Page 49 of Shadow Of Sin

She clutches a hand to her heart and cocks her head, flashing me a smile. “Oh, that’s so generous of you. Giving me a choice.” Her head snaps back, glaring at me. “After weeks of making choices for me.”

“Is that supposed to be sarcasm?” I ask. “Because I⁠—”

“Yes, it’s fucking sarcasm,” she spews, slamming a hand against the counter.

“Okay,” I say. “I was just checking.”

“And I’ll go with you…only because of Sal.” She stalks to the door and opens it. “Now get the fuck out.”

“Okay. So tomorrow at ten.”

“I’ll be out front.” She sticks a finger into my chest when I get to the door. “And not because I trust you. Because Dmitri is still out there, and walking away from you means walking away from the only way this ends.”

“I know.”

“You know everything about me, and I didn’t even know your last fucking name. I could have dug into you on day one. I chose not to. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. Because I chose to trust you.”

I stand in the doorway, my brain buzzing with so many thoughts I don’t know how to say.

“Was any of it real?” she asks. “The ginger ale and the Cheerios and the music and Sal’s restaurant. Any of it? Was that really you?”

“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “All of it.”

“See, that’s my big problem.” Her words cut as deep as her eyes. “Because I believe you. And I really don’t want to.”

I walk out the door. It slams shut behind me. The deadbolt snaps into place, followed by the chain latch.

I stand in the hallway for a second, staring at the door.

The worst part isn’t that she’s angry at me.

It’s why.

I deceived her. I used her. I made decisions for her. I controlled her.

And I knew it the entire time and never gave her a choice about any of it.

CHAPTER 11

EVA

Jeeeeesus. This place is bigger than my entire apartment building.

That’s the first thing I notice when Wolfe pulls into the driveway. Not the security. Not the landscaping. Not the three cars that probably cost more than everything I’ve ever owned combined.

The size. This is where Clark Kent comes from. Not a crappy apartment above a dry cleaner. An actual compound.

My knife is in my jacket pocket and my hand has been on it for the last ten minutes.

“Okay,” I say, not moving once Wolfe turns off the ignition. “Give me the lineup. Again.”

He already briefed me on the ride. But it was like he was reading off a grocery list instead of introducing me to the people who might decide whether I live or die today. And I want to hear it one more time because my brain is running so hot right now, I’m not sure I retained any of it.

“Ronan’s the oldest,” he says. “He’s in charge. He’ll be the guy sitting behind the desk.”

“The one who wants to dissect me,” I say.

“He doesn’t want to dissect you.”