Page 43 of Sins of the Hidden

Our unspoken routine had become my new normal—sometimes joining me for dinner, other nights silently reading while I cleaned. But he was always here by now. I'd only recently discovered his nightly returns after I'd said goodnight, slipping in while I slept. Did he even sleep? Or did he just watch me all night?

The click of my front door lock sent a shiver down my spine—fear and anticipation twisted together in my gut. Boots echoed through the apartment, each step slow, deliberate. The scrape of something dragging across my carpeted floors made my breath catch.

Then silence.

I waited, counting my heartbeats until V's massive frame filled my doorway, wooden bat dragging behind him. He didn't move, didn't speak—just stood there watching me. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. His unwavering stare stripped me bare, assessing me. When he finally leaned against the frame, arms crossing over his broad chest, I realized I'd been holding my breath.

"You're awake." His voice was rough, deep.

"Y-Yeah." The blanket bunched in my grip as I shifted. "I was waiting for you." Heat rushed to my face at my admission, the vulnerability of it making me want to hide.

V remained still, only his chest moving in a steady rhythm. He studied me from the doorway, unblinking, tracking every nervous movement. The silence stretched between us until it felt heavy. Even in the dim light, I could feel the gravity of him—a predator deciding whether to pounce or retreat. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I twisted the blanket in my grip, needing something to hold onto.

"Would you, um—" The fabric strained in my grip. Under his scrutiny, the words felt foolish, dangerous even. But I couldn't stop them. "W-Would you like to lay beside me?" The words rushed out.Good plan, Oakley.My bed suddenly seemed impossibly small compared to how he towered in my doorway. Would he even fit?

The floor groaned beneath his deliberate steps, shadows rising like a tide to swallow me whole. Before I could brace myself, V's massive frame crashed onto the bed beside me, themattress jolting violently, sending me tumbling onto his chest with a startled gasp. My palms splayed across the rigid muscles beneath his shirt, our gazes colliding as his pulse thundered beneath my fingertips—wild, frantic, matching my own beat-for-beat. The impossible rhythm stunned me; I never imagined anything could set his heart racing like this.

"S-sorry," I stammered, my hands trembling against the firmness of his chest as I tried to push away. Before I could escape, his arms encircled me, one large hand splayed across my lower back, drawing me closer until I felt the thunder of his heartbeat against mine.

"Stay." The word brushed against my scalp, his voice a graveled whisper that sent shivers cascading down my spine, his breath warm against my hair.

My chest thudded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Tingles shot through my body, that feeling like missing a step on the stairs. This was new territory—I'd seen this in movies, couples curled together, making it look so natural. But my muscles refused to relax, unsure where to settle against his frame. His closeness did things to me lately that I couldn't explain. Things that made me wonder if I was broken, or just broken in a way I hadn't recognized before.

He reached for his discarded cut, draping it over me like a shield. His scent surrounded me—smoke and something darker, like ash and gasoline and danger. It should have frightened me, but instead, it felt like protection. Like safety.

I shivered, no matter how hard I tried not to. His exhales stirred my hair, sending currents down my spine that had nothing to do with fear. His arm tightened around me as if trying to still my body's betrayal.

"Are you hurt?" His smoky voice cut through the dark, concern roughening the edges.

"No," I whispered, trying to still my trembling body. His heartbeat pounded against my palms, strong and surprisingly fast.

The silence stretched between us, his attention locked on mine. I worked moisture into my throat, gathering courage I didn't know I had.

"What do you feel right now?" I finally asked, my voice barely audible. The question surprised even me—I'd never dared ask him something so personal before. But with his heart racing beneath my hands, I needed to know if he was experiencing the same storm of emotions crashing through me.

"You, shaking." His grip tightened, possessively spanning across my ribs. "Are you afraid?"

How could I explain that fear wasn't what I felt? This was confusion, nervousness, the overwhelming awareness of how inexperienced I was at twenty. This was standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall could destroy me, but feeling the urge to jump anyway. But afraid? No. Not of him.

Not anymore.

"No," My voice wavered. "I-I've just never done this before."

It was silent until, "What part of a man have you touched?"

The question froze me, bringing the tremors back. His tone was deceptively calm, but I could feel the tension building in his body. "Why?"

His grip became vice-like. "So I know which part to cut off."

He said it casually, eyes on the ceiling like he was discussing breakfast—not mutilation. But the edge in his voice was unmistakable—deadly serious.

"I haven't touched anyone," I said, fear momentarily gripping my throat as unwanted memories threatened to surface. Panic squeezed my chest. In through my nose, out through my mouth—just like my therapist taught me after that night in the woods. "I don't want you to hurt anyone."

"Hurting people is all I know." The confession carried no pride, just acceptance of what he'd become.

"What made you like killing so much?" The words felt strange, discussing death with someone who once embodied my deepest fears. But that fear had changed into something else. These quiet moments had shown glimpses of the man beneath.

"It's what kept me safe." His voice dropped lower, revealing a vulnerability I'd never heard before. "Monsters aren't born, Oakley." His arm tightened around me, protective rather than threatening. Against his taut chest, I felt his heartbeat quicken. "They're created."

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