Born Sinner (Se7en Sinners #1) Page 3

  “Calm down.” She approaches with measured steps, sets the tray on the nightstand and the bag on the neatly made bed. “You really shouldn’t talk like that.”

  “Fuck. You.”

  Lily shakes her head before sitting on the bed. “Look, we can do this two ways. You can go into the bathroom, shower and change on your own, or I can carry you in there, strip you naked and scrub you until you’re raw. Your choice.”

  I open my mouth to retort with something vulgar, or even a threat of violence, but quickly snap my jaw shut. Lily isn’t the sweet, dainty princess that I thought she was. This girl is something out of a Marvel movie, complete with blade wielding and acrobatics. I’ve never seen her move like that. I’ve never seen anyone move like that. I’ve seen gang bangers and mobsters before. Shit, I’ve been in a few nightclub brawls myself. But never anything like her.

  I try to reach out and touch her mind with mine, hoping to glimpse any signs of menace. If I could do that, maybe I could will her to let me go without harm. But, all I get is static. White noise. I never felt the need to sift through her head, because she never gave me a reason to. Now that I have one, I can’t make a connection.

  I try again, focusing all my energy on reaching out to where she sits just feet away. Sweat beads on my brow and the bridge of my nose. My breath escapes in short pants and my heartbeat drums in my ears. I’m grasping for her, stretching myself like a worn rubber band until it begins to fray and tear, threatening to shatter my own mind.

  Then, just before I give up, I feel it. A crack in her mind. A small fissure that’ll give me access to her cerebrum. But the very second I touch the fractured barrier with invisible fingertips, I’m met with excruciating pain. My teeth clench so tight that I’m sure they’ve been ground to dust in my mouth as I bite through a scream. Tears fill my eyes, spilling down my hot cheeks in salty rivulets. The taste of metal fills my mouth as my nose gushes blood.

  I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying.

  “Don’t,” Lily says, flippantly. And with that one word, the pain eases back the way it came as if it was never there, leaving me to cough and sputter. I gulp the precious air that had been strangled from my lungs. Tears and deep red blood drip onto the hardwood. If I didn’t see the tiny pools for myself, I’d think my agony had been imagined.

  “What did you do to me?” I wheeze, trying to catch my breath.

  “Nothing, sweetie. But if you don’t cooperate, that’ll be the least of your problems.”

  No. No. No. Not this way. I can’t die this way.

  Resigned to wallow in my weakness, I lift my heavy head to look across the room to where another door is situated. It must be the en suite bathroom. Honestly, I have to pee so badly it hurts, and even I’m sickened by my stench and the taste of blood staining my teeth, but I won’t tell her that. I can’t let her know that I’m compliant—that I’m accepting of what’s happening to me. Even if she could rip me apart limb from limb. Even if I am virtually defenseless.

  “Fine. I’ll shower. But only if you tell me what’s going on.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t do that. Not right now.”

  “Then when?”

  She looks towards the closed bedroom door then back at me. “Soon. When L says it’s time.”

  L. There’s that name again. Some mob boss? Drug lord? Either way, what would he want with me? I’m nobody.

  “Fine. But just answer one question for me—just one. And I’ll do what you ask. I won’t ask you why I’m here or what you plan to do with me. I just…I need to know.”

  “One question?” Lily lifts a slender brow.

  “Yes. Answer it truthfully, and I’ll march into that bathroom without another sound. I’ll even eat your food.”

  She rolls her eyes, and heaves out an exasperated sigh. “Ok. One question. Let’s hear it.”

  I look up from the floor at the girl I had considered one of my only friends. I didn’t love easily, and most people found me too cold and guarded to forge a relationship with. But Lily…she never gave up. She never made me feel like an outsider. And she never pitied me. She accepted me—poor, abandoned and forgotten. At least that’s what I thought.

  “Did you ever truly care for me, or was it all a ploy to capture, and, ultimately, kill me?”

  Without blinking, Lily answers with a simple, “Yes.”

  “Yes, you cared? Or, yes, it was all staged.”

  “Yes…to both.”

  Speechless, I climb to my feet and gingerly pick up the duffel bag. Then I make my way into the bathroom with my trampled heart in my throat.

  I hate to admit it, but a shower is exactly what I need. I hadn’t realized what a horror show I was until I looked into the vanity mirror. Dried, flaky blood covers my face and chest, along with a good coating of vomit in my hair. What was left of my clothing has been ripped and stained beyond salvage.

  The bathroom is immaculate, just as the bedroom, and just as cold. The only toiletries in the shower are a bar of white soap and a bottle of shampoo. I lather, scrub, rinse and repeat, eager to wash the remains of the dead Russian and the night before off of me. Although it’s difficult with a golf ball size goose egg on my head, I’m able to restore my hair to its radiant silver tone. I touch my fingertips to the nasty lump and wince. He must’ve hit me with the blunt of his gun. Or maybe I was mistaking his fist for hardened steel. Either way, the fucker knocked me out cold like I was no more than a mangy, rabid animal. And without a single tinge of remorse. My eyes water at the remembrance, and I quickly dash away spiteful tears.

  After drying off with an oversized towel that’s surprisingly fluffy, I unzip the duffel bag. I expect to find the basics: nondescript pants, t-shirt, hopefully some undergarments. But what I don’t expect to see are my clothes. Clothes from my room. In my apartment. Oh shit. They’ve been to my home. To our home.

  I leave the water running in the shower, creating a veil of steam within the confined space, as I rummage through the drawers and cabinets. There’s nothing—nothing that I could use as a weapon. Nothing that would allude to my captor. Not even a razor or a safety pin. Everything is bare and cold and harsh. Stainless steel against brick.

  I give up my search, and reluctantly turn off the water, then leave the temporary haven of the bathroom. Lily is gone, and something within my chest stirs. I hate her. I hate her for deceiving me. But I also know that I need her. She’s my best bet at getting out of here. She admitted it—she cared for me. And if any of that affection still exists in her heart, maybe I can manipulate her into letting me go. It’ll take time, and every ounce of my will, but if I can just tap into that little crack in her conscience, then maybe I can make it out of here alive.

  As quietly as I can, I search the room from top to bottom, taking inventory of anything out of place. The door is locked—no surprise there. The drawers are filled with nothing but plain men’s clothing and there doesn’t seem to be any grooming products or jewelry lying about. There’s a closet, but it’s locked behind what appears to be a steel door. There. That’s where I need to be. That’s the ticket to my freedom. Or maybe just the opposite. The samurai said that L didn’t like a mess. Maybe that’s where they plan to kill me.

  There’s a single window in the bedroom, painted shut and locked behind metal bars. I touch my fingertips to the freezing cold, frosted glass and peer down onto the street, watching the world zip by me like a faded silent film. I’m still in Chicago. I should be relieved by that fact. Instead, realization chokes me, and I push away, refusing to see any more.

  It’s quiet. In the twenty-two years I’ve lived in this city, it’s never been quiet. Ever. The window is soundproof. Screaming for help would be futile.

  Defeated, exhausted, and utterly drained, I plop onto the bed. It’s massive, bigger than any bed I’ve ever seen. The steel-colored comforter is surprisingly soft under my palms, and the pillows are full and fluffy. It’s odd and out of place against the stark harshness of the rest of the room.

&n
bsp; The tray of food still sits on the nightstand, so I give into the near-debilitating hunger pangs and lift the metal-hooded plate. A burger and fries. Food that doesn’t require a knife and fork. Smart. With a ravenous bite, I devour half of the burger and wash it down with the entire bottle of water. The food has turned cold, but it’s delicious. Probably the best thing I’ve ever tasted, considering I haven’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours. Maybe even longer. I can’t be sure how much time has passed.

  The numbness starts at my tongue, slowly slithering its way down my throat like a toxic slug. I drop the French fry at my lips and clutch my neck in a hopeless attempt to rip the venom from my deadening esophagus. I gulp air, drinking in life to wash away the death strangling my soundless screams. Choking on tears, I cry out for help, but the voice has been wretched from my throat. I’m drowning in my own saliva, thrashing in a sea of sheets the color of clouds fat with rain. I fight for the surface, but I’ve fallen too deep…too deep…too deep within my own demise.

  With eyes so wide I can see each frame of my life flash by in brilliant color, I see a familiar face come into view. Smirking. Waiting. Watching me die.

  I’m not alone. I can sense it. I can feel their cruel eyes on me, waiting for me to entertain them with my stubborn mortality.

  “You’re awake,” an accented voice says. It’s French, I think. French…and something else. “Good. We’ve been waiting.”

  My heartbeat stutters as I leap out of my skin. With uncoordinated limbs, I struggle to sit up and drag my body to the other side of the bed. The dark-skinned man with honeyed eyes sits mere feet away, his expression curious—maybe even a little amused by my floundering. I look up to find that another man the color of sunbaked desert sand stands at the foot of the bed, silently watching me with irises the shade of soot.

  “What do you want?” I rasp, my throat tight. The man the color of night hands me a bottle of water. I go to grab it then stop, remembering myself. “You drugged me.”

  “I did not personally, but yes, you have been drugged. I apologize for the inconvenience.” He sets the water on the nightstand, which has since been cleared of the remnants of my poisoned meal. “We didn’t want to risk you getting hurt during the medical exam. But I assure you, you were safe. It was not invasive. And the water is clean.”

  His words pierce through the smog in my brain, and I frantically assess my body. To my relief, I’m fully dressed. But the thought of this stranger…this monster…touching my naked skin…

  “You examined me?”

  “Briefly, yes. I’m a medical physician, among other things. I wanted to treat your contusion and make notes of any distinguishing marks.”

  “You touched me?” I mean to shout, but it comes out in a strangled wheeze.

  “Please, Eden. Calm down. I do not wish to harm you.”

  “You drugged and kidnapped and touched me without a word of why I’m here. And I’m supposed to believe you? Some freak I don’t even know!”

  The man nods once. “That would be ideal. I am Phenex. My companion is Jinn. I was hoping to speak with you.”

  I look from Phenex to Jinn, whose expression is stony. “I told you—I don’t have anything. I don’t know anything. You must have the wrong person.”

  Phenex shakes his head, causing the long, coiled dreadlocks tied at his nape to brush against his dark tunic. “I don’t believe we do. You’re the one we’ve been seeking for some time now. However, there has been a…discrepancy. My hope is that you’ll speak with me so we can figure this out as amicably as possible. You’ll find that my methods are a bit more…desirable…than those of my counterparts.”

  I struggle against the toxins clouding my mind, trying to find reason in his words. “Desirable?” I recoil as far as my sluggish body will go. Leaving the bed would prove pointless; my legs feel like they’ve been asleep for a year.

  “My friends persuade with brute force,” he answers, regarding me from his side of the bed. “I choose to use intellect.”

  “And him?” I ask, jutting my chin toward Jinn. He’s as still as a statue, only his dark eyes moving beneath the wrap of fabric atop his head. I don’t even think he’s breathing.

  Phenex looks back at his friend before answering. “Jinn lives by a stringent code of ethics much different from all of ours. I assure you, he is not a threat.”

  “Yet, I’m here against my will. He’s an accomplice to my kidnapping.” I shoot Jinn an accusing look, just in time to see the faintest twitch of the corner of his mouth. His fists ball at his sides. I’m definitely poking the beast here, but that’s good. That miniscule reaction tells me what I need to know. It gives me hope.

  Remorse. He feels remorse for what’s been done to me. Maybe he even disagrees.

  “Not everything is what it seems,” Phenex responds, drawing my attention back to him. “You will see that soon. Or maybe you won’t.” He picks up a notepad and a pen that I hadn’t noticed on the bed. “It’s imperative that we get started. L won’t want to wait much longer.”

  L. There’s that name again. The keeper of my fate.

  In an act of good faith, I scoot a fraction towards the middle of the bed. I won’t persuade him with vulgarity. Maybe I can charm him into getting some answers. “Who’s L?” I ask, using my softest, sweetest voice.

  Phenex smiles, his full lips curling over perfect, gleaming white teeth. He’s a beautiful man. It’s hard not to admit it. But there’s something about his beauty that just doesn’t seem…real? He’s a criminal. He shouldn’t be extraordinarily handsome. I shouldn’t notice the way his dark lashes flawlessly frame almond-shaped, deep-set eyes. I shouldn’t wonder if his skin over the apples of his cheeks is as smooth as marble. This is a trick. A side effect from the drugs still in my system.

  I take a deep breath and push myself outside my body like an outstretched hand, seeking the feel of his mind pressed against mine. I want to trust him. I want to believe that I haven’t been brought here to be executed. But I can’t trust the guise of a smile anymore. His words are worthless. But the soul never lies.

  Pain. Debilitating pain slices through my scalp, retching a harrowing scream from my hoarse throat. I grip the sides of my head, begging through sobs for it to ease. I can feel my brain throbbing as it swells against the cage of my skull. I imagine it seeping from my ears, a pulpy mess of twisted pink flesh turned to blood soup.

  And then it stops.

  “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you,” Phenex remarks, his eyes roaming my sweat-slickened face. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  “Huh?” I pant, blinking through tears. The pain is gone, save for the dull headache I’ve had since I woke up from my drug-induced slumber. A second ago, I could have sworn my brain had been pulverized, but now…nothing.

  “You’re trying to read my soul. It won’t work. Just like it didn’t work with Lil.”

  “Wha…?” How? How did he know? No one knows about me. Not since I made the mistake of telling my mother what I could do. She was certain I was possessed, and tried to beat the devil out of me. After that, I never spoke another word about it.

  Phenex smiles, and it looks like pity. “Your tricks won’t work on me, or anyone else here. You cannot bend our wills. But you will give yourself an aneurism if one of us decides to let you in.”

  “But…how?” I stammer, pressing a trembling hand to my dry, cracked lips. “How did you know? Are you like me?”

  He shakes his head, before turning his gaze to the notepad as he scribbles something down in characters I can’t read. “Not exactly.”

  “Then how did you know?” Hell, I don’t even know what I am.

  A slow, sinuous smile spreads against his lips. “We know everything about you, Eden Faith Harris. I told you…we’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

  Phenex asks me simple questions at first. Weight. Height. Age. Things he would already know. He’s testing me, trying to see if I’d lie, even about something inconsequential. Then he moves on to
the heavier shit. The shit I’d buried a long time ago.

  “Tell me about your parents.”

  I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “My father was a no-show. My mom was a nutcase.”

  “Is that all?”

  “What else is there to tell?”

  Phenex sets the notebook down and trains his amber eyes on me. There’s empathy in his gaze. “What was your father like?”

  I shrug again. “How should I know? He left when I was a baby. My mom said he was a minister. I guess he felt his God needed him more than his family did. Not that I blame him.”

  “And why’s that?”

  I look down where my hands are clasped tightly in my lap. I don’t want to think about this, let alone talk about it. I haven’t talked about this shit in years, not even to Mary, the foster sister I’ve affectionately called Sister since we were placed together. I was just a snot-nosed kid, and we were forever bonded by pain and loss and loneliness.

  “My mother was sick. Drugs, alcohol, you name it…she was a junkie. But more than that, she was literally out of her fucking mind.”

  Phenex winces at my words before frowning. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she was. She was psycho. She was the reason why my father left us, thinking I wasn’t his child. She was convinced that she had been seduced by the devil while pregnant with me. She told anyone who would listen. She even tried to get the doctors to abort me, claiming I was tainted. When they turned her away, she tried to cut me out herself with a kitchen knife.”

  Phenex blanches then swallows thickly. Something like sorrow clouds his chiseled features. That was something he didn’t know.

  “What happened?”

  I shake my head and try to smile through the ache in my chest. “She went into premature labor and hemorrhaged. And I have a nice little scar from my shoulder to my elbow as a reminder.” I lift the sleeve of my shirt to show him the raised sliver of skin which has since been covered in a colorful inked mural of lace, skulls and roses.