Page 7 of Wicked Believer (Original Sinner #2)

Chapter Six

Charlotte

The idea of fate is far more romantic than the reality.

I float naked in one of the penthouse’s larger tubs, the water having long since gone cold. My hair and ears are fully submerged, the sound around me muffled save for the echo of my own heartbeat. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

But my mind is blessedly empty, my thoughts almost blissful—they’re so peacefully silent for once. So silent I don’t recognize I’m no longer alone until I feel the sudden vibration of the water, someone pounding on the bathroom door.

“Miss Charlotte? Miss Charlotte?”

I close my eyes, not wanting to emerge from the feeling of numbness that’s now come over me, the feeling of weightlessness.

As if the whole world isn’t on fire all around me.

I’m still not exactly certain if everything I thought I overheard in the clearing is true. Lucifer didn’t mention the world ending, but I ... can’t seem to stop thinking about it.

The distant voice echoes again. This time, the pounding against the door grows more urgent, extreme enough that I can feel the ripples in the water with ease.

I sigh, jackknifing upright so that the sounds of the penthouse come back to me in a sudden rush. The quiet hum of the bathroom lights. The water dripping from my body.

And the now-incessant pounding on the door.

“Miss Charlotte?”

“What?” I finally snap, my tone uncharacteristically bitchy.

I try hard to be extra patient with the staff, to treat every one of them kindly. It wasn’t that long ago that I could have been one of them, after all.

Was one of them. Lucifer’s employees.

Even if I’m technically still on the company payroll.

“Yes?” I call again. This time softer, to mask my annoyance.

It takes a long time for me to escape my own mind these days. The dark thoughts and memories that haunt me each time I close my eyes. So, it’s moments like this I cherish the most.

The moments where I feel nothing.

Ramesh or another one of the staff—though I’m fairly certain it’s Ramesh from the sound of his voice—clears his throat from the other side of the door. “Apologies, Miss Charlotte, but the car is waiting.”

The car?

I wade to the other side of the bath, careful not to splash any of the water onto the edge where my iPhone waits. Drying off my hand on a nearby towel, I press the side button, lighting up the home screen.

8:30 p.m.

My stomach flips as I glance down at my severely pruned fingers.

I’ve been in the bath for over four hours.

Time has felt ... different these last few days.

I shake my head, my sopping wet hair flopping about my shoulders so that a few drops of water sprinkle across the screen. I don’t bother to dry it off before I tear out of the bath, more water sloshing onto the marble floor behind me as I wrap a towel around myself and hurry to the bathroom mirror.

I’m still not particularly comfortable with my own nudity.

With the woman who stares back at me.

I scramble in search of my makeup bag, realizing I must have left it upstairs, but somehow amid my mindless rushing, I end up accidentally turning the faucet on, even though I don’t need it. I’m supposed to meet Lucifer for dinner at nine o’clock.

And I’ve never once been late.

“Would serve him right,” I mutter to myself.

Things have been ... tense between us. Ever since the funeral. That night in the forest.

Another knock at the door interrupts me.

Ramesh’s voice is softer, though still concerned as he calls out, “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Charlotte?”

“No,” I call back, my shaking hand lashing out to rush and turn the faucet off as I glance toward the door.

I hear a subtle crack, followed by a loud crunch, and I turn to find the faucet’s now-broken handle clutched in my palm, the porcelain crushed completely.

Several of its shards poke out of my skin as my blood begins to pool.

I stare at it, fear and shock leaving me unable to move.

But I . . . feel nothing.

“Miss Charlotte?” Ramesh’s voice sounds uncertain. Clearly, he heard the porcelain breaking.

“I’m coming,” I shout, adrenaline getting the better of me.

Even as I’m too numb to feel.

I use my other hand to cradle my injured palm as blood begins to drip into the marble sink.

The crimson splotches speckle amid the rock’s natural pattern.

Shaking from head to toe, I grab hold of a nearby hand towel, shoving the fluffy white linen against the cut in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, but that only seems to push the shards deeper.

I let out a pained hiss. So much for numb.

“Miss Charlotte, are you all right?” Ramesh mumbles, his voice strained with concern.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” I lie, forcing my grip to remain steady as I begin to pull the first shard from the fleshy mound near my thumb. I swallow down a panicked whimper.

But my tone betrays me.

“If you need any assistance, I would be happy to send one of the maids in.”

Silence answers. I mouth another string of curses, pulling yet another shard from my skin. The pain cuts through me.

“Or perhaps you would prefer I call Mr. Apollyon?”

“No,” I say quickly. Too quick. I want to shut that idea down fast.

The thought of facing Lucifer, of him seeing me vulnerable like this, especially after we fought ... well, it ... it no longer feels safe to me.

“No. No, that won’t be necessary,” I say, shaking my head, though I know Ramesh can’t see me. If he could, Lucifer would be on the phone and then here before I could blink. “Tell Dagon I’ll be down when I’m ready.”

Ramesh lingers, and even through the door, I can practically feel his hesitation before finally he mutters, “Yes, of course, Miss Bellefleur.”

A moment later, I hear his steps slowly retreat down the hall.

Leaving me alone.

I sink to my knees, collapsing onto the tiled bathroom floor just as a pained, strangled whimper escapes me.

I wince, a sharp searing sensation racing up my arm as I slowly pull yet another shard from my palm.

My blood coats the floor and sink as I sit there, painstakingly removing every piece, and I can’t help but think that no matter how well meaning, Ramesh can no longer help me. No mortal can.

And that thought chills me to my marrow.

As the last of my humanity slips away from me ...