Page 55 of Sinful Hearts

I shut my eyes, knowing it’s stupid to turn my back to him, but if he hasn’t killed me already after everything I’ve done, the chances are, it’s not that high on his priority list. At least notyet.

I’m sure if I keep acting up, that may change.

I try to brainstorm possible ways to kill him before slowly drifting off to sleep.

I wake up to silence.

No tapping of keys.

The lamp is off.

No sign of Emilio.

I slip out of bed and carefully tread toward the door.

It’s shockingly unlocked.

I tiptoe downstairs.

Hearing his voice, I focus on staying quiet and following the sound.

He’s in the parlor room, and the door is closed. I place my palm and ear to the door, trying to listen the best I can.

He’s in the parlor room, and the door is closed. I place my palm and ear to the door, trying to listen the best I can.

“I’ll come there as soon as I can,” he says, keeping his voice low. “She’s hard to keep an eye on right now.” His tone is sad yetfrantic at the same time. “Yeah, I know.” A deep sigh. “Love you too.”

The moment he ends the call, I dash back upstairs to bed.

Last time he caught me eavesdropping, he held a knife to my throat and made it a point to nick me with it. My entire body tenses as I hear him walking up the stairs, getting closer to the bedroom.

I turn to the side, facing the chair.

When the door clicks open, I slam my eyes shut and pretend to sleep.

The sound of his footsteps is heavy as he comes closer. I wait for another knife, a gun, something to punish me for my nosiness.

That doesn’t happen.

He turns on the lamp again and settles back into the chair, and as I open one eye, I notice he hasmylaptop.

I grit my teeth, holding back the urge to say,What the fuck?

He attempts the password once, and I expect him to set it aside in failure.

No chance in hell will he guessImliterallyjustagirl101.

Under the dim light, he wipes his brow and keys in another attempt. A smirk twitches at his lips as he glides his fingers over the trackpad.

The asshole got in.

I have two options—confront him or feign sleep and allow him to snoop.

I snap my other eye open, fake a yawn, and lift my arms in the air. I wait a few seconds, as if slowly waking up, and peer at him. “Are you on my computer?”

“Yes,” he says, not stopping. “You’ve been watching me on here for the last …” He pauses to check his watch. “Six minutes.”

I lift onto my elbow, using the pillow for support. “How’d you get my password?”