Page 30 of The Sinner and the Scholar
It’s because he’s unexpected. I’m used to men working against us and not living with us—occupying our safe space and being kind and shit. He’s swiftly taking over my thoughts; I can’t have that, and it’s distracting.
He gave me a gift. Right?
I mean, it wasn’t a joke.
My hand closes around the charm. It’s pretty—small stones of different colors are wrapped in wire and linked on a cord. Such a weird gift. The kind you give your teenage crush on Valentine’s Day. The kind the Viscount gave his new Governess in the last Harlequin novel I read… right before he kissed her and set her world on fire.
What would Wesley’s lips feel like against mine? What would his hands do if given free access to my body? What would have happened if things had gone a different way? The questions are there, and they won’t leave.
And they won’t stop heating my blood.
At least Prue isn’t here, so I have privacy to gather my thoughts… and vagina. Ultimately, I cave and take my vibrating bullet from my bedside drawer, use it, orgasm immediately because I’m so wound up, and then swear like a sailor. Unsatisfied and still on edge, I toss the vibrating traitor into my drawer and close it.
Get a grip, Thea.
Think about the marks he helped you identify, not him.
Don’t overthink it.
But that’s exactly what I’m doing, and the bastard probably knows.
Don’t overthink it.
Prue said that to me the first time I killed a person. She took me deep into the slums of a nameless city, taught me how to use my innocence to bait a known sex offender, then helped me follow through with the kill when I balked.
I close my eyes and feel her steady hand wrap around my trembling one as it gripped the dagger. The blade was already against his throat. He was unconscious—that part was easy. He tried to assault me. But now he was just a sad man lying on the cold concrete and smelling like piss. Big nose. Short. Stained shirt open at the collar to reveal a hairy chest.
And a vein that pulsed in his neck.
“Don’t overthink it,” Prue said as she gripped my hand. “That will get you killed.”
We sliced.
“Harder,” she said. “Through the tendons.”
The man’s eyes opened and saw the two of us. He didn’t realize the blade was already in his throat. I increased the pressure. Felt something hot and wet slide over my cold fist. Panicked, I closed my eyes.
Prue touched my back and quietly said, “Open your eyes. Witness his death. Give his life meaning.”
“But…”
“Make sure Elvis has left the building, Thea.”
I forced my eyes open, forced them to watch his life ebbing, and came face to face with my sin. He was the old janitor from my foster care home who groomed me. I got away before the damage was done, but he continued to offend. I had enough time to stumble to a steaming drain before my lunch was violently ejected.
Prudence was behind me instantly, holding back my hair and prying the murder weapon from my shaking fingers before I cut myself.
“Shh. You’re okay,” she murmured. “You’re safe.”
But I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stop my diaphragm from convulsing. Maybe I’d just saved more children. Maybe I didn’t. How would I ever know?
“We won’t let anything happen to you again.” Prue smooths my hair. “You’re one of us now. We protect our own.”
“But…”
“Don’t overthink it, Thea.”
Coming back to myself, I scowl at the memory. Thinking is what I do. It’s what I’ve always done. I pull out Mary’s manuscript and open it to a new page. Everything happening is connected. I feel it in my bones. From the likeness of Lilith reminding me of Mercy, to the disappearing mark on my shoulder, to theStoney Onebeing similar to theonestone freed,to five of us needed to reunite the gospel. A woman wrote it, and we are an organization run by women—one wise woman, like in the prophecy.
