Confess (Sin City Salvation 1)

He squinted at me through the afternoon sun. “Are you going to watch all day, or are you ready to help?”

My cheeks flushed, and I was annoyed that he’d caught me staring. “I thought you would have paid someone to do this sort of work for you.”

“There’s no pride in that when I can do it myself.”

I didn’t reply, but I did move closer when he gestured for me. “What do you need me to do?”

He looked down at my fingers. “I need your hand.”

I stopped moving. “My hand?”

“It’s smaller than mine,” he observed.

I arched a brow. “What will I be doing with said hand?”

“There’s a loose bolt on the header,” he informed me. “I need you to reach down between the body and engine gap to tighten it.”

He pointed and showed me what he wanted me to do. It seemed easy enough, but I still wasn’t quite sure of myself, and I hated feeling that way. I was half tempted to go back in the house, consequences be damned, but then he moved behind me and positioned my body the way he decided would work best.

Or something like that.

I was too aware of his heat behind me. The scent of car grease and gasoline and something so distinctly Lucian, I’d never forget it. His whole house smelled like warm caramel and cloves, and it had taken me a while to realize that it was just him.

“Here.” He guided my arm down into the machinery of the car, and I followed his instructions carefully while I held my breath.

I didn’t know what was happening, but I felt warm all over. He was so close to me. I should have wanted to push him away, but I didn’t. And I couldn’t understand that.

Despite his religious beliefs and the few nice things he’d done for me, he wasn’t a good person. He blackmailed me, forcing me into this marriage, and threatened to ruin my life. Even if that weren’t the case, we had a huge age gap between us. Seventeen years. It felt wrong that I had even for a split second considered him attractive.

“Are we done now?” I asked as I finished the task he’d given me.

He took my arm in his and wiped it with a cloth, but his eyes never left mine. “You have trouble with men getting close to you.”

I didn’t know if it was an observation or a question, but regardless, I wasn’t answering.

“I told you I would never hurt you,” Lucian said.

“So?” I shot back. “You brought me here, didn’t you? You made me marry you. How can I know what you’re capable of? I barely know you.”

“You don’t need to know me,” he answered. “You only need to know that I stand by my word. I said I won’t hurt you, and I meant it. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid.” I crossed my arms.

He stared at me until I felt like I wanted to melt into the concrete. I didn’t want to believe that he knew all my secrets, but maybe he really did. Because when he looked at me, it wasn’t the way other men did. It wasn’t with sloppy lust or greed. There was passion and determination in his eyes. I just had to figure out exactly what that determination meant.

“You did good, pet.” He brought his thumb to my cheek and wiped away a streak of grease I didn’t know had collected there. “Have you ever had a real job?”

I shook my head. I’d made a shitload of money in my lifetime, but none of it was what society would call a real job.

“I want you to come to the office with me this week,” he said. “You can work the front desk.”

“Seriously?” I groaned. “What about your girlfriend?”

His eyes narrowed. “What girlfriend?”

“You know, the pretty redhead you’ve probably banged about a thousand times.”

He stuffed the oil rag back into his pocket and crossed his arms. “She’s an employee, not my girlfriend. And I’ve never fucked her.”

“Whatever.” My cheeks felt like tomatoes. “I don’t want to work with her.”

“Feeling threatened?” he mused.

“No,” I bit out. “I just don’t want to do that job.”

Lucian slammed the hood and locked the car. “I think you’re forgetting something, pet. It doesn’t matter what you want. Remember?”

“HOW ARE YOU DOING?”

Emmanuel bobbed his head, but nothing came out of his mouth. The shadows beneath his eyes were more prominent than the last time I’d seen him, and the bruising on his jaw was fresh. I was aware he’d been in several scuffles already with other inmates, which wasn’t entirely surprising. This place was a cesspool of crime, but there were always a few who believed their crimes weren’t as morally repulsive as the rest.

Emmanuel would have to face down these demons for the rest of his life if he was convicted of murder, and I knew better than to give him false comfort or hope. His case would be difficult to win, and I wouldn’t tell him otherwise. All my cases were notoriously difficult to win, but I couldn’t deny the overbearing sense of hopelessness in this one.