Page 44 of Sins of the Hidden

I moved without thinking, drawing slow circles over his chest. The hard muscle beneath the soft cotton sent butterflies through my stomach. "You're not a monster." The silence that followed felt different. He allowed my touch, which said more than words could. Each circle against him built a dangerous hope in my chest.

Hope was something I couldn't afford, yet here I was, collecting it anyway.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" The question came out soft, uncertain. It was the most vulnerable I'd ever heard him, this man who wore death like armor.

I lifted my head, meeting his intense gaze. "You're going to sleep?" His fingers briefly tightened around my waist, silently promising what he couldn't say aloud. That he would make himself vulnerable—even for a moment—was nothing short of miraculous.

"I feel lighter when I'm with you." His confession came with a slow blink, those thick black lashes brushing his cheeks. "I don't understand what it means." There was genuine confusion in his voice as if these feelings were foreign to him. As if he'd spent so long in darkness that light hurt.

A small smile tugged at my lips as understanding dawned. "Safe," I whispered, laying my head back on his chest. The flutter against my cheek steadied me. "You're safe with me, V."

He blinked once as if trying to process a word he'd never been given before. The irony wasn't lost on me—the most dangerous man I'd ever known, seeking safety in my arms.

"Safe." The word rolled off his tongue like he was testing it. His confusion was heartbreaking. His arm lifted, and for a moment, I felt a pang of loss. But then he reached for my hair, threading through the loose strands with unexpected gentleness. The sensation below my ear made the butterflies in my stomach intensify. "I like how it feels. With you."

Me too.

The words caught in my throat, too raw to say out loud. His steady caress through my hair continued, embedding itself deeper until I feared addiction to this feeling—to him. Everything was changing between us. The dread that once lived in my marrow was fading, replaced by something far more dangerous: desire. A completely foreign sensation that both thrilled and terrified me.

It was frightening. But wasn't everything worth having scary at first? These feelings swallowed me whole—new, wild, unfamiliar. Not fear of harm—fear of the unknown. I'd never imagined myself here, being held. Touched with care. To experience it with V seemed impossible. He was darkness personified, commanding attention wherever he went, striking terror with merely a glance. He looked forged, not born—like violence took on skin.

And me? That question felt too complicated to answer now. What was I but a broken girl playing at normalcy? A collection of anxieties and hormonal issues wrapped in skin too pale and a body too big.

I sank into this moment, this impossible peace we'd found together. My eyes drifted closed, head against his chest where his pulse played a lullaby. As sleep claimed me, I wondered if this was how it felt to fall–not in fear, but in trust. Not off a cliff, but into arms strong enough to catch me.

If this was what safety felt like, I didn't know what I'd do when it disappeared.

Sunlight filtered through my curtains, painting warm stripes across my bed. I blinked awake slowly, immediately aware of two things: V's absence and the lingering weight of his cut still draped over me. His scent clung to the leather, smoke and danger wrapped in something distinctly him. I caressed the worn edges as I searched the empty room, knowing he wouldn't be there but looking anyway—a ritual, like checking for ghosts. A habit that felt dangerously like longing.

A flash of yellow caught my attention, drawing my gaze to the mirror across the room—the same mirror V had shattered with his fist weeks ago, cracks spiraling outward like a spiderweb of rage. My heart jumped as I threw off his cut and scrambled from the bed. A Post-it clung to one of the last unbroken shards—bright against the wreckage of me. I shivered as I peeled it off, this tangible proof that last night wasn't just another dream.

Asfalís.

One word in jagged script—harsh slashes and uneven letters that betrayed how little he'd been taught. My phone felt heavy in my hand as I opened the translation app, pulse quickening with anticipation.

The gasp that escaped me echoed in the quiet room.

Safe.

It meant safe.

The heavy oak doors exploded inward. Stale beer and cigarette smoke hit me like a wall, thick in my lungs. Tyrant and Knight's laughter died at my entrance, their bodies stiffening as my steel-toed boots carried me across worn floorboards. Each step echoed the chaos ripping through my skull.

"Somebody stab me." I gritted the words out as I claimed a stool, laying my bat across the scarred bar top. Under yellowed lights, each dent gleamed like battle scars—a testament to violence that flowed through me like blood.

"Good morning to you, too." Tyrant's voice dripped sarcasm as he nursed his beer. "Lovely day to get shanked, is it?"

Their tattoos caught my attention—dark ink crawling across skin like parasites. My jaw locked, muscles coiling tight.

Needles.

The room twisted. A memory bled in. That laugh oozed from the dark—thick, monstrous, clinging. The present dissolved under its weight. My hands went numb; my beloved bat miles away. Phantom pressure forcing my jaw wider, thick fingerstasting of metal and ash. Weight crushing down, concrete burning against my back, movement impossible. The zipper's metallic song, laughter bouncing off basement walls, bruises blooming like poison flowers. Then, screaming, my body jerked violently, the bat's familiar outline swimming back into focus.

My eyes swept the room, cataloging exits, threats, anchoring myself in the present. They were dead. I made damn sure of it.

"What are you doing here?" Tyrant's words came slowly.

"Don't you have a girl to stalk?" Knight's taunt cut through the fog, casual and unafraid, reality snapping back at the implied mention of her.

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