A man I’m actively betraying.
I pull on my jeans and tank top, fingers fumbling with the zipper. My leather jacket hangs over the chair where Sin draped it last night, and I grab it, needing its familiar weight. Combat boots next, laced quickly, quietly.
One more glance at Sin. He’s shifted again, his face turned toward where I was sleeping, like even in his dreams, he’s searching for me.
The words slip out before I can stop them, barely a whisper, “I’m sorry. But Ihaveto do this.”
He stirs at the sound of my voice, his brow furrowing slightly. His lips move, forming words I can’t quite hear. My name, maybe. Or maybe just a sleep-murmur that means nothing.
My heart breaks a little more.
I grab a pen and paper from his desk.
My handwriting is shaky as I scrawl a note.
Had to run some errands.
Back later.
Generic. Impersonal. The kind of note that gives nothing away.
The kind of note that hides everything.
I leave it on the pillow where my head was, right next to where his hand is now resting, and then I slip out of the room before I can change my mind.
Rushing out of the clubhouse, I make my way to my car, jump in, and take off out of the clubhouse without looking back. Because I feel like if I do, it will stop me from doing what needs to be done.
The drive to the precinct feels like it takes hours and seconds all at once. My hands grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white, and the photographs on my phone feel like they’re burning a hole through my pocket.
What am I doing?
I’m about to show Sin’s face to the police, to Maria Moretti, specifically.
The ultimate betrayal.
Every turn of the wheel takes me closer to a point of no return, and I can’t stop analyzing it from every angle.
If Mariaishis mother, this changes everything. It means Sin’s mother didn’t die in that desert. It means she survived, rebuilt her life, and became someone powerful.
It means Sin has been carrying grief for a ghost all these years.
And maybe, just maybe, this is the key to taking down Rourke and the Alliance. Maybethisis how I protect Sinanddo my job.
Maybe this is how I get justice for Marcus.
Or maybe I’m just lying to myself to justify another betrayal.
The precinct looms ahead, all concrete, glass, and institutional authority. I pull into the parking lot and sit for a moment. What I am about to do sits heavily in my gut. The guilt is weighing me down. I pull out my phone, and Sin’s sleeping face stares back at me from the screen. Peaceful. Trusting. Completely unaware that the woman in his bed had just photographed him like a suspect.
You have to know, Victoria. You have to confirm.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and get out of the car before I lose my nerve. Before I start the walk toward the building, I inhale deeply. When reaching the glass doors, I push them open and head inside. The precinct is quiet this early, just the weekend skeleton crew and a few detectives working cold cases. I navigate the familiar hallways with my head down, avoiding eye contact, until I reach Maria Moretti’s office.
The door is closed, but light spills out from underneath.
She’s here.
I knock twice, sharp and professional.
