Page 82 of Liberated By Sin
“I'm sorry, baby,” I whispered, kissing her forehead.
Finally meeting my eyes. “She’s dead.”
I squeezed her tighter, unsure of what to say or how to bring her comfort apart from never letting go.
Amara’s fingers traced my lip, sweeping droplets as I kissed each one. “I cut off his dick,” she said almost stoically, still staring at my mouth.
“Did you?”
She nodded slowly, and with the same languid pace, she blinked and lifted her gaze. “And then I skewered it.”
For several moments, only the sound of water against tile could be heard. Then, deep, rumbling laughter bubbled from my throat. She followed, and we laughed and laughed until our stomachs ached and the drain below no longer streaked pink.
“Sei incredibile.”
“I’m glad you think so. I scare myself sometimes.”
“The feeling is mutual because I feel lost in you, Amara. But I don’t ever want to find my way out,” I whispered over her collarbone as I removed her strap and kissed her slick skin.
Our clothes hit the tile floor, and I caged her against the wall. “Let me help you put an end to this. Tell me your name.”
“No.”
“I have connections. Who are you looking for?”
Amara slipped beneath my arm and stepped out of the shower. “Not yet.”
“Amara.” I twisted the faucet and followed behind her as she toweled off. “You can trust me.”
“I do,” she countered, sounding almost offended. “But you won’t find him.”
“Try me.”
“Santi, you don’t understand. It’s like he’s fallen off the face of the planet. And he’s not your typical piece of shit low life like these other men. We’ve been over this.”
Dropping the towel, she began to dig furiously through her suitcase.
“Tomorrow, we meet Helena and Silas. They’re part of an organization.” I paused, knowing the implications my admission could bring. But I trusted her. “Ares.”
She froze, nearly jolting at the word. And suddenly, things started to make sense.
“You’re…Ares?” I asked, touching her shoulder and shifting her toward me. Amara offered no resistance but refused eye contact. “You are?”
“I’m not.”
“You were; otherwise, you’d be asking what the fuck I’m talking about. Look at me.” I held her chin, silently begging to meet her beautiful eyes. “Amara.”
“A long time ago,” she finally admitted.
“Do you know them? Silas, Helena?”
“No.” She shook her head, brows knitted, almost as if attempting to recall their names. I believed her.
“They can help.”
Amara pulled away and walked back to her suitcase. “No.”
“Preziosa—”