifles.

Last week, one of the demons had got loose, and I’d seen my uncle grab a shotgun off the wall and blow their head off.

The bloodstains had been a bitch to clean off the walls, especially while trying my best not to add vomit to the mix of fluids and brain matter. I had a fairly hardened stomach after all the gore I’d seen, and caused, over the years, but I’d come out of that warehouse three weeks ago a different person. Now the sticky feeling of blood drying on my hands was unbearable.

The typing continued, and I turned my attention to the man who ruled my life.

He was in his late forties, the only evidence of ageing the salt-and-pepper shades of his buzz cut and the fine lines between his brows. Probably from all the scowling. He was still in peak physical condition despite the countless injuries he’d picked up over the three decades he’d served as a hunter.

There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, just stringy muscle and bitterness.

My uncle reminded me of gristle. Unpalatable and tough. He’d always had the look of someone who’d been chewed up by life and spat back out.

I used to wonder whether he’d always been this way, or whether the death of my aunt had played a role. Now I didn’t care. I just wanted to spit him out too.

He closed his laptop and leaned back in his creaking leather chair, steepling his fingers in the ultimate power move of zero fucks to give.

Making me wait was a psychological tactic he employed often.

I bit down on my tongue, forcing myself to wait him out.

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