Mr. Sin: Book One of the Sin Series
Mr. Sin: Chapter 63

Pain. Everything hurts.

A slapping sound bounces past my ears, but I can’t place it.

I try to open my eyes, but they feel so heavy. Did I fall asleep?

A sharp pain radiates through my cheek and my head jerks to the side. My whole body rolls with the movement. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

With my eyes shut, I try to take stock of my body. I’m in a chair. I think. My chin to my chest. Something hard digging into my side. I flex my fingers. One hand coming up empty, the other gripping what feels like a narrow armrest. That must be what’s digging into my other side.

I pinch my eyes shut tightly, trying to work up the energy to open them. And like a finger snap, it all comes back to me. The reporter. The stinging pain in my neck. The elevator.

“Randal.” I whisper the name.

‘Very good.” A male voice hisses. Close. Too close.

The pain blooms across my face again. This piece of shit is hitting me.

“Look at me!” Randal’s voice bellows.

His change in tone adds a new layer of dread. This man is truly unhinged. I swallow down the cry that wants to overtake my sanity. Vincent will find me. He’ll notice I’m missing, and he’ll find me. I just need to stall.

I force my eyes to open.

My vision swims before focusing on the carpet at my feet. After a little fumbling, I’m able to grab hold of both armrests. Relief pours through me at the realization that I’m not tied down. Pushing with all the strength I can muster, I sit upright.

The lights aren’t on, but the glow coming in from the open doorway, and the gleaming lights from the skyline beyond the wall of windows, is enough for me to see clearly. And recognize the space. Vincent’s office. I’m in one of his visitor’s chairs, only it’s turned around so my back is to the desk.

Randal didn’t take me far. That gives me more hope that Vincent will be here. He’ll save me.

“Welcome to the party.” Randal’s manic voice pulls my attention.

He’s standing just a few feet in front of me. A gun in his hand, pointed at my chest.

“What do you say we get started?” He asks, slowly aiming his gun away from me.

I follow the trajectory and when my eyes lock on the figure slumped in the chair next to mine, my mask of control disintegrates.

With a shaky hand, I reach out. “Annie?”

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