Page 5 of When Sinners Fear

KNOX

Idon’t let go of her hand as the rest of the morbid curiosity passes by. Instead, I make her wait because of her politeness. She frowns a little at me after a while and tries pulling her hand away gently. I squeeze tighter and keep staring, pinching my thumb in. “Is it a pleasure?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said a pleasure. Is it?” Her mouth opens the smallest amount, and she skits her eyes to Michael as he walks away with her mother and then back to me. “I’m far more interesting than he is. Answer me.”

Her head tilts slightly, and she wets her lips before looking around at the dregs of everyone else. “It was just a polite way of–”

“Of course it was. But is it?” The corners of her lips raise slightly, and she pulls her hand away with intent this time. No answer, though. It’s relatively amusing for me. I’m not used to indecision where women are concerned. All the ones around me know who I am, and that’s enough to get them doing anything I want with or without consent.

“I should go,” she murmurs.

“Why?”

A light laugh drifts from her mouth, stuttered and surprised. “Because everyone else has?”

"Whilst I appreciate that being alone with an unknown man is deemed inappropriate to your upbringing, I really don’t give a damn. And you haven’t answered me yet, Peyton.”

Her mouth opens again, before she looks at the floor and sidesteps around me to hurry towards the doors. I spin, slowly, on my heel, and watch her ass through the light material as she travels through the rows of pews. Cute. And rushed. I don’t like rushing with something I’m relatively interested in.

By the time I make it outside, the hordes of people are all congregating around some tables set out with lemonade and homemade sodas. Michael’s being accosted by several of his parishioners, presumably all intent on singing his praises for such a joyful sermon. And there’s a distinct divide in the type of class structure who’ve come here today. Arrogant and egotistical on the right of the yard, less so on the left. Peyton and her family are somewhere in between.

There’s a mob crowding her mother, several of whom are rubbing her arm and offering support. Ill, presumably. She’s frail as fuck, with that gaunt look that lets the world know her time is about done. I’d like to pretend I give a damn, but I don’t. We live, we die. Let’s hope she made the best of her life on the way through it. Given this building and weekly sermons, along with a husband who looks like an uptight dick with a rod up his ass, I’m guessing not.

“Hello.” I look sideways at a sixty-something woman approaching from the table I’m near. She offers me a lemonade on a tray and smiles her greeting. “I don’t believe we’ve seen you here before? Jack? Come meet this nice, smart, young man.” Jack appears from outta nowhere and starts grilling me for information on who I am and if I’m the new guy who’s moved in on Oak Street. I try for polite.

I catch Peyton’s eye after a while. She looks at the floor rather than me, and I break from the conversation I’m being forced into, ready to leave. Today’s not the day for what I intended. I might not give a fuck if her mother’s dying, but she does, and this damned politeness suggests backing off is the most appropriate thing I can do until next time. Maybe the mother will be dead by then. I could help her mourn the loss by way of fucking anything but me out of her. Mourning my own mother’s loss is tiring enough. I'm sure as hell not living it again for someone else.

The lights flash on the Camaro as I disable the alarm, and I start heading for it. I’m only part way over when I hear footsteps rushing behind me.

“Knox?” I spin and wait, hands in my pockets. Peyton stands there, fidgeting and looking up at me. “Well, that seemed strange.” My brow cocks in confusion. “Calling you your name. Strange.”

“What else would you call me?”

She looks around. “Yes, but I don’t know your surname. I would have said Mr someone, but you’re just Knox. I don’t know the rest.”

“No.”

“Are you going to tell me the rest?”

My lips quirk, and I gaze at the sheer fucking loveliness of her. She’s everything I hoped she would be. Sweet natured, fine as hell, and clearly bewildered by my interest in her. “Are you going to tell me if it was a pleasure or not?” Her cheeks flush and she flicks her gaze around at everything. “Peyton?” She looks up again. “It’s not a terrible word. I’d like to be a pleasure for you.” Until I'm not.

More flushing. And a mouth opening this time. “I’m … I don’t even know why I came over.” She’s flustered now, which is even more amusing considering she approached me.

“Presumably, you wanted something from me.”

She clasps her hands in front of her, then loosens them and taps her fingers on themselves. “I … Yes. I wanted to say … I wondered if you’d be coming back again?”

“Would you like me to come back?”

“I … Yes, maybe. I think so, but ...”

My chuckle comes out low and entertained. Sweet ass behaviour, innocent beginnings, and now stuttering. “How about some lemonade.”

“Lemonade?”

“Yes. Lemonade. Now. To help your throat along with language. Perhaps we can discuss the Caltech pin you’re wearing, as you’re obviously too stunned for sense. What are you studying?”

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