Page 38 of Scarred Sins
He grips the neckline of his thick, dark hoodie and pulls it over his head, tossing it out the ring. The light above us falls directly onto his face, and yet again, I find myself enthralled by this man. Curious, even.
His beauty is undeniable. It’s not the type to be on the magazine covers – it’s much more than that. He’s the type of handsome to have every person’s head turn wherever he goes, the type to shine as brightly as the sun.
And when he smiles? Air leaves my lungs. He’s able to get my frozen heart beating again, and I’m not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing.
I don’t even want to think about the way the compression shirt looks on him. Every single muscle, every single curve of his upper body, is outlined under the material, hugging him like a second skin. Dark ink decorates his arms, and I don’t think there’s even an inch of his flesh that isn’t tattooed.
“Firstly, this will include a lot of physical contact. Are you alright?”
Momentarily, I freeze. Then, I blink and realize what he means. I don’t hesitate, for the first time, when nodding.
“Alright,’’ I offer a small smile. “Thank you for asking.’’
“Never thank me for that, Blair.’’
I frown.
Sure, my childhood was a fucking mess, and I had no one to teach me basic manners, but I managed to pick up on a lot of things, especially during my time in prison and later when I was in Long Grove. Wasn’t it common courtesy to say thank you after someone did something nice or was being considerate of you?
His eyes pierce into mine, sucking me into their depth. For a while, all I can do is stare, allowing him to swallow me whole. Inside of that space – it’s peaceful. Calm, quiet, and with no turmoil. My heart skips a beat.
With a sigh, I shake my head. There’s no point in arguing with him, letting him get the last word in. We have a lot more pressing matters to deal with.
Arlo mentioned having his parents involved in this. Of course, it’s not something the two of us can do alone, and it won’t be done overnight, which is why I understand him needing their input and help.
Arlo De Santis is the first man to ever intrigue me.
When he told me about his family being in the whole assassin business for generations, I wanted to know the story. I never expected him to be a killer. The sweet, soft doctor who snuck in candy and chocolate for me. Given how highly he speaks of his parents, they’re probably good people.
When did my morals get so fucked up?
Arlo admitted to killing people for money, alongside his parents, and here I am, thinking of them as good people.
Did I ever have any morals to begin with? Or is my interpretation of morals to the point my view is entirely tarnished?
“Where did your mind go?”
Arlo’s words bring me back to Earth. What shakes me to my core is the proximity I find myself in. Only a couple of inches separate us, a look of worry on his face. Even his sharp eyes soften when he notices I’m back.
“Oh, sorry,’’ I mumble. “I just got curious.’’
“Stop apologizing,’’ he says. “Curious about what?”
“Your family.’’
His brows shoot up in surprise, and he takes a small step back, giving me some space. “Let’s talk about it over dinner. For now, let’s start.’’
Accidentally, I pulled both black hair ties off my wrist. I always carry two, just because somehow, I manage to lose them more than I buy them. I’d lost count of how many I’d lost; they always seem to vanish into thin air.
“Hold this for me.’’ I hand him one tie, then pull my hair up into a high ponytail.
Arlo puts the second tie around his wrist, pulls on it, and it snaps back on his pale skin, creating a small red line. He’s staring at the tie around his wrist, his cheeks dusted with a light pink shade.
“Are you blushing?”
Arlo clears his throat, the shade darkening. “Absolutely not.’’
A loud laugh bursts through my lips, and no matter how much I try to swallow it down, it’s unsuccessful. He rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath, the blush still very much visible on his cheeks.
