Page 68 of Sinners Atone
The world is spinning, but his simmering glare remains in focus. “Your second mistake was letting me pick you up. Once your feet leave the ground, your chances of survival drop to thirty-three percent.”
My back hitches in suspicion. Kidnapped. Survival. All these buzzwords reach down and pull my heart into my mouth, and I don’t like the way it tastes.
What’s his game plan here, anyway, rocking up to my house after dark and giving me all these tips and tricks? It’s not because he feels guilty for shoving me in his trunk, that’s for sure. I don’t have to climb into his skull to know this man is incapable of feeling anything but anger, irritation, or simply nothing at all.
I study the hard set of his lips and search his eyes for clues too, but of course, his gaze in impenetrable, galvanized by the wall of disdain that, I swear, is built brick by brick with his hatred for me. The girl who saved his life.
My eyes narrow. “Did you have nothing better to do tonight than pay me a visit? You know, like puppies to slaughter, old ladies to terrorize?”
I regret my quip the moment it leaves my mouth. It tightens the lines of his shoulders and hardens his jaw. Makes him take a step toward me too and fills the gap between us with the threat of danger. “You think this is a joke?” he asks in a quiet rasp. “You think your safety is a joke?”
My confidence dissolves into my blood stream, and I frantically shake my head. Though I stop short of sayingsorrybecause if he can’t say it, why should I?
A friction-filled beat passes. Then he lets out a puff of air through his nostrils and retreats.
He jerks his chin over my shoulder. “Get in.”
I glance around, squint into the darkness, and freeze.
There’s a motorbike parked by the gate but also a car next to it. Trunk open, headlights off. It’s a scene all too familiar, and I know all too well what comes next.
Terror whips through me, nearly knocking me off my feet. Curse me and my big fat mouth; I should have known there was no way the Boogeyman would let my snitching slide.
He’s carried me halfway to hell, and now he expects me to walk the rest of the way.
Panic seizing my lungs, my gaze darts from left to right, looking for an escape route. Between the trees is his domain, and there’s no way I’m fast enough to spin around and run past him to get to Uncle Finn’s house. Even if I was, all his lights are off. Maybe he’s had his power cut too, though it’s far more likely he’s at the country club guffawing over a glass of expensive wine.
Welp. My brain is too mushy to come up with anything else.
Running it is.
Twisting on the heel of my boot, I manage a step and half before a hand grabs my wrist and turns me around.
“Stop.”
“Let mego?—”
His grip flies from my wrist to my face.
I freeze.
Butter-soft leather, all the evil in the world etched into the four fingers and thumb beneath it. He could crack my jaw with the slightest squeeze; snap my neck with the flick of his wrist. And suddenly, I get it: the age-old appeal of bad boys. Just beingtouchedby a man like him has me breathless and out of sorts. It feels like I’m riding a motorbike in the rain with no helmet, the roar of the wind louder than the threat of danger.
He lifts my chin and lowers his, and when his gaze touches mine, my heart does a double beat.
“You think I’d hurt you?”
Well, duh.Does the pope go to church every Sunday?
I let out a disbelieving laugh, but it wilts in my throat when his gaze drops to my lips and flickers with a different strain of annoyance. It’s softer, with no sharp edges. I don’t know why it twists my insides or why I have the sudden urge to reassure him I don’t.
He swallows and releases me. Walks toward the car, and pathetically, I follow.
“It’s highly likely that your annoying screaming and your pathetic elbow striking would scare a kidnapper off,” he mutters. “But if it doesn’t, here’s what you’re going to do.”
He grips the lid of the trunk with one hand and reaches out for me with the other.
The weight of unease slows my steps as I move toward him. I take a deep breath and slip my hand into his. As he pulls mecloser, panic flashes through me like a lightning bolt, and I curl my fingers around his palm. “You promise?” I blurt out, growing weak. “You really promise you won’t hurt me? Because I swear if you do, I’ll never talk to you again.”
