Page 33 of Protected by the Sinner (The Sinner’s Touch #2)

Two Days Later

“Can you tell me something about us?” I ask, trying to start a conversation.

Beau wanted to leave Boston the day before yesterday, but the medical team thought it would be safer to wait another forty-eight hours before I flew.

In those two days we spent in his house in Boston, I hardly saw him—he asked Celia to stay with me while he worked.

“The doctor thinks you should remember on your own.”

I look out the plane window, even though there’s nothing to see. What I’m really doing is avoiding eye contact.

Every time our eyes meet, it’s like he’s trying to see through me—and I still haven’t decided if that’s a good thing.

Sometimes I feel like he’s crazy about me. There’s heat in his presence when we’re close, an intense and powerful connection. But other times, I swear he pulls away on purpose, like my presence isn’t welcome.

We’re flying to New Orleans.

According to Beau, we’re going back to his real home. The place he calls home—and the one he says I’ve never been to.

Maybe I’m just being paranoid again, but doesn’t it say something about the kind of relationship we had . . . that he took me everywhere except to his real home?

I wait a few seconds before unbuckling my seatbelt, just so he won’t think it was his answer that upset me. I count silently to fifty, and once I feel like enough time has passed, I get up.

“Where are you going?”

“To lie down for a bit. I’ve got a headache.”

He starts to rise, but I stop him with a gesture.

“No, please. Stay. I’m fine. It’s nothing serious. Probably just my body still recovering.”

I turn my back so he won’t get a chance to argue again.

Once I reach the suite on the plane, I close the door and lean against it.

What’s going to happen when we land in Louisiana?

In Boston, we slept in separate rooms and barely spoke. Now, thinking back to that day in the hospital, when I hugged him and declared the love I think I had before the accident, I feel deeply embarrassed.

I close my eyes—like I’ve done so often since waking up from the crash—trying with all my willpower to remember anything. But nothing comes.

Exhausted, I slip off my shoes and throw myself on the bed. Right now, surrendering to sleep feels much better than facing reality.

The farmhouse looks new and well-kept, but it’s so big . . . so empty. Why won’t he let us live here too?

Then I remember what he told us: You’re daughters of a Romani. You don’t need to live in luxury.

Romani. Our beautiful mother, whom God took to heaven.

My sister and I used to say we wished we really were Romani—wearing colorful clothes and lots of bracelets, like the women from Mom’s side of the family.

She would tell us stories about festivals and joy. A happy life, so different from our own.

Here, we’re only allowed to wear white. We never cut our hair. And we have to pray all day long, so the devil doesn’t come near us.

I try to be a good girl, because I don’t want the devil anywhere near me, but Elodie said I don’t have to do it all the time like our father says—because we’re just kids. According to her, God loves all children, even the naughty ones.

I tiptoe, trying not to make any noise.

I’m hungry, and I know today—Wednesday—is the day the cook at the main house makes special food.

My father, who is also our leader, Tobias Cohen, lives in this house with his wives. But we—me and Elodie—don’t. So we don’t get to eat the good food, only soup and bread, shared with the other children and their mothers.

But his cook likes me and Elodie, so she always sneaks us extra portions.

I hear a noise at the end of the hall, and crying too. I know I shouldn’t go over there . . . but what if someone needs help?

I walk slowly so the floorboards won’t creak, but I don’t have to go far before I reach a half-open door. That’s where the crying is coming from. And now . . . screaming.

I cover my mouth with my hand.

Lucile—a girl just a few months older than my sister, and who I know just got married—is surrounded by the six elders. The pain on her face tells me they’re hurting her. And even though I know I should stay quiet, I start screaming for them to stop.

They don’t move and she keeps begging.

I scream again.

And again.

And again, until I lose my voice.

I hear someone calling my name, but I can’t answer. I don’t trust anyone.

I have to run, or they’ll catch me.

Run and never look back.

Protect my baby.

Past and present blur together, terrifying me all the same.

“They won’t catch us. We’re smarter.”

“I don’t want to go back there, Elodie.”

“We’ll never go back, Amber. I’ll always protect you.”

But she breaks that promise—and vanishes right before my eyes.

My sister.

I want my sister.