Page 40 of When Sinners Hate
His smile broadens and he stares for a few moments, seemingly transfixed by me withholding something from him. I’m not surprised. I wouldn't usually. “Why not?”
“It’s not for sharing.”
“Possessive? You?” He laughs and starts walking away after the women, hands in his suit pockets. “Rude now I think about it. Although, I guess I owe you favours.” He stops and turns back, spinning on one heel in that smooth way of his. “I hear you're married now.”
“Yes.”
“How's that going for you?”
I don't answer. Just stare as some kind of reply. Fundamentally because I'm not sure yet, but other than that my marriage is not up for discussion.
“Right, well, have fun in there,” he says, carrying on away from me. Nothing about this will be fun.
More minutes pass by before the door eventually opens. A mass of limbs gets shoved into the room, with Dante helping contain its ferocity. She still manages to get a slap to his face somehow, regardless of not being able to see through the hood he’s put over her head.
“Fucking bitch,” he growls, backing away.
“Be careful, Brother.”
Her body spins around at the sound of my voice, her hands ripping the hood off at the same time. All that blonde hair tumbles free, and I watch as she glares at everything around her. I give her a minute to take in the visions and smells and keep staring until she eventually finds my eyes again.
“What the hell is this? And why the fucking hood?”
“You aren’t allowed to know where this is. As I’ve said, no one trusts you yet.” I keep staring at her perfection – her manicured and expensive disposition – until I get to her feet. “Take your heels off. Dante, give me a cigarette.” He offers the pack and I pull one. “And the lighter.” He lights one of his own before passing that to me, too. “You can go now.”
He keeps staring at Alexia. “And miss the entertainment?”
I slowly look at him, a face full of disinterest in joviality. This isn’t fun for me. Nothing is. This is just worn in necessity. It’s the kinda way I deal with those who need to be dealt with. Marriage or not, at the moment she’s a problem I need to find a route through. The fact that she’s infiltrated my thoughts more than I gave credit to is escalating the need.
He smirks, nods, and walks away until it’s just me and her and a dirty, used room in the bowels of an old, broken-down building. She frowns at me and looks around again, still with a pair of heels perching her off the filth she’s about to get real close to.
“Well?” she says, chin up in the air.
“Take the shoes off, Alexia.”
“Why?” A guy comes around the corner as she’s asking, his heavy body manhandling a distressed whore who’s trying her best to get away from him. Alexia steps sideways, giving them room, then tries glaring at me again. It’s less of a glare this time, though. More edgy and nervous.
“I want you to feel this dirt beneath you.”
“Why?”
“It’s part of you now. Take them off.”
She frowns and leans down, slipping them from her feet until she’s barefoot and feeling the depraved world she’sbecoming part of. “Is that better? What are we doing?” She puts her hands on her hips in a huff – still putting on a show.
I walk away and beckon her, heading for the private space I’ve reserved, and watch as she walks into the darkened room. The door locks closed the second she looks at the old, bloodstained mattress in the middle of the room. She spins on me, then glances at all the cameras stationed around the walls, and backs a step away.
“There’s nowhere to run, Alexia.” Her gaze darts around again, taking in the rusted shackles by the mattress, and eventually landing on the only other entrance to the room. “Breathe. He’ll be here in a minute.”
“Who?”
“Ratchet.”
“Abel? What’s going on?” I don’t answer. I let her fear build and her body quiver under the strain of what’s coming. It’s nice to watch in all honesty, because she’s at her best like this. She’s raw and real and full of loathing for me. I don’t mind that at all. “Abel? What is this place?”
“It’s a place where people profit from death. How much profit do you think that body has made your father over the years?” She looks at the other door again, then walks for the opposite side of the room. I watch her feet moving through the dirt and grime, wondering when the last time she actually touched grime was. “I’ll expect more than you made for him.”
“You wouldn't dare.” My brow arches.