Page 63 of Where Sinners Repent

Maybe it’s petty. But I love a bit of toxicity. If he wants to ignore me, I’ll play the game. Although I can barely hear his footsteps behind me, I know he is following. The elevator is waiting for me, doors open. Stepping inside, I lean against the wall, tapping my nails against my forearm.

His eyes bore into mine as he joins me, watching with narrowed eyes as I press the button to the garage.

Finally, I meet his gaze. Bottomless pits of darkness stare at me. It floods my body with something addictive, and I bite my bottom lip.

But then he drops his gaze, eyes falling to the ground.

Huffing like a spoilt kid, I shake my head.

I don’t know what his problem is, but it’s starting to get on my nerves. Before, he was all broody stares and forbidden touches. Now... after what he walked in on his brother doing to me... he’s gone... colder.

Finally, the doors peel open to the freezing garage, and I step out, searching for the black truck that Kai usually drives.

“Where are you going?” he finally murmurs from behind me.

My arms cross. “Where’s your car?”

He ignores me until I finally turn and face him.

“Where are you going?” he asks again.

Slowly, I move to him. He watches with a tight jaw until I stop just a breath away. “You’ve been avoiding me,” I accuse, crossing my arms again and popping my hip.

Why does he have to be so fucking pretty? Under the dim lights of the garage, his high cheekbones and long lashes have my heart thumping. I take the final step towards him, unable to fight the hypnotizing pull.

“I thought you’d come find me,” I whisper, fingers trailing the patch on his leather vest. The one with devil horns and a forked tail. “Thought you’d come... admire my new piercings.”

Once again, he drops his gaze. Disinterest plastered all over his stony face.

I huff, shaking my head. “Never mind. I want to go to my studio.”

He shakes his head, just once, not bothering to look up.

My grin is fake as I shrug my shoulders. “That’s fine. I’ll Uber.”

I turn away from him, making my way to the garage ramp, pulling out my phone. I barely finish typing in my pin, before his hand circles my wrist.

His face is unreadable as ever, yet I can feel the annoyance radiating from him as he leads me through the garage with a firm grip. Stumbling to keep up, he leads me to a little alcove until I see it.

A sleek black motorcycle. Shiny, as if someone has spent hours buffing it.

Oh my God. He’s taking me on the bike.

My self-preservation instincts are obviously non-existent. Because the thrill my body feels when he lifts the one helmet and slides it over my head is so strong, it makes me dizzy.

His eyes still don’t land on mine as he adjusts the straps so they are snug under my chin. Also, swoon at the fact he is giving me the one helmet. The bar is low, I know.

Once it’s all strapped on, we stand just inches away, neither of us moving. It’s almost as if he’s in pain, trying not to acknowledge me.

Only the slightest flicker of the muscle in his jaw gives him away. He raises one gloved hand, and I shiver in anticipation, craving his touch like a damn addict.

Instead of touching my face, the way I expect him to, his fingers catch the end of my ponytail where it spills from beneath the helmet. The strands slide through his gloved hand, winding the length around his palm. Watching my hair wind and spill from his hand.

I inhale sharply.

The movement is almost detached, as if he’s not sure why he’s doing it.

Only then do his eyes rise, locking onto mine. I hate the way my stomach gives out when he does. Hate the way that for one long moment, everything else disappears.