Page 121 of A Taste like Sin

what you have. I forget that sometimes… The strength it takes. A weaker person—a weaker man—

might turn off all emotion after such a betrayal. He might become bitter, and cold, and able to order

murder in the same breath as he might order a meal. But you…” His lips nudge my skin, keeping me

tethered despite another slamming roll of thunder. “You still love Heyworth Thorne, even after all

he’s done to you. You’re strong enough to hold a vigil over his sickbed and defend him in public. You

still fight to see the good. You believe in him, even as he hurt you.”

“Youhurt me,” I rasp into his shoulder, too exhausted to pull away. “My father…he loves me. You

don’t—”

“Do you know when I realized, sweet girl? That I was a fool?” His voice relentlessly overpowers

mine until I finally trail off. “It was when I found you in the woods. Even in your voice, I could hear

it. Shock that I came for you. Gratitude. In that moment, all you wanted was someone. Me. You

wanted me there. Not because of money or the many things you could extort. You were alone and you

neededme.Sí, sweet girl. Such an innocent little request, and it shattered me to my goddamn core.”

He nuzzles my shoulder, hesitating as I stiffen.

“I was wrong,” he continues. “I was a bastard. Selfish. I don’t deserve to be near you, let alone touch

you like this.” He slides his hand up and down my lower back anyway, gripping his fingers against the

shape of me. “So you can feel no guilt or shame for using me. I’m here. Use me as your barrier against

the storm. I can suffer that for you. When it’s over, you will hate me again. You hate me still. I know…

But I will stay anyway. I will comfort you anyway. I’ll shoulder the burden so that you can protect

your heart, sweet girl. Mine is already forfeit…”

I STIFFEN AND PEEL MY EYES OPEN TO AN UNFAMILIAR BED IN AN UNFAMILIAR ROOM. THE SIMPLISTIC

color scheme recalls the memory of Julio’s safe house. Sure enough, the view from the nearest

window looks out on the same view of the residential area of the city. Safe. Quiet.

Far from the realm of my father or Damien—at least in theory.

I may be alone now, but another person left clues of their presence scattered around me, impossible to

ignore. Like the blankets drawn carefully over me. As I kick them aside, I’m faced with the fact that

someone removed my socks and shirt, making it easier for them—or a doctor—to access my right

forearm. A crisp white bandage covers stitches, I assume. Vague images of watching someone

maneuver a needle through my rent flesh reinforces that suspicion.

Someone also left a cup of coffee on the nightstand, now cold, as well as my abandoned cell phone—