Page 48 of Burned By Sin
What do I have that she doesn’t?
Sure, Klara has the looks and the confidence many men would die for, but she’s also got the warmth of a viper. I’m not exactly a catch either. I got my dark hair and green eyes from Dad, my hermit tendenciesfrom Mom. Hardly the kind of girl who winds up with not one, but two dangerously protective, model-tier men orbiting her.
I smile at myself, ever-so-slightly, at that thought. Mom would probably high-five me. She’s the one who filled her bookshelf with paperbacks covered in shirtless men, after all. She’s also the reason I love stories, the kind that remind you passion and pandemonium can coexist. Running my hands over my hair, I adjust my sweater, and head to the door.
Unlocking the latch, I twist the handle, but it doesn’t budge. Frowning, I try several more times before banging my fist on the wood.
“Hey! This isn’t funny!” I yell, figuring Klara’s standing on the other side, laughing her ass off. Yes, ha ha good one. I can appreciate a good joke too, but I don’t want to miss Addy’s big surprise. Shoving my shoulder against the door, I lock and unlock it just in case the bolt got stuck. The door isn’t shifting at all, so I stop wasting my efforts. It’s fine. Rhys knows where I am, and he’ll be here soon anyway.
Standing back, I cross my arms. Seconds turn into minutes, my patience wearing thin enough for me to braid my hair over my shoulder, unravel it and do the same over the other side. Silence wraps around me, strangely thick and heavy for a change. Once the boys realize I’m stuck, they’ll activate their mics and we can at least have a conversation through the door. For now though, there’s just a stillness I’m usually comfortable with, but right now is making me twitchy.
What the hell is taking him so long?
Chapter Twenty Nine
“That’s it,” Wavershit huffs, slapping his jean-covered thighs. “I’m going to get her.” I’m quick to slap a hand against his chest, and his eyes fly wide. There’s a ripple of unease from all of those sitting around us, figuring I should know better than to hit Rhys in public. I do, but I don’t really give a shit.
“Don’t be a dick your entire life,” I roll my eyes, my leg twitching irritably. I used to refuse to be in the same room as him, now I’m two seats down and desperately clinging onto any thread of patience I have left. “Drink your whiskey and give her five more minutes. She doesn’t get enough time with Addy because you keep kidnapping her.” Sitting back, I shuffle to try and get comfortable in the tiny plastic seat whilst Rhys exhales through his nose.
“She walks to my bed willingly, thank you very much.” Pulling out his hip flask, he takes aggressive shots, his scowl deeply engrained. The pair of us fall back into the uncomfortable silence we’ve had to endure since Harper left, although we should be used to it by now. We’re both too stubborn to walk away, so these instances will only become more frequent.
The next performer takes the stage, a magician with too much gel in his hair and a nervous smile, but my focus drifts. Shadows flickeragainst the back wall, warped by the moving lights above. I glance toward the exit doors, tracing the outline of the gym and then settle on Addy’s form off to the side of the stage. She’s speaking into her earpiece, her body rigid with stress, no sign of Harper anywhere. Something feels…off.
Rhys leans forward, his jaw tight, scanning the crowd like he senses it too. I can’t name it yet, this pulse beneath the music, this wrongness threading through the cheers, but it’s there, crawling up my spine with icy fingers. The mocking laughter around me starts to blur, replaced by a low hum of unease in the pit of my stomach.
This time when Rhys stands tall, I don’t stop him, or the little show he’s putting on for anyone who might be watching. He stretches with that infuriating smugness of his, arms overhead, spine flexing, completely unbothered by the whispers behind him. He’s about to saunter off when, without warning, the lights cut out.
A chorus of screams pierces the dark. Panicked movement ripples through the bleachers, sneakers scraping against the polished floor. A hand grips the shoulder of my shirt, my instincts about to come out in full force before I realise it’s Rhys, pinning me in place and making sure I’m still there. Suddenly, a harsh glow slices through the blackness as the projector comes to life, casting a warped light across the stage. The magician stands frozen mid-trick, blinking as the projection covers his face in white letters. Ducking out of the way, he reveals the words in full.
What do you call a man who isn’t able to pleasure a woman by himself?
Muttering breaks out, everyone’s curiosity piqued. I can’t see Addy anymore, the rest of the gym still hidden in shadow as the words shift and morph into two words that steal the breath from my lungs.
Clayton Michaels.
The pit of dread opens before I even see it happen. Then, like a knife twisting into the wound, a video starts to play. Harper’s body floods the screen in devastating detail, Rhys’ face buried between her thighs. Her breathy moans echo through the speakers, the sound so intimate it feels like a violation just to hear it. Then there’s me, my tongue swirling around her pierced nipple, her hand gripping my hair, her body arching with pleasure that was supposed to be ours alone.
Nothing is censored, and nothing is sacred anymore.
A ripple of horrified silence sweeps the room. Every pair of eyes burns into my back. Shame, fury and disbelief all hits at once. I shoot to my feet, the blood roaring in my ears. This was our private moment, stolen and shared to the masses. I’m just glad Harper isn’t here to witness it. Wait, where is Harper?
The video switches off, thankfully cutting out the high-pitched moans Harper was reaching just before her orgasm hit. Rhys is dragging me to my feet, although I was already trying to force my frozen limbs to move. Half twisting towards the crowd , a sickening amount of raised smart phones glint in the projection’s light as it shifts back to text.
I heard she likes fire play. Let’s find out if that’s true, shall we?
I’ve barely finished reading the message when a blaring sound pierces the air. The fire alarm doesn’t even resonate over the roaring in my skull. My heart is hammering against my rib cage, my lungs no longer working. Wavershit shoves at my shoulder, snapping me back to reality. Bedlam breaks out all around, students clambering out of the bleachers and running for the exits, all sense of order abandoned.
Without wasting another second, I vault over the railing, boots landing heavily on the wood floor. A wave of panicked bodies surges toward me, a blur of faces and flailing arms, but I push back against them, forcing my way through. My sole focus is on getting to the black tent at the edge of the court. Through the blur of movement, I catchsight of Rhys cutting through a mob that is parting for him like the red sea. His face is murderous, the projector lift catching on the hardness of his glare. The siren keeps wailing, a relentless scream drilling straight into my skull.
It takes far too long to reach the tent, and the flap is about to close when I grab it. Inside, Rhys is already there, stalking through the shadows like a caged animal, scanning every corner for our girl. No, my girl. Fuck, there’s no time for possessiveness.
I’m right behind him, the air thick with heat and smoke. Until now, I prayed it was all a hoax, a cruel trick to evacuate the gym and ruin the show. But the scent of burning hits my chest, and that hope dies an instant death. Breaking into a run, Rhys and I round the corner beyond the showers at the same time, the sight ahead stops us in our tracks.
Flames. Flicking orange and red, crackling around a pile of what looks like books burning in a heap outside the bathroom door. Lighter fluid coats the floor, the stench stinging my nose as smoke curls across the ceiling and seeps beneath the closed door.
Movement beyond the fire catches my eye, a shadowed figure lingering in the open doorway to watch the scene unfold. Definitely a man, judging by his height and stance. He’s calm, collected even, leaning against the door jam, a beanie pulled low over his head. My blood turns to ice. It’s him. The person who’s been visiting my mom, he’s here.
“Save Harper!” I yell, already moving. “This fucker is mine!” Before Rhys can argue, I launch myself forward, leaping through the fire like it’s nothing but a hurdle. The flames lick my arms, heat biting my skin, but I make it through. The bastard flinches back, clearly not expecting me to take chase. Sprinting away, the door slams in my face as I reach it. I shove against the metal bar, tumbling into the car park at the rear of the gymnasium.
