Page 116 of Heartless Sinner
“Turn it off!” I shrieked.
The hidden door opened, and Brooks appeared without his mask, still holding the bat like he hadn’t already done enough damage with it.
Sinclair’s blood dripped from the end, matching the dark specks across his face.
“You want us to turn it off?” he asked, tapping the bat against his gloved palm.
“Yes!” I screamed.
He lifted two fingers.
The TV went silent.
He didn’t give me time to appreciate the quiet before he swung the bat into the glass. It exploded, shards scattering across the concrete. He stepped through the broken opening and made his way to Sinclair without an ounce of urgency.
He pulled off both gloves, shoved them into his pocket, and pressed two fingers to Sinclair’s neck, waiting a few seconds before looking back at me.
“Nothing.” He stood, the bloody bat hanging loosely at his side. “My favorite kind of pulse on an enemy.”
“He wasn’t your enemy,” I said around a snarl.
The gun was only a few feet away.
One bullet.
One bullet was all I needed to kill his ass.
He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Anyone who touches you is my enemy because you’re mine.”
He gave Sinclair’s cheek a pat before grabbing his ankle and dragging him across the concrete, then through the shattered opening between our cells. A thick trail of blood followed.
Brooks dropped Sinclair’s ankle and came for me.
Since most of our arguments happened with my back against the wall, we repeated history as he backed me up into the concrete wall.
I threw my arms out to create some distance between us, but he brushed them aside like they were nothing but annoying gnats and grabbed my hand.
“What are you—”
He pried my fingers apart and wrapped them around the bloody bat, forcing my palm against the handle until there was no way my fingerprints weren’t all over it.
“There.” Brooks gave me the same patronizing pat on the cheek he’d given Sinclair. “Now your fingerprints are on the murder weapon. I can already see the headline. Mistress Gets Jealous and Murders Married Professor. That should keep you in line.”
Before I could call him bat shit crazy, I doubled over and puked the handful of Doritos I’d eaten yesterday all over his boot.
I stared at the mess before looking at Brooks.
I grinned for the first time in what felt like days.
He caught my chin between two fingers and tipped my face up. “You think that’s funny?”
“If you do vomit-inducing shit, expect to get vomited on.” I flashed him another smile. “So, fuck you.”
A slow, sinister grin cut across his battered face.
He tossed the bloody bat aside, buried a fist in my tangled hair, and dragged me onto my knees like he’d been waiting all night for an excuse to do it. “Lick it off.”
“Fuck you.” I dug my nails into his wrist while he shoved my face toward his filthy boot.
