Page 71 of The Sin Binders Ascent

He gasps, all faux horror. “Poor defenseless produce.”

“Unlike you.”

“Mmm. You’d slice me slow, wouldn’t you?” He grins, eyes glittering with mischief. “Start at the heart and work your way out.”

“You assume you have one.”

The chain between us glints in the overhead light, golden and infuriating. Every time I reach for the olive oil, it jerks me half an inch toward him. Every time he shifts, I feel the drag in my bones. I’ve never hated metal so much in my life.

“I’m an excellent sous-chef,” he offers, sliding off the counter and promptly knocking over the bowl of pine nuts with his hip. They scatter like cursed confetti across the floor.

I inhale sharply.

He winces.

And for one glorious second, he looks genuinely apologetic. Then,

“I did that on purpose.”

“You didnot.”

“Maybe subconsciously,” he shrugs, crouching to gather them up. “I crave your attention. Even your wrath is delicious.”

I drop a wet dishrag on his head.

He grins harder.

Dinner smells amazing. The rich, savory sweetness of slow-cooked onion, the umami bite of parmesan rind simmering intothe sauce, the peppery herbs crushed under my fingertips. It’s good.Toogood. The kind of meal that forgives sins.

The other guys haven’t shown up in an hour, which makes me suspicious. They’re always lurking. Always watching. Always around when I’m eventhinkingabout breathing near Theo. But now? Nothing. Just me, him, and the lingering scent of rosemary and ruined patience.

“I’m going to murder you,” I mutter, flinging pasta into boiling water.

He hums, low and shameless. “Promise?”

I throw a wooden spoon at his head.

He catches it.

And winks.

Gods save me. I don’t know what the hell I’m making anymore, rigatoni or regret, but if someone doesn’t come interrupt this soon, I’m going to bury his body in marinara and serve it for dessert.

“If you’re going to loiter like some morally questionable gargoyle,” I snap, waving a sauce-coated spoon in his direction, “you might as well be useful.”

Theo cocks his head, all lazy sin wrapped in smugness, like I just offered him a throne in my little culinary kingdom. “You’re inviting me to assist? Be still, my unbeating heart.”

“I’m inviting you tochop mushrooms,” I growl, shoving a cutting board and a paring knife into his hands. “Not seduce the damn kitchen.”

He peers down at the mushrooms like they insulted his lineage. “This is abuse. Do you know what these hands are used to doing?”

“Ruining lives, mostly.”

“Touché.”

Still, he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, because of course he does it slowly, with flair, like this is a burlesque show and notme trying to finish dinner without stabbing him, and drags the cutting board in front of him. His first slice is… fine. The second is slightly angled. The third is a mangled disaster.

I sigh, grab his wrist, not that one, theotherone, which is unfortunately cuffed to mine, and guide his hand. “Tuck your fingers in, or you’re going to lose one. And while that might be karmically satisfying, I don’t want to deal with the screaming.”

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