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“I—what? NO!” Anger fills me. “You mean this entire time, my bad luck—I—no!”
Disbelief lands.
I’m an idiot.
“I need to call Sherry! She has to know—I can’t believe this is happening again—” My mind cycles and circulates.
I’m in shock.
But not surprised.
Not anymore.
“Again?” The wheel jerks. “And Sherry. Do you know who she is?”
“My aunt?” A man’s face flashes behind my eyes. The last time I needed her help. “I have the worst luck.” My mind twists, changes. “I can’t keep doing this. Turn me in.” I jump forward, further banging on the divider. “Just put me in a cell to rot. Then no one else has to die.”
“They were bad men. Julienne Napolitan. Rondelle Napolitan. Scotch Amarreto. Chard Aldente. They all deserved to die. They are why the poison came to be. It’s all connected. And you were innocent in all of it. This is my fault.”
His words don’t make much sense.
The poison?
We’re well out of town now, on a weathered road. Trees line each side of it, and we haven’t passed another car for the last ten minutes.
I push through my confusion. “And what about Kale Aldente? Who is he? Is he a bad guy?”
“Yes.” And then John yanks the car to the side of the road, pulling off and slamming into park.
He turns to the partition, staring at me through it in a charged silence.
“Do you feel this, Cinnamon? This connection? This ache? You are the only semblance of peace I have ever known, and I was going to throw it all away. And for what? A misunderstanding.” His voice cracks, his eyes turn glassy. “You are my penance.”
Before my heart can catch up to my ears, he is twisting away and throwing the front door open. Jumping out of the car.
Instantly, he rips the backdoor open before I understand what is happening.
“My name is Kale Aldente. And I am a very bad guy. You should run from me, Cinnamon.” But his voice is hoarse.
He steps aside to allow me to do just that.
I propel myself out of the seat without thought, but I don’t make it a single step before he grabs hold of my chef coat.
“I should let you go,” he croaks gruffly.
My heart pounds in my throat, tension thickens between us. I twist out of my chef coat.
I could run away from him.
I could scream and cry and find someone to take me away from here.
But there is an invisible line that connects me to John.
To Kale.
One last connection. That is all I will allow. And then I will turn myself in, once and for all.
Spinning on my heel, I appraise him. “I’m a bad person, too,” I admit easily, a soft whisper that lingers in the heavy air between us.
