Page 25 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

“ Please. I don’t have anybody,” she muttered, her voice small, almost like she was saying it to herself.

I glanced down at her hand, her fingers curled around my jacket, and for a second, I thought about walking away anyway. I let out a low breath, trying to shake off the stupid pity I felt creeping in.

Should’ve just let the pretty girl drown.

I jerked my wrist free. “Where’s your phone?”

She slapped a hand over her mouth, cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. Her wide eyes flicked around before landing on the fountain, then she pointed at it dramatically.

“Um?…?I might’ve?…?thrown it in there?” She giggled awkwardly, hands wringing in her lap, looking like she’d just realized how much trouble she was actually in. “Oops.”

“Right,” I muttered, glancing at the spot where she’d almost taken herself out. “It’s swimming with the fish now, huh?”

She let out a hiccup and tried to stand, but she slipped. I caught her. Her whole body now pressed up against the front of my jacket, soft, soaked, and shivering.

“You good?” I muttered.

She tilted her head back, lashes wet, pupils wide and wild. “Mhm,” she said, but her knees didn’t get the memo. She snorted. Hiccuped again.

“Fuck’s sake,” I muttered under my breath. Without another word, I slid an arm under her knees, the other around her back, and lifted her. The second I had her off the ground, her arms circled around my neck. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She sighed, her breath warm on my throat.

I carried her across the garden, the gravel crunching under my boots, moonlight peeling silver off her soaked dress. Her fingers curled at the back of my neck, nails dragging slightly beneath the collar of my jacket, a barely-there scrape that somehow still made me grit my teeth.

“Who are you?”

“No one,” I said, eyes straight ahead.

One hand rose to brush my cheek. “You feel like an angel.”

I huffed. “You’re drunk.”

She didn’t deny it. Just pressed two fingers to my mouth like she was mapping out my sins. “You look like one, too.”

I opened my mouth and bit down.

“Ow. Asshole.” She jerked back with a pout, but it faded fast. “Guess you’re not an angel after all.”

“Why the drugs?” I asked, boots grinding gravel as I carried her deeper into the dark.

She yawned, lazy and sad, dragging her finger down my jaw like she was tracing a scar only she could see. “They make everything quieter.”

“Quieter than what?”

She blinked once, then again slower this time, like the truth needed prying. “Than being someone people love to hurt?…?even when you beg them not to.”

Her voice cracked, splintering down the middle. Then she leaned in, her breath brushing my throat once more.

“I don’t take them to feel good,” she whispered. “I take them to stop hoping someone will come looking when I disappear.”

The words landed like dirt on a coffin.

“What’s a girl like you even got to complain about? Daddy didn’t hug you with enough zeroes in the bank account?”

She smiled, slow and sad, like she’d heard it all before. Her fingertip found my mouth again, tracing it like a prayer. “Money’s great for covering scars. Doesn’t mean they stop bleeding.”

I laughed under my breath. “You’re too young to talk like that.”

“I just turned twenty-two,” she said softly. “Old enough to know the devil doesn’t need horns when he’s got a voice like yours.”

The music twisted into static and the party lights rippled into the garden, flickering like waves on the grass.

I let out a breath. “And yet here you are, wrapped in the arms of what you fear most.”

“Maybe I want him to save me.”

“No one’s coming to save you, sweetheart.”

“Maybe you will,” she whispered. “Maybe you already have.”

My brows furrowed as her fingers drifted down my throat again.

“How old are you?” she mumbled against my chest.

“Thirty-three.”

“Oh?…” Then she giggled. “Mmm?…?I’ve always liked older boys.”

I adjusted my grip, holding her tighter as she swayed in my arms. “Why’s that?”

She yawned. “They’re sexier?…”

I felt the warmth of her fingertips brush the ink just below my ear, the tattoo I’d gotten years ago.

“What does à la vie, à la mort mean?”

The way she butchered the French made my mouth twitch.

“It means in life and in death ,” I said, my voice low against the shell of her ear.

Her fingers stilled, and for a second, it felt like she understood exactly which side I belonged to.

“That’s bleak,” she whispered.

“So are you.”

She let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, then reached up and hooked her finger under my chin, dragging my eyes to hers.

I stopped moving.

“The two fallen angels begging for death,” she whispered. “We’re the same, aren’t we?”

A pause.

Something in me locked up. My jaw clenched, spine tight, breath held like I was waiting for a shot.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, she leaned in and softly pressed her lips to mine. My heart hammered.

“You were the only light I could see tonight.”

Then she slumped against my neck, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe.

“My star in the darkness,” she mumbled, giggling faintly.

And just like that, she slipped under. Her frame went slack. Eyes closed. A soft, broken snore escaping her lips.

Merde.

I quickly headed toward the back entry, the one I’d used earlier.

My boots barely made a sound as I walked, her weight steady in my arms. I pushed the hidden button behind a painting and opened the secret door, made my way down the narrow hall, and to the guest room on the same floor, away from the chaos of the main party and the catering.

The world closed in with every step.

I pushed open the door, ready to drop her and be done with it, but she clung tighter. Her grip was strong around my throat, dragging me down with her. I braced myself on either side of the bed, fists planted in the mattress.

She blinked up at me, dazed. “Aren’t you taking me home?”

I tried to pry her off, but her arm slid around the back of my neck like a noose. “I don’t know where the hell you live.”

She paused, then slapped me. Not hard, more like a half-dazed pat across the face.

“Liar,” she muttered. “I’m the Scarlett Harper. Everybody knows where I live.”

I stilled. Let my eyes drop to hers. “Apologies, now .”

She yawned. “Could you please braid my hair? I like it that way?…” Her voice trailed off.

A breath later, her arms slipped from around me, and she curled up on the bed, already drifting, like she was done with the conversation.

And maybe she was. Because mess or not, drunk or high, she knew exactly who she was. Now I knew too. And that fucking ruined everything.

I reached for her face without thinking, thumb brushing her cheek. That’s when I saw it—a sliver of gold. A necklace. Two small stars side by side, resting against her chest.

I touched it. Her breath deepened. A sound slipped from her throat.

She’d ruined my night. I wanted compensation, so I took it.

I slipped a hand behind her neck, unclasped the necklace, and pulled it off, then fastened it around my own throat beneath my shirt. Hidden, but mine now.

My hand hovered over her cheek again. Then it dropped to her hair. A low curse slipped from my lips as I pulled out my phone, typing how to braid hair into YouTube.

I followed the video as best as I fucking could, braiding it for the first time, tugging tighter than I probably should have, but I wanted it to hold. When I was done, I leaned back, breath uneven, eyes dragging over every inch of her.

One last look.

She had called me her star in the darkness, never knowing she was the shooting star that had torn through my sky the night I’d meant to die.

“ à dieu, mon étoile filante. ” Then I walked out.

Before I stayed.