Page 61 of Sinners Atone
No. Can’t. Shouldn’t.
“Why?”
Fuck’s sake. I turn around and adjust the settings on the drill press so Rory doesn’t notice the self-loathing tightening my jaw.
“I’m not sure—she won’t tell us. She just walks everywhere instead.”
“I’m aware,” I grit out. “She’s asking to get kidnapped.”
“Gabe. It’sWren.”
There she goes, saying her fucking name again. And in the same breath as mine. She says it as though her name alone is an explanation. A perfect reason as to why she can walk the streets alone with no consequences.
Behind me, something metal and heavy lands on the floor with a dull thud.
“The girl’s a liability,” I grit out, curling my hand around an old rag.
“She’s not. She’s, like, the nicest person on the planet. It’s like an unspoken rule around here, everyone leaves Wren alone.”
“Apart from the man who followed her into the phone booth.”
Rory pauses for a beat too long. I turn around in time to see the surprise flicker over her face.
Interesting. The little angel failed to mention that part when she snitched.
“Oh,” Rory mutters, letting the hammer clatter to the floor. “She didn’t tell me that bit. Well, who was it?”
Some loser who’d gone to Cove on a business trip. Clean record. That’s about all I know, because hitting him too hard too soon was the second mistake I made last night. His head bounced off the sidewalk like a tennis ball, and he was a goner before I could drag him into the cave, string him up, and have some fun with him.
Feeding off her distraction, I palm the workbench and stare down at her evenly. “We’re in the middle of a fucking war, Rory. Your little friend’s a liability. If Dante or anyone else we’ve pissed off wanted to get to you, they’d do so by way of her.”
She chews her lip. “Fair point. Fine, I’ll tell her to be more careful.”
“No, you’ll tell her to stop walking home late at night. You’ll tell her to stop volunteering in Cove.” I dig my fingers into the wood top. “You’ll tell her to stop posting her fucking location on Instagram.”
Rory’s eyes find mine, her brows knitting. “You’re stalking her Instagram? How? You can barely use a phone.”
Ignoring the heat brewing under my collar at the wordstalking, I double down. “I stalk all of your Instagram accounts. I vet everyone in our outer circle, and she’s a weak link.” Then, before I can stop myself, I add, “Tell me everything you know about her.”
The demand leaves my mouth with the taste of regret, but the longer it stews in the air, the easier it is to justify.
I’m the fucking consigliere.I was put on this bastard earth for one reason—to keep my family safe. Finding out more about her isn’t something I can avoid, it’s a job requirement.
“Um.” Rory scratches her nose in thought. “She moved here from Seattle in sixth grade. Lives on Strawberry farm with her Uncle Finn, who used to be a lawyer. She’s going to be a lawyer too—eventually.” She glances up at me. “She’s deferred college twice, but she can’t defer again, so she has to go next September.”
Nothing she didn’t tell me herself on the night of the explosion, except the putting off college part.
I pick up a buffer and get to work polishing my latest contraption. “And her parents?”
“She never knew her father, but her mom is dead.”
My shoulders tighten. “How?”
“That’s all she’d ever say, and I’ve never pushed.” She purses her lips. “I’m not as nosy as you.”
I ignore her not-so-subtle dig, because now my brain is ticking over. Dead mom. I can work with that. “What’s her mom’s name?”
Rory shakes her head.
