Sinner's Revenge(73)

Turning to face me, she puts the pizza box on the floor and stares at me long enough to make me uncomfortable. “This isn’t the life I chose. I did what I did because I had no other option. I’ve never been asked if this is what I wanted. I don’t want you to not know who I am. Like today,” she starts, pulling her lip between her teeth and looking away from me. “I want you to know that who I was today is who I was trained to be. But it’s not who I really am. I’m sorry you had to see it.”

Pushing her hair back from her eyes, I run my fingers down her cheek before grabbing her chin. Forcing her to look at me, I offer her a smile. “Don’t say you’re sorry. I get it. Trust me.”

Fidgeting with her hands, she lets out a breath that sags her shoulders. “I’m struggling, Zeke.”

“With what?” I ask, ready to offer her any advice I can. I hate that she was forced down this path, but if she’s going to do this, I want her to know what she’s doing.

“People keep testing me. They undermine me and defy me and force me to do something I really don’t want to.”

“Like what?”

She looks up at me from under her lashes. “Like murder.” Oh. That’s impressive. My face shows it and she rolls her eyes. “I can’t kill everybody. No matter what Dorian thinks,” she adds.

She’s confused, upset, and the guilt is quickly catching up to her. And she’s just getting started. “You’re right. You can’t kill everybody. You have to be smarter than that, Diem. Smarter than your enemy.”

Narrowing her eyes in confusion, she shifts to a more comfortable position—ready to absorb whatever knowledge I throw her way. “How?”

“People like me hold little value over their own life. So threatening them won’t do any good. You have to dig deeper—find their weakness.”

“What’s your weakness?” she asks, and I don’t hesitate to answer.

“You.”

I stand and grab the pizza box, an uneasy feeling coming over me. I don’t like having a weakness. Good thing mine has the protection of the Mafia. If not, someone might be inclined to use Diem against me. The thought pisses me off and has fear—something I’m not used to feeling—settling in my gut.

She follows me to the kitchen, jumping up to sit on the counter while I busy myself cleaning. “You know you don’t have to worry about that, right?” I don’t answer her and completely avoid her gaze. I can’t even look at her right now with the thought of someone hurting her running through my head. “Zeke,” she begs. “Will you please just look at me?”

“What do you want from me, Diem?” I ask, giving her a tortured look. “What are we? What is this? Do I even have a right to feel the need to protect you?”

“What I want is for you to not worry about me.”

“And what I want is a fucking answer,” I bite back, my anger rising. I’m not even sure what I’m pissed about.

“This is complicated. It’s always been complicated. Now that the truth is out, I don’t know what to do.” Suddenly, she looks exhausted. Drawing in a shaky breath, she looks out the kitchen window and I know she’s looking at Dirk’s grave. “I want us. I want this to work, but we have got to keep a low profile.”

Hopping down from the counter, she walks up to me, taking my face in her hands. “This shit is bigger than me and you. We’ve both worked too hard to fuck everything up now. That feeling you have for your club? I have that same feeling for my family. I have to see this through. But I need to know you’re on my side.”

Her eyes move back and forth, searching for something in mine. “Okay,” I whisper, knowing good and damn well what she’s feeling right now. I loved her, but Sinner’s Creed was my life. “And you don’t have to ask, Diem. I’ll always be on your side.”

She smiles, shedding a little light on my shitty mood. “We can be like Bonnie and Clyde.”

“As serial killers, I think we’re a little more notorious than Bonnie and Clyde.”

“We’re not serial killers,” she scoffs.

I raise my eyebrows. “Um, yeah we are.”

“I don’t believe that.” She shakes her head, emphasizing that she doesn’t agree. “I’m going with what you said earlier. We are simply righting those who wronged us. We’re more like the angel of death.”

“Great . . . I’ve created a fucking monster,” I say, throwing my hands up and walking away.

“Takes one to know one,” she says to my retreating back. “Hey! Where are you going?”