Page 66 of Sinners Atone
Who’sbehind it.
Gabriel’s outline is unmistakable. His broad shoulders spill out beyond the perimeters of the glass panel, and his glare burns through the double glazing like a blow torch.
My head swims and my knees buckle. If my arms weren’t stitched to my sides, I’d reach up and smack myself on the head, because Christ,what was I thinking opening my big mouth?
It seemed like a good idea in the cold light of day. I’d woken up stewing after the events of the night before, fueled by anger and the burning need forjustice, and stomped out of my house and over to Rory’s.
I’d knocked on her front door with the intent to tell her everything. From the night three years ago, to the breaking and entering after her bachelorette, but the tongue he threatened to cut out wouldn’t work. I found myself skipping over the creepy phone booth guy too, mainly so she wouldn’t get distracted, or worse, take Gabriel’s side. Instead, I focused on the issue athand. Between sobs, I regaled how he picked me up and plonked me in his trunk. How he stood there, silently, as I kicked and screamed and begged to be let out. How he didn’t even hang around once he freed me; he just disappeared into the woods and had his stone-faced colleague frog-march me home in the beam of his headlights.
But more fool me.
Because the Boogeyman has come back to bite me on the ass.
The air throbs with my terror as we stare at each other through the glass for three restless heartbeats.
He rattles the door handle.
Smirks when he realizes it’s locked.
My relief is fleeting and doesn’t stick, because without breaking eye contact, he slowly lifts an inked hand into view and slides on a leather glove.
Then he curls it into a fist and draws back his arm.
“Wait!” I yell, bolting forward and unlocking the door before he can smash through the window.
The moment the icy wind slithers through the gap, I regret my haste. It must be all over my face too because Gabriel wedges his boot between the door and the frame, stopping me from slamming it shut again.
Well, then. There’s nothing left to do but accept defeat. I drag my gaze up to meet his and side-eye him with trepidation. “What do you want?” I sniff.
Jeez. It’s so easy to forget how large he is when I’m not shriveling in his shadow. He’s broader and blacker than the night sky behind him, and though he’s part monster, I realize he does an excellent job masquerading as allman,and in its rawest, most primal form. It’s in his stillness, his strength, his stance. I know his blood runs as hot as his temper, because even with two feet of space between us, I can feel his warmth.
Tonight, he’s carved from stone and clad in leather biking gear. When he lazily reaches up to rest his forearm on the top of the doorframe, leather chafes leather, and annoyingly, something primal stirs within me too.
He looks down at me with a steady gaze. “You ever heard the expression, ‘Snitches get stitches’?”
A tremor runs through my bottom lip. “If you don’t leave, I’m calling the police.”
Amusement flickers over his features, as though I’m a petulant toddler who’s announced they’re running away from home.
“Hit me.”
I stare at him, confused at the sudden change of conversation.
Jaw twitching with impatience, he nudges the door all the way open with his foot and fills the frame.
My eyes narrow. “I’d need to hit you with a frying pan to make us anywhere close to even.”
“Don’t think that’d fit in your little purse.” Resentment darkens his gaze. “Do it.”
The rough edge in his voice controls me like a puppet. It lifts my arm and curls my fist, and I land an uncertain blow on the center of his chest.
When he doesn’t even flinch, my cheeks grow hot, and when disdain curls his top lip, they burn.
“Scared you’ll break a nail?”
Well, yes, actually, but I’d never give him the satisfaction of telling him that. “No, I just don’t want to break your nose or anything,” I huff back.
A gruff laugh escapes his lips in a curl of frost. “You couldn’t break wind.” He steps backward onto the porch and jerks his chin. “Come here.”
