Page 23 of In the Light of Sin

A grunt.

It could make everyone happy except Sarge, apparently.

I looked to my left, seeing a white door. “What’s that lead to?”

“The garage.”

I blinked. “What do you keep in there?”

“My car.”

“You drive a car?”

“Can’t bring groceries home on a motorcycle.”

I grinned at his straightforward answer. “Are you one of those ‘my car is my baby’ men?” He grunted, not giving me an answer, but I knew his grunts meant yes. He was just too macho to admit it.

I bit my lip at the image of Sarge riding on his motorcycle, plastic bags hanging off of his arms as he rode home. “I figured you did delivery or something.”

“Select people know where I live.”

That wasn’t surprising. A jest on the tip of my tongue that I was scared of the answer for. “Never had any female visitors?”

“Victoria.” What? My eyes widened as my heart dropped. He saw my newfound distress and eased my raging thoughts, “Not like that.”

I felt relieved he’d never been with her that way, my heart warming at the fact that I was the only woman he willingly brought to his house—

Did it still count as willingly when there was a gang of people wanting me dead? I’m just going to count it as a win. I didn’t get many of those with a man like Sarge.

“I thought I was the first one here?”

“You’re the first person I’ve allowed inside.” He corrected me.

Still I was curious. “How did she find out where you live?”

“She followed me.”

“And you were okay with that?”

“Almost shot her.” I would have laughed if I didn’t know he was serious. “Prez would’ve skinned me alive, though.”

My lips turned up at Darrell’s obvious weak spot for Victoria. “You’d be living in Hellbound instead of this cabin.”

It was the slightest flinch, but I caught him doing it. Sarge never showed an ounce of instability in the months we’ve been forced together. “Sarge?”

“It’s nothin’,” he cut me off, grabbing two white ceramic mugs from a cabinet above the stove. He had a bandage around his right arm where the bullet skimmed his arm on display. I bit my lip, feeling slightly bad for pressing my finger to it rather than bandaging it up for him.

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’m sorry.” His neck twisted to face me. “For, uh, putting my finger in your bullet wound.”

“Nothin’ you do could hurt me, Joslyn.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So when you shouted‘fuck’last night, it was just a friendly gesture?”

Silence.

I couldn’t help myself, I laughed. This man was so stubborn he couldn’t even admit it when he was in pain. I felt his eyes–eyes I’ve still yet to actually see–bore into me intensely. The gaze was like a wildfire spreading on my skin as I felt the warmth come to the surface. My chuckle died down as my cheeks heated for a whole new reason. I quickly brushed my knuckle under my eye to get rid of the tear trying to escape.

A calm passed between us. He may have liked the quiet, but I didn’t. “How’d you get the bandage on? It’s gotta be difficult from that angle.”

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