There Are No Saints (Sinners Duet #1)(56)

I snatch up my purse and hurry down the stairs, knowing better than to keep Cole waiting.

He’s standing outside his car, arms crossed over his chest, already impatient.

I can’t help laughing at the sight of him: he’s dressed as a Greek warrior, but painted head-to-toe in mottled gray and white so he looks like a statue turned to stone.

“How long did that take you?”

“Not too long. I rigged up my own airbrush.”

Cole is well known for designing custom machinery for fabrication. By all accounts, he’s an engineering genius. I haven’t seen any of his inventions because he still hasn’t brought me to his personal studio. It’s the one place on earth I’m most curious to go—better than a secret tour of the Vatican.

“I want to see it,” I say, giving him a not-so-subtle reminder of his promise.

He ignores my hint, opening my car door for me in a way that somehow manages to feel bossy rather than chivalrous.

“I’m surprised you didn’t dress as Perseus,” I say.

“I thought this would amuse you more.”

“Oh, it does.”

Another joke for my benefit . . . I’m not sure whether to be gratified or disturbed that Cole is making this level of effort on my behalf. I’m flattered as fuck but I know there’s always a reason with him—something he’ll want in return. Cole doesn’t do anything just to be nice.

We climb into his Tesla. Always prepared, Cole has laid a plastic tarp over his seat so the gray paint doesn’t damage the leather.

As he pulls away from the curb, he engages the autopilot.

“I’m surprised you trust the computer to drive for you,” I say. “I thought you were too much of a control freak for that.”

Cole shrugs. “This car has eight cameras constantly looking in all directions and an algorithm that updates daily. It’s superior to a human driver—even one as careful as me.”

“Well, what do I know. I don’t even have a driver’s license.”

“Are you serious?”

“Why would I? I’ve never had a car.”

He makes a disgusted tsking sound. “You should still know how to drive.”

I grin at him. “If autopilot keeps improving, maybe I’ll never have to learn.”

Though he’s barely touching the wheel with his index finger, Cole keeps his eyes on the road. He only pulls his gaze away for a moment to run those dark eyes up and down my body, murmuring, “You’re stunning.”

I’m glad the green makeup hides my blush.

“Erin said it was too much.”

“Erin is conventional,” Cole sniffs. “The blend of grotesque and sensual is alluring.”

“Well . . . thanks,” I say.

I never imagined I’d be flattered to be called “grotesque”, but here we are.

We pull up in front of a tall brick building in Russian Hill, where the party is already in full swing. Bass thuds vibrate the lawn, and eerie violet light spills out from the windows. As we enter through the front doors, we step into a miasma of thick fog and hanging sheets of artificial cobwebs.

Devil’s Worst Nightmare — FJ?RA Spotify → geni.us/no-saints-spotify

Apple Music → geni.us/no-saints-apple





Sonia grabs my shoulder, already well on her way to drunk. It takes me a second to recognize her because she’s dressed as Beetlejuice, complete with plunging black-and-white-striped suit, corpse makeup, and her gray bob sprayed lime green.

“Congratulations on selling your painting!” she cries with a valiant effort not to slur her words in the presence of her boss. “I wasn’t surprised, but I’m damn happy for you.”

“I know you are,” I say, squeezing her shoulder in return. “You’re my fairy godmother, after all.”

“She is?” Cole demands. “Then what am I?”

“I don’t know,” I say, looking him up and down. “You’re more like . . . the goblin king in the middle of the maze.”

“What does that mean?” he frowns.

“Haven’t you seen Labyrinth?”

I can tell by his scowl that he hasn’t.

“You’re missing out!” Sonia cries. “David Bowie in those tight pants . . . it’s classic.”

Cole gives a dismissive shrug, but I can tell he’s annoyed. He hates not knowing things.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks me.

“Sure—whatever they have. I’m not picky.”

He disappears into the crowd, searching for the bar.

Sonia cocks her head to the side, regarding me with a curiosity that cuts through her inebriation.

“Do you know why Cole smashed his solar model?” she asks me.

I stare at her. “Are you talking about the Olgiati?”

“The one and only.”

“You’re kidding. Isn’t that worth like . . . all the money?”

“Three million at least. He shattered it with a golf club. Busted it into a billion pieces.”

My stomach churns. I hate the thought of something so unique being destroyed.

“You think he did it on purpose?”

“I know he did.”

“Why?”