There Are No Saints (Sinners Duet #1)(63)

It only lasted a minute. But it was nice . . .

The pieces are falling into place with sickening speed.

He could have snatched me up a block from my house. Stuffed me in a trunk. Bound, blindfolded, and pierced me, then slashed me open and left me on the ground to die . . .

No. Not to die.

Left . . . as a gift.

A gift for the man who would follow.

Where was Cole going that night? What was he doing?

It doesn’t matter. Someone knew he’d be there. They knew he’d find me.

And what was the point? What did they expect?

My heart is racing, the steady whum, whum, whum of the dryer like a crank operating my brain. Forcing it to keep running. Shoving it toward the inevitable conclusion of these thoughts.

They expected Cole to finish me off.

That was the gift.

That was the temptation.

BUZZZZZZZZ.

The alarm to the dryer sounds, making me shriek.

The little Asian grandma pops up like a jack-in-the-box, bustling over to retrieve her socks. She bundles them all into a string bag, then slings the bag over her shoulder, heading toward the door, waving to me as she leaves.

I wave back, feeling like I’m floating, feeling like I’m one of the many pieces of trash running down the gutters outside, carried away by the rain.

What happened that night never made any sense because I was too close to the picture. I could only see the tiny individual dots. Taking a step back, the whole image pulls into focus.

There were two psychopaths in the woods that night: Alastor and Cole.

Alastor brought me there.

Cole was supposed to kill me.

But he didn’t.

I fucking survived.

And the whole palaver afterward, my Great Expectations rise to success with my secret benefactor Cole working behind the scenes . . . what was that? Just more of their fucked up game?

I pace up and down the narrow aisle between the washing machines and the dryers, listening to my clothes rumbling away on both sides.

This all sounds insane.

But it’s the only thing that makes sense. The only thing that explains what I know I saw.

Two men.

Two psychopaths.

I stop dead where I stand.

I’ve seen all the indications with Cole. The way he swaps personas at will. The way he uses his money and influence to manipulate people . . . including me. The way he doesn’t truly care about anyone or anything.

That’s not true. He cares sometimes. He cared when he smashed that solar model.

I shake my head hard, irritated with myself.

Rage isn’t the same thing as “caring.”

My chest is tight and it’s hard to draw a full breath.

I keep thinking about the girl’s body found on the golf course. And the others on the beach . . .

How many has it been now? Six? Seven?

The Beast of the Bay.

I told myself that had nothing to do with me. I was cut, but not torn apart. Not actually killed.

Now I think I was supposed to be.

Is Alastor the Beast? Is Cole?

Is it both of them?

The rain pours down harder, individual droplets disappearing into the steady fall. The rain shatters in the street, sending up silvery splashes that gleam like sparks.

I’ve reached the end of the aisle, where the plate-glass window is covered in the ancient, peeling decals that once proclaimed, Suds Your Duds, Coin-Operated, 24-Hour Self-Serve.

Through those blistered letters I see a figure waiting outside. Tall and dark, without any umbrella. Standing still on the sidewalk, looking directly at me.

High Enough — K.Flay Spotify → geni.us/no-saints-spotify

Apple Music → geni.us/no-saints-apple





I already know it’s Cole.

He’s been stalking me all week. I’ve seen him on the street outside my house, and at the cafe across from Sweet Maple. He knows I’ve seen him, and he doesn’t care. He hasn’t tried to bang on my door or force me to eat brunch with him again.

He’s just watching. Waiting.

Standing guard.

That chill now runs from the nape of my neck all the way down my spine.

I finally understand.

Cole’s not watching me. He’s watching for Shaw.

Stay away from him. He’s dangerous. I’m not fucking joking.

It’s too dark to see the details of Cole’s face, not with the rain plastering his hair down over his eyes.

He can see me, though. Brightly lit, clean, and dry, framed in this window.

I press my palm flat against the glass.

How can I be so afraid of someone, and yet I can’t bring myself to run? I don’t want to run from Cole. I want to stand still while he comes to me, and then I want to reach up and touch his face. I want to pull off the masks, one by one, until there isn’t any left. And then, whatever is underneath . . . I want to see it.

He terrified me, the night of the Halloween party. He did it on purpose. Deliberately flashing his fangs, because he wanted to scare me away from Shaw.

Why?

Because he wants to keep me safe.

No matter how insane that sounds, it’s what I believe.

Cole wants to keep me safe. It’s why he’s spent countless hours watching me, when he has the whole city at his disposal, when he could be doing anything else.

I walk back to the dryers, checking the remaining time.