When Sinners Fall (House of Skin Book 1) by Charlotte E Hart & Rachel De Lune

Author:Charlotte E Hart & Rachel De Lune [Hart, Charlotte E]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-11-13T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

WREN

Quiet.

Apart from my tears and sniffs.

What the hell just happened? He was deranged. Angry. More than angry. And, despite everything that’s led to this, tonight was the first time I really felt fear - genuine fear at what he might do.

I’ve seen glimpses, and now, looking back, there could have been warning signs I’ve chosen to ignore. But real fear for myself? That’s not what I want.

What I did want was some normality. Something easy between us. So far, everything has been challenging or pushing or something that he’s controlled. There have been glimpses of the man I once knew under that Cortez skin he’s so secretive about. They've shone through, but after this, it’s hard to see anything other than violence.

I wait, still tucked up against the headboard of his bed. The same bed I went to sleep frustrated in because he wouldn’t touch me. And now what? Was he going to use a gun on me somehow? Teach me a lesson with it?

A gun.

No.

Fuck that.

I rub the sleeve of my shirt against my nose, not caring that it leaves a trail of snot on the cuff. Climbing off the bed, I pause at each step, waiting to hear something from beyond the door, but it’s still quiet.

With each step, I look around and assess the damage.

Shards of glass litter the floor, and it reminds me of when that man – that junkie attacked me. He would have raped me, I’m sure of it. He would have used me for whatever disgusting thoughts came to his drug-addled brain, but Dante stopped it. He told me not to worry, and I believed him, thinking that the man he was saving me from was the monster. Now, I’m not so sure Dante isn’t the bigger monster, because how can you treat someone you say you care about like this? How can you intimidate them until they’re scared for their life?

He had a gun.

My mind keeps circling back to the weapon, but am I really that shocked? Haven’t I looked the other way because it’s suited me? It’s an unwelcome and hard thought to swallow, but it’s staring me in the face.

Continuing to tiptoe around the debris over the floor, I follow the path of Dante-wreckage back into the main room. I look over at the bar and think about pouring a drink. A fucking long one. He said if this between us was to go anywhere, it would have to be all in. Maybe my definition is different to his because it sure doesn’t mean being dragged off and shoved into his apartment. The ironic thing is, after New Orleans, if he’d asked me to move in, I’m not sure I would have said no. Maybe that's just my feelings talking, though. They’re still wrapped up in this obsessive, demanding, all-encompassing world he’s shoved me in.

But like this? No.

I stomp to the bathroom, run the water and splash my face to clear off the smears of makeup. My reflection catches my eyes, and I take a long, hard look.

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