Page 152 of Sins of a King

I knelt by Dolinsky’s corpse and fished around in his coat pocket, pulling out my wedding ring. For the time being, I put it on my right ring finger, wondering if I’d ever get the chance to put it back where it belonged.

“Barrett, we need to go.”

I got up off the floor and followed Flynn outside. We briskly walked a few blocks before we reached his car. He unlocked it and went to open the passenger door for me. After climbing in, he started the transmission, blasting the heat. I put my hands in front of the heater, feeling some of the coldness leave my fingers.

“Flynn—”

“Not right now, Barrett.” His grip on the wheel tightened as he drove through the Queens neighborhood.

I fell silent and looked out the window. There was so much distance between us. And time. Would we ever be “us” again? Could he forgive me for the things I’d done?

Could I forgive myself?

We drove in silence for three hours—I was stewing and brooding—and I assumed Flynn was doing the same. Every now and again, I would glance at him and catch him looking at me with an indiscernible look on his face. I’d been storing up things I wanted to say. It was all there between us, like a living entity.

Finally, we pulled into the driveway of a two-story wood cabin in the Poconos. Flynn cut the engine, and we sat for a moment in the car. I didn’t want to go into the house. When we went in there, we’d have to talk. We’d have to talk about our time apart—we’d have to talk about the video of me with Dolinsky’s hands on my body. We’d have to talk about the pleasure I’d found with another man.

“You ready?” Flynn asked. His voice was tight, like he had to force the words from his throat.

“No.”

“Not much choice, is there?”

I sighed. “No.”

We got out of the car and headed to the front porch of the cabin. Flynn unlocked the door, and I was greeted by wood, brown leather, and mountain lodge decor, complete with large windows that showed off the landscape. Flynn shrugged out of his coat and then helped me with the mink.

“He bought you this,” Flynn stated, though it was completely unnecessary.

“Yeah. He bought me all of this.” I gestured to the black cashmere turtleneck dress and black suede boots that fit me perfectly.

“Take them off,” he commanded. His brogue thickened when he felt deep emotion, and his anger was evident and palpable.

I struggled out of my dress, trying to be mindful of my injured hand. Flynn watched me with an unwavering gaze and didn’t offer to help me. He stood, with his legs braced, his arms by his side.

Kicking aside my discarded clothes, I forced myself to stand before him completely naked and unashamed. His gaze slowly traveled down my body, lust warring with anger. Sighing, he walked over to the couch and picked up the plaid blanket and held it out to me.

He wanted me to cover up, but I didn’t want to. I was tired of concealing myself. I took the blanket anyway and wrapped it around me.

Flynn turned away and built a fire. Only when the wood was crackling and heat blasted from the fireplace did he look at me again.

“I don’t know where to start,” he said.

“Me either,” I admitted.

“Glass of scotch? Might make this easier.” Flynn walked to the bar at the other end of the living room. I sank down onto the couch, attempting to get comfortable. Flynn returned and handed me a glass. Instead of sitting down next to me, he moved to stand by the fireplace.

I threw back the drink in one long swallow. It burned my still tender throat, causing me to cough.

“That was supposed to be savored,” Flynn admonished.

Silence descended again.

“To hell with this.” Flynn growled. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No. That video—”

“Christ, that video. Did you know he was going to do that?”