Gentle hands scoop underneath my legs and cradle my back, pulling me out of my drowsy state.

I pry my eyes open, something squeezing in my chest as they graze a set the same color of steel.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers as he wraps the thin blanket around my body and lifts me against his chest.

"Hm?" I blink as he starts toward the door, the black sky sign that it's still nighttime. "Where are we going?"

"Home," he says as he nudges the already open door with his foot. The evening chill sends a flurry of goosebumps over my skin and I instinctively curl into his chest to absorb the heavenly warmth of his body.

"Why?" I mutter as I nuzzle my face into his neck. It can't be longer than an hour or two since I've dosed off.

"The blood," he says, his baritone rumbling through me. "It's all over the lobby. Best we're not here when someone calls the police."

Oh. Right.

The hand that cradles my back shifts up to run through my hair. "Sleep now. I'm parked a few blocks away."

I don't hesitate to follow his command. With the heady scent of musk lingering in my nose and the heat of his body soaking into mine, I fade into a deep sleep.

...

I wake up alone. There's no arm slung over my hip, no dip in the bed to indicate that another body lays next to mine. The dark satin blankets are rumpled with use in the space next to me but the mattress is cold under my touch. It unsettles me enough that I get up and pull on a pair of jeans and a sweater before starting down the stairs.

Last night was for reconciliation. Today is for answers.

I peek my head into the lounge from the stairway. Sure enough, a head of dark hair reclines on the leather couch.

He doesn't turn his head but he must hear my footsteps because he says, "Sit with me, angel."

I don't move. Something in his tone makes me nervous—it's different from the warmth of last night. "Are you in one of your morning moods?"

He snorts and then raises his hand up to where I can see it. The wad of cash I'd stuffed into my jeans dangles from his fingers.

Ah. Fuck me.

"Where'd you get this?" he asks, his voice an unnerving state of calmness.

I don't know what to say so instead I just stare at him and contemplate how long it would take him to catch me if I run back up the stairs.

"Angel," he rumbles. "I told you to come sit with me."

"I stole it from your wallet." I keep my feet glued to the last step.

"I think I'd notice two hundred dollars missing from my pocket." He finally turns his head, face carefully blank as he gestures to the spot next to him. "Sit. Now."

He and I know there's no way out of this, so with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I slowly walk over to join him on the couch.

"Good girl," he murmurs even though his eyes are cold with some emotion I can't place. He leers at my bruised knuckles, the wad of cash, then trains his intense gaze upon me. "Tell me what happened. From the start."

I suppress a shiver. How can I explain everything without giving anyone away?

"I ran after I saw you with that woman," I say, looking away from his intense stare and running my fingers over the mottled skin he eyes so warily. "I met a man on the way." He stiffens at that. "He gave me the money. And that's pretty much that."

He reaches for my hand, holding the sore flesh in his own. "And this?"

"I fell," I say lamely. As creepy as the man was, he doesn't deserve to die by Sinclair's hand for getting too close to me.

His brows furrow. "Something isn't adding up," he mutters, but it sounds like he's talking to himself more than anything.

I take the opportunity to slide into his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. Something tells me that even he can't resist the distraction of a female body.

He groans as I lean forward and pepper a line of kisses of his jaw, his hands settling into the dip of my waist. "I know what you're trying to do."

I hum into his skin and pull him in for a kiss. He lets me but it only lasts for a second before he leans back and raises a suspicious eyebrow.

"Is it working?" I say as I lean in to nibble the skin of his neck and slide a hand down to cradle his semi-hard dick in his pants.

"Not enough for me to disregard that you're lying to me," he says, grip tightening over my hips. "And not enough for me to forget that Theo helped you escape."

My body stills. "How do you know about that?"

"He's worked for me for years now, angel. You didn't think I'd catch on?" He brushes my hair away from my face and presses a soft kiss to the pounding pulse at my throat. "Both of you are terrible liars," he murmurs into my skin.

So that's how he managed to find me. I pull away from him, swallowing the bile that rises in the back of my throat. "What did you do to him?"

"Hush," he says, cradling my face in his large palm and drawing little circles over my cheek with his thumb. "He's fine."

I narrow my eyes. I don't care how magic his dick is—I'm beating his ass if there's even a hair out of place on Theo's head.

I blink as the thought flutters through my head. Whoa. When did I begin to think of Theo as a friend?

"You have that look on your face again," he says as he gently traces the line of my cheekbone.

"What look?"

"The one that promises wrath and hellfire," he says, then tugs me to fit back into the line of his body. "It's my second favorite expression."

I frown. "What's the first?"

The hand around my waist slowly travels down my back until it squeezes my ass. Sin leans forward until his breath brushes over my ear and whispers, "Once you tell me where the bruised knuckles came from, I'll show you."

Heat rises in my core. With a will made of steel, I somehow swallow and resist sagging into him. "The money is from Theo. The knuckles are because I was trying to catch myself as I—" I yelp as he pinches my ass cheek.

"Stop lying to me," he says. This time, all warm and tempting traces have evaded his voice.

I wince. "Promise you won't get all dramatic and murder-y?"

"No," he says.

I scowl at him. He meets it with one of his own.

"There was a guy. He offered me shelter and food. He got a little too close to me is all." I smile hesitantly as he raises a dubious brow. "So I punched him in the face," I finish.

He stares at me. Then a burst of deep, rumbling laughter emerges from his throat. "That sounds more believable."

I glare at the amused expression on his face.

"What else are you hiding?" he says, rubbing the bruise with a tender finger although that familiar hardness begins to settle back in his eyes.

"That's it."

"Really?"

I sigh. This man is ruthless. "He may have grabbed my—"

"Where?"

I blink. "What do you mean?"

That unsettling blankness settles back over his face. "Where did you last see him?"

"The guy already had his face bashed in. I think he's learned his lesson."

He opens his mouth to protest but I slap a hand over it before he can get any more words out. He's had his turn interrogating; now it's mine.

"You tell me what happened now. From the start," I say, yelping as he nips my palm.

"I'm not done," he mumbles around my fingers.

"I think you are. You owe me answers." That familiar sensation of betrayal wells inside of me again as the image of the woman on his lap flits through my mind. "Who was she?"

At the mention, his face grows solemn. He pushes my hand away. "I don't know who she is. I mean that." He frowns at the doubtful look on my face. "Amber sent her. That's all I could get out of her before I noticed you were on the move."

I stare at him. "Amber?"

"She lied to you," he says softly. "She'll never do it again, angel."

Sinclair's face is open. Honest. If it weren't for last night, I probably wouldn't believe him, but the words sit heavily in my head nonetheless.

Humiliation burns my cheeks. I listened to her so easily. Let her walk all over me and didn't even think twice about it.

"Where is she?" I breathe. Something hot filters into my veins, replacing the embarrassment as quickly as it arises.

"Don't worry about that," he says. "I took care of it."

My eyes catch on something shiny that sits on the bar top behind Sinclair's head. It's a long blade, brown liquid dried along its edge and caked around the handle. Next to it is one of Sinclair's shirts, the fabric stiff with old blood.

I get up before Sin notices where my gaze lingers and tries to stop me.

"Angel?"

I walk up to the bar, stopping a few feet away and staring at it numbly. The first thought that flits through my head is Theo's dimple-filled grin.

"What's this?" I say, unable to keep the tremble from my voice. Sin says he's fine but that doesn't mean that he hasn't done something terrible and excruciating to him because of me.

He gets up from the couch, cursing under his breath. "Something I forgot to clean up. You've had me out of my mind these past few days."

I don't say anything, my eyes traveling over to the room off to the right—the same one I killed Sinclair's friend in the first night I met him. Splotches of rust-colored liquid coat the doorknob.

Sin tenses. "Don't go in there," he says.

I'm already moving before he finishes his sentence.

For some reason, he doesn't stop me. Whatever lays beyond this door isn't a secret—it's a mess he hasn't cleaned up yet that he knows I won't like.

I need to see it myself. If Theo is hurt because of me, I need to own up to the fact. To face it head-on.

Tears well in my eyes as my fingers close around the rough texture of the knob, little flakes coating my fingertips and crusting under my nails. Without a moment of hesitation, I swing the door open.

The first thing that I notice is the smell. Old body fluids and flesh that's sat out too long. The scent of death.

There's plenty of blood. It covers the bed, the carpet, splatters coating the wall. I push the door open an inch further, my eyes catching a flash of red slumped against the corner.

Eyes the color of the ocean stare into the void in front of her. There's a lost look on her unnervingly still features, her usually perfect and made-up face smudged with makeup and long dried tears.

I swallow the bile that rears in the back of my throat as I notice that gaping slash over the pale skin of her throat. The fluids caked over her once beautiful and seductive crimson dress.

Someone's already tried dismembering her in an effort to rid of the body. One of her arms is cut cleanly at her shoulder, tossed in a black plastic bin filled with a strange liquid in the space next to her.

I take a step back, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm my roiling stomach. Then I promptly bend down and vomit all over the somber and blood-crusted carpet.