Page 56 of Sinners Atone
I glance down at the dark stain on my pink hi-vis and let out a slow, shaky breath. Electricity sparks from somewhere deep within me. It’s a familiar feeling, one I’ve worked so hard to never ignite again.
He punched that man for me.
Me.
“What would you have done?” he repeats.
His question tugs me out of the murky depths of my thoughts and back into the phonebooth. The thump of my heartbeat fills the silence while I consider my answer carefully. This man is scary, and I don’t want to get it wrong.
Truth is, I don’t know what I would have done. Sure, I’ve had a few near misses in my time volunteering in Cove, but it’s never been more than a roaming hand, a drunk trying his luck. Nothing that a swift slap and a blow of my whistle haven’t deterred.
I drop my head against the back wall and let out a tense breath. “I don’t know. Someone would have seen me in here.”
A gruff growl ruffles my bangs. His bicep bulges as he lifts his arm above his head and wraps a large hand around the light bulb.
He twists it loose, plunging us into darkness.
I blink, trying to adjust my vision, but when I realize I can see nothing but black, a dull weight forms at the base of my spine, then a prickle of panic fissures out from it. Seconds scratch by and morph into minutes. Frozen, I stare into the void and strain my ears, trying to catch any sound of movement seeping out of it.
Only the tremble of my heartbeat and the ghost of Gabriel’s cryptic words fill the space.
“If it happens in the dark, it didn’t happen.”
And suddenly, I realize why I haven’t been able to stop those words from playing on a constant loop in my head. Darkness has never scared me, but the freedom it brings is terrifying. In the dark, I could be anyone.
Even my real self.
And if whatever I did didn’t happen...
Christ.
The metal wall of the booth is ice cold against my back, but Gabriel’s slow-burning heat is closing in. If I inched forward, his body would be flush with mine, and the mere thought of it sends a dizzying high through me.
I can’t even make out his silhouette, let alone his expression. Which means he can’t see mine either. I could stick my tongue out and him not even know it. I’d taste the tension in the tiny gap between us and taste his leather and tobacco scent too.
I could doanything.
“Now what?” he murmurs, almost softly.
My heart is pounding. The lack of oxygen is turning me insane. “I’d fight,” I whisper back.
“Then fight me,” he says, his breath crackling on my earlobe.
“What?”
“I’ve cornered you in here, there’s no light. Nobody can see you. Nobody is coming to rescue you. Fight. Me.”
My nerve endings spark. “I-I can’t.”
“Why?”
Because I can’t breathe. Can’t feel my face, or my hands, or my feet. Because I have pulses pounding in places they shouldn’t, and they’re beating to a different rhythm than my brain.
I manage to choke out a more sensible version of the truth. “I don’t know how.”
He moves closer, and I push my palm into his stomach. I don’t know why I do it. Maybe to stop him from getting any closer, or maybe, I’m flirting with the freedom darkness brings. I’ve never touched a man in this way, let alone one built likethis.Wouldn’t dare to do such a thing in the light, either. He feels as hard as I expected, and I swear, he hardens even more under my touch.
A beat passes, then another. I swallow hard, and I can’t be thinking straight, otherwise, I wouldn’t curl my hand into a fist so slowly. I wouldn’t graze my fingers down his torso, tracking every ridge and dip. I wouldn’t ball the fabric of his shirt into my palm.
