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Chapter One
Reese
Snatcher is onhis feet, staring me down with a deadly look in his eyes. I only hold my focus on him for a brief moment before looking over at Sin, gauging his reaction to everything Snatcher just said.This was a setup.
Rage blazes through me, my anger directed more toward Sin than Snatcher right now.That asshole took me for a fool.I search the room, taking in my surroundings during the few short seconds I have to make a move. Without thinking twice about it, I lunge toward the fireplace and grab the iron poker. I swing it around in front of me, unsure who to attack first. I've had it. I've had it so badly.
"Whoa," Sin says, placing his hands up in defense. "Take it easy, Reese."
"Let me go. Now," I seethe.
"Reese!" Sin jumps toward me and tries to rip the poker out of my hand, but I fight him. I fight him hard, falling to my knees, pulling it toward me. Sin is stronger, though. This isn't a fight I could ever win, but I refuse to go out without trying. I fall flat to the ground as the poker slips from my grip, burning against my skin along the way.
"Just do it," I grunt.
When nothing happens, I push myself up on my hands and knees, looking up to stare this bad ending in the face. I look up just in time to see Sin spin around and thrash the poker against the side of Snatcher's head. Snatcher falls immediately, his head slamming into the small, worn table on the way down. Blood trickles from his ear and again, I'm left wondering if he's dead or alive.
Looking over at Sin, I clench my teeth together until a pain sears through my jaw. There's so much I want to say to him right now, but I refuse to give him the benefit of knowing what's going through my head.
"That wasn't true," he says. "He didn't tell me to bring you back here." Whether I believe him or not, it doesn't matter. I'm getting the hell out of here…with or without him.
"Whatever."
He reaches his hand out to me, thinking I'm actually going to take it. "I'm not the bad guy here," he adds in.
Except that's not what you have been telling me from the moment I met you.
"Did you kill your mother or not?" I ask him. "Don't brush me off this time. If you don't answer me, I'm leaving and I'll find my own way out of this shit-hole without you."
"You're starting to talk like me. I'm rubbing off on you," he grins. I suck in a deep inhale and grit my teeth. I'm not backing down again. "Can we at least discuss this after we get out of here?" Walking over to Snatcher, he squats down by his head and places his fingers over the artery on his neck as he looks up at me with a blank look.
"Well?" It is his father. And I hope he's dead. From what Sin has told me, he'd be okay with that outcome too; although, I'm not sure what to believe right now.
"I didn't kill her," he says, looking back down at Snatcher. "And he isn't dead yet." Sin stands up quickly and takes me by the arm, pulling me down the short, dark hall.
The rest of the house looks the same as the living room and kitchen—yellowed, and worn. The scent of stale cigarette smoke is more pungent in the enclosed hallway and it's making my stomach churn.
Sin pulls me into one of the two bedrooms and makes his way over to the dresser. He tears out every drawer, dumping them all over. I don't know what he's looking for, but he shoves small items into his pockets. I can't tell what they are. I move a little closer toward him, curious to see what else he's going to take. He doesn't seem to care that I'm watching as he pulls out a few envelopes and shoves them in his back pocket. Moving over to the mattress, he flips it onto its side and looks underneath. "Nothing," he says.
"What are you looking for?" I ask.
He doesn't answer me, just continues ripping things apart, instead. Next, he dumps the nightstand drawer out onto the floor and then kicks it. He rushes past me, grabbing me by the wrist again, pulling me back out into the hall and into the next room.
This room is painted in blue, unlike the rest of the house. It has grey curtains, posters hanging on the wall, and a floor to ceiling bookshelf filled with books. "Was this your—"
"Yes. Home, sweet fucking home."
"You're a reader?" I move over to the bookshelf and examine the titles, intrigued by this unknown fact about Sin, momentarily forgetting about our current situation. Most of them are classics—even more unexpected. "I never would have assumed."
"You know what assuming does?" he asks, with an angry lilt to his voice.
"Screw you," I respond.
"You wish." How did we get to this point?How did I let things get to this point?That is what I should be asking myself.
He nudges me out of the way and takes a book, “The Aeneid”, from the top shelf and opens it.
