Page 83 of The Bane of a Sinner
“Yes, my dear,” Sinclair admitted. “They showed up wanting answers I refused to give, but they found them, anyway.”
“To what questions?” August asked, standing beside me.
“You need to tell him, my dear.”
“I’m scared.”
“Diana,” Sinclair said softly. “August is strong. Let him help you carry the burden.”
“Diana?” August turned to look at me. “What’s he talking about?”
With a deep breath, I nodded. “My name is Diana Elaine Cooper. My father is Kronos, the president of the Gods of Mayhem.”
August took both my hands and brought them up to his lips, kissing them gently, then clearly said, “I know. I’ve always known.”
My head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. “You have?”
“Yeah, baby. I have. I knew the second you told me about your tattoo. It’s very distinctive. It didn’t take me long to put it all together.”
A ripple of relief and confusion swept through me, mingling in my veins like fire and rain. I searched his face, desperate for any trace of deception, but all I found was a gentle certainty—unshaken, unwavering. The air seemed to pulse between us, charged with the weight of our shared secrets.
“You never said anything,” I whispered, my voice a tremor.
August smiled, warm and sincere. “I didn’t say anything because it didn’t matter to me. I knew you were someone special the second you walked into my life. The way you carried yourself, the shadows in your eyes, the stories you tried so hard not to tell. I recognized the storm because I’ve weathered my own. But your father is no longer the president. Your brother is.”
I swallowed, my heart thundering now. The past pressed against me, memories flickering like lightning on the horizon. August squeezed my hands, his gaze never leaving mine.
“I’m here,” he said softly. “Whatever else you need to tell me, we will face it together.”
With his promise ringing in my ears, I felt the first fragile thread of hope begin to weave itself through the tapestry of my fear.
“August,” Sinclair spoke, gaining our attention. “I need to apologize to you both. I’m not a nice man. I know that. Everything I do is for my own personal gain, and sometimes that means withholding vital information even if it means two people could be free of the chains that bind them. For that alone, I deeply regret my hand in keeping you two apart.”
August growled, taking a step closer. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Gripping August’s arm, I whispered, “I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t.” Sinclair sighed. “And that’s what makes my choices even harder to swallow. The fact is, my dear, I owned the house in Las Vegas in which you lived. After you came to visit me that day with Shame, I had Rowen look into you. Let’s just say, he is very good at what he does. When I learned the truth, I kept an eye on you, helped you when needed, and offered you protection, but I’m sorry to say I failed. And for that, I will never forgive myself.”
“You knew where my wife was and didn’t tell me!” August roared, his fury unleased as he rushed over to Sinclair, grabbing him by the hospital gown he wore. “I should fucking kill you right now!”
“August! NO!” I screeched, quickly grabbing his arm, trying to break the tight hold he had on Sinclair. “It’s not his fault. He tried to help me. You can’t be angry at him for that!”
“The fuck I can’t!” August seethed venomous fury. “I looked for twenty fucking years. TWENTY! And this son of a bitch knew where you were and said nothing!”
Sinclair didn’t flinch under August’s wrath. Instead, he met the storm head-on, his expression carved with regret and the exhaustion of too many secrets. “I deserve it. All of it. I won’t ask for forgiveness. Not from you, not from anyone. But I did what I thought would keep you both safe. Sometimes... safety looks like cruelty.”
Shoving him away, August gathered me in his arms, holding me tightly. “Don’t you fucking dare play your word games with me, you son of a bitch. You said it yourself; you did it for your own personal gain. So tell me, Sinclair. What was so goddamn important that you kept my wife away from me for twenty fucking years?”
Sinclair’s lips tightened into a thin, pained line. “There are things you don’t know—things I can barely stand to admit even now. Not just about you two, but about the people who hunted you, about debts owed and secrets bought with silence. I was trying to protect you both, yes, but there was more. There was leverage. There was always someone watching, someone waiting to exploit any weakness. If I had spoken, Diana would’ve been dead before she could even flee Las Vegas, and you... you would have suffered like no man has suffered before. George would have been relentless in his endeavors, and that’s not considering what he would have done to your parents.”
“My parents?”
Sinclair stared directly at August and said, “Your mother, Barbara.”
Stepping back as if Sinclair had slapped him, August paled. “You know?”
“Have you forgotten? I know everything.”
