Page 4 of Sloth
A pause, then,“This is the entry I found on the internet: Human cells start to die at one hundred and six degrees Fahrenheit, but a healthy person can survive up to one hundred and forty degrees providing he has access to water.”
Max got up from his desk, and Sloan leaned forward. Was this the moment?
“Are you healthy, Max?”
Max retrieved a second soda can and rolled it over his handsome face, a face she knew well. Had seen it virtually every night for almost two years, unless he had been on tour. She knew those cut cheekbones, his cheeky lips, sparkling brown eyes… except they weren’t sparkling anymore, and those lips were often pressed hard together. The man who had recently turned up in her city wasn’t the man she once knew. He was a humorless stranger with haunted eyes.
Movement caught her attention. She gaped, a mouthful of pizza fell out and dropped with a splat to the floor.
Max had taken his shirt off, leaving nothing but a sweaty, sculptured chest. Washboard abs were carved into his stomach from the fine chisel of relentless core work. Veins bulged down his arms from the heat. Another change in him. He used to have a thick, muscled physique. If she had to pick a word to describe him then, it would have been solid. Now his body took the shape of someone who lived in the gym, someone who wouldn’t sit still.
Damn these high-resolution monitors.
Suddenly, Max leaned forward, squinting at his computer screen.
“Shit.” Sloan ducked, as if he could see through her monitor which was impossible. The camera was behind him in the ceiling. It wasn’t a two way. Still, she hid beneath her desk, cheeks heating, heart pounding. Maybe she’d imagined the tension tightening his shoulders. But… she’d changed the configuration of the CCTV monitor network to include his office. His monitor also displayed the same configuration. There had been no way about it. He’d know a picture of his surroundings wasn’t supposed to be on his interface, and since he was the only one with admin access… he’d know the only person with up-to-par hacking skills was her.
“Shit.” She dared a look at the monitor again.
Max craned his neck to view the camera in the ceiling. Narrowed his eyes. Looked right through her soul.
“Shit. Shit.Shit! AIMI,” she shouted. “Change the user interface for the CCTV on user account—” but she had no time to finish her directive. While she watched helplessly, Max typed with murderous intent, and one by one, all her camera links of footage winked out until only one video stream was left—his office. His muscled arm whipped out in the direction of the camera, then his fist, then his middle finger—aimed at her. The screen winked out to black, reflecting Sloan’s surprised and beet-red face.
“No,” she whined, flopping to the floor dramatically.Backfire!So stupid. He knew she was there. He knew she watched him! He was half naked. He must think…
The front door opened and she rolled to her feet, faster than her cat. Heart thumping in her throat, she looked for something to throw, something to ditch at the head of the jackass, but all she could come up with was a slice of pineapple pizza.
Perfect.
But it wasn’t Max. It was Wyatt, holding a box of personal items in one arm. He ran a hand through the shock of black hair on his head, frowning at her attire.
“Ever heard of knocking!” Sloan stomped her sock covered foot.
“You weren’t answering my messages.”
“That’s because I’m seriously busy, bras.”
“Someone has to be serious about getting you back to fighting shape.”
Sloan looked down her body. As far as she was concerned, she was good enough. A few months ago, the call of her slothful sin had overwhelmed her. She’d spent too much time sleeping, never eating, never doing anything. When each of her siblings sensed their sin, it produced a trickle of unease. This sense became unbearable the closer they got to a deadly sinner, urging them to end the offending cause of their sick sensation. The Lazarus family preferred to help sinners redeem themselves before a crime was committed. The thing was, low level exposure to sin was also tricky. Over time, if not balanced, she could fall under the influence of her sin—either become sloth incarnate, or the opposite. Whatever that entailed.
Sloth had a strong call.
Her bed had a seductive voice.
But those days were behind her. For the past few months, she’d felt like a new woman. She worked out, sort of, she ate better and she had goals. Sure, she didn’t have a six-pack like her eldest sister Liza, but she was okay with that. For her, this was good.
“Why do I have to be buff?”
Wyatt arched an indignant eyebrow. “Because lives depend on your strength, that’s why. Do you really want to put yourself in a position like last time, simply because you decided you’ve had enough training?”
By “last time” he referred to when Sloan hid beneath a dead body and let their mother do all the hard assassin work. It sounded worse than it was. Yes, she had been unfit at the time, but she was also out of practise, and got a case of slothful feet.
“So, why are you here?” she asked.
Wyatt held out a box. “This is the last of Sara’s things I had at my place. Her old phone is in there, and some other bits and pieces I found hidden under the couch.”
“Why are you bringing them here?”
