Page 55 of Two Sides of Sin

The air in the car suddenly felt thick, charged with a sexual tension so potent I could taste it on the back of my tongue. It was a mixture of the champagne we’d shared earlier and the forbidden attraction that had been building for years. I felt the pressure behind my eyes, the ache in my chest.

Tonight, there would be no Cain. No books of blood. No graves. There would only be the sound of the lake, the smell of the roses I’d tucked into her bags, and the shattering of the last wall between us.

Suddenly, I felt the weight of her hand leave mine. I heard the distinct click of her seatbelt retracting.

“June, what are you⁠—”

I didn’t get to finish. She moved with a fluid, unexpected grace, sliding over the centre console. In the cramped cockpit of the Camaro, there was nowhere to go but up. She straddled me, her knees digging into the leather on either side of my hips, her weight settling firmly into my lap.

I had to kick my legs wider to keep my feet on the pedals, the steering wheel pressed against her lower back.

“June, stop,” I rasped, my heart leaping into my throat.

She didn’t care. She leaned in, her small hands sliding into my hair and pulling my head back. Her lips found the sensitive spot of my neck, her teeth grazing the skin just above my collar. I felt the sharp, electric sting of her kiss, followed by the wet heat of her tongue.

The car swerved slightly, the tires chirping against the asphalt, but I couldn’t bring myself to slow down. The friction of her grinding against me, the scent of her and the cold night air—it was a sensory overdose.

She was humming with a nervous, erratic heat against me. her chest heaving against mine. Every time I shifted gears, my hand brushed against the curve of her thigh, the connection igniting a heavy, burning ache that traveled straight to my cock. She trailed her kisses up to my jaw, her breath hot against my ear.

“Drive faster, Julian,” she whispered, her fingers tightening in my hair.

I looked down for one second—one second I couldn’t afford, and saw her looking up at me. Her eyes were blown out, her pupils swallowing her iris, reflecting the green glow of the dash. She looked possessed. She looked like she wanted to consume me.

I took a hand off the wheel, my fingers splaying across the small of her back, pulling her even tighter against me. The contrast was staggering, my bruised, ink stained skin against the white silk of her birthday dress.

“We’re almost there,” I managed to choke out, my voice thick and desperate. “June. If you keep doing that, we aren’t going to make it past the next turn-off.”

She didn’t pull back. She just leaned in and kissed me, a deep, soul consuming invasion. I was a traitor, a liar, and a man who had just traded eternity for a girl and a night in a cabin, and as I pushed the Camaro harder, I knew I’d do it a thousand times over.

We were outrunning the Ritual. We were outrunning Cain. And for the first time, the name over my heart felt like it finally belonged to me.

Chapter 40

June

The engine cut out with a final shudder, after three hours of the V8’s roar and the wind screaming through the windows, the quiet of the woods was welcomed. Out here, under the canopy of ancient, gnarled trees, time felt like it had rolled back.

The headlights cut a twin path of blinding light through the dark, reflecting off the wrought-iron gates of the cabin driveway. A worn, rusted padlock hung there.

“Stay in the car,” Julian ordered. His voice was a wreck, raw from the adrenaline and the way I’d been marking his skin for the last few hours.

I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. The heat in my body was too high, a pulsing throb that demanded I stay close to him and keep my body moving. I pushed the door open, the metal creaking in the stillness, and stepped out into the damp night air. The smell of pine needles and the black water of the lake hit me instantly.

I watched him go to the trunk. The moonlight caught the sharp line of his jaw and the broad, powerful spread of his shoulders as he leaned in to grab a tire iron.

He marched to the gate, his boots crunching on the gravel. I followed a few paces behind, the bracelet he’d given me clinking softly against my wrist.

“Julian,” I whispered.

He hooked the tire iron into the curve of the padlock and braced himself. I watched the muscles in his back bunch and cord under his shirt, the fabric straining against his spine. He groaned, a low sound of exertion, and for a second, he looked exactly like the man who had disposed of Billy in the woods.

Crack.

The sound of the lock breaking echoed across the water like a gunshot. He kicked the gates open, the rusted hinges screaming, and then he turned to look at me.

The moonlight turned his brown honey eyes into two pits of black ink. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, the tire iron still gripped in the thick, heavy span of his hand.

“I told you to stay in the car,” he said, but there was no heat in the command—only a desperation.