Page 66 of Art of Sin

“No,” I snap. “No fucking way.”

He stops, faces me with a hard look. “He can help us. He’s ex-military. And there’s this friend of his, Liam, who found London when she—”

“No.”

I hate that I sound cruel, that he’s shaken and fearful. But all the darkness of the past, the secrets, the sins,scream at a deafening pitch inside me.

What will I do to keep Nate safe?

Easy—

Anything. Everything.

“What if I’m afraid of my own darkness?”

“Then I’ll set the world on fire to bring you light.”

Gideon…

Why did I meet him now? Is it karma? Punishment for my transgressions? If so, Mama would certainly be pleased.

“No one can know about this,” I reiterate. “Or do you want to risk spending the rest of our lives in prison?”

Nate pales further, shaking his head frantically. “What if it is him? We didn’t see… what if he got out somehow? This can’t be happening.”

Rushing to him, I wrap my arms around his slender torso. Memories of that night claw against my mind. They want to be seen and heard, to take me in their arms and dance with me inside the flames. Fill me with the hatred, the desperation, the vindication, the deep, glowing satisfaction.

And the final moment of hesitation, when he spoke through a gurgle of blood, when the lit match was in my hand…

“Kill me or not, my love, but I’ll never leave you. We belong to each other.”

“You belong in Hell.”

A bloody smile. “I’ll see you there.”

Nate’s grip on my shoulders brings me back.

“I’m scared,” he whispers.

Leaning back, I take his face in my hands. My confidence is an ill-fitting cloak held on by force of will.

“I’ll protect you.”

“But who will protect you? Please, let me talk to—”

“No,” I interrupt as gently as possible. “We have nothing to go on but a fear that should have died with him. I’ll do some digging.”

Nate bows his head, soft strands of hair tickling my cheeks. I say again, fiercely, “I’ll protect you.”

Then I pray to God my words are true.

Gideon’s voice projects to our ears from the kitchen, “Anyone hungry?”

I feel him in the words. In my body. My heart, which reels and drops. Aches with the loss of a gift so recently received and treasured.

“Dee…” Nate warns, knowing exactly what I’m thinking as I stare at the window in the bedroom.

“Don’t,” he continues. “It’s obvious he cares about you. And you’ve been happier recently than I’ve ever seen you. Engaged in your own life, smiling more, worrying less. Please—”

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