When we reach her apartment door, she turns to face me, fidgeting awkwardly.

  “Are we friends?” she finally asks. Oh, angel, we’re so much more than that. We’re soul bound.

  “Yes.”

  “Then will you do something for me?” She steps forward, placing a palm against my chest. My heart leaps and skitters under the warmth of her touch. “Stop hurting yourself.” I say nothing. I can’t deny her, but neither can I give her what she wants. She leans in, resting her forehead on my chest. “Please,” she whispers.

  Cupping her face in both hands, I tilt her head back. As soon as her eyes meet mine, I fall into them, an endless abyss that I never want to break free of. I would remain there willingly, her own personal captive.

  Leaning in, I place my lips to her forehead. My heart skips and static rips over my skin. To kiss an angel — such a heady thing. “I’ll see you tonight, Eden.” When I turn away, I hear the heavy sigh that slips from her lips. She’s troubled. For me. She cares.

  This last week has taught me that I need her, and she needs me. We are entwined, dependent, as a vine is to a tree.

  God has shown me the path, as I knew he would. All I must do now is walk it.

  I pull up outside the modern l apartment building, and as soon as I step out of the car, the stench of the river hits me. It amuses me: people paying millions to live on the banks of the Thames, and for what, to experience the subtle scent of sewer on a daily basis? There’s a reason I live above the city rather than in it.

  Walking up to the front of the building, I press the door release buzzer and step inside. The lobby is stripped bare. White walls decorated with artwork that’s supposed to be modern and edgy. So utterly tasteless. The doors open onto another similarly-styled hallway.

  I knock on number 22 and wait. Eventually, I hear heavy footsteps on the other side before it swings open.

  “Saint?” Judas frowns at me and looks torn between letting me in and slamming the door in my face.

  “Judas.”

  I push past him, and he closes the door. “What are you doing here?” Granted, I would never willingly visit my brother, least of all in his house.

  I know what I need to ask, but I hesitate. The guilt that I have wished so hard to feel for Aston Haines arises now, right when I least want it. “I’m cashing in a sin.”

  Judas’ lips press into a tight line before his gaze darts over my shoulder. Turning, I follow his line of sight to find Delilah, my brother’s whore, standing watching us. Her eyes meet mine for a split second before sliding away. She tugs on the over-sized shirt that covers her body, but barely. I look away in disgust and find Judas glaring at me, though he has no more luck holding my gaze.

  “Delilah, give us a minute.” Her soft footsteps pad over the hardwood floors before a door clicks shut. “Don’t fucking look at her,” he growls, jabbing a finger in my direction.

  I lift a brow. “Careful, brother. I may decide she’s better off dead again.” He snarls, and for the first time since I killed, I actually smile.

  He looks me up and down. “Look at you, so worried about one sin. You are fucking sin!”

  I have the distinct urge to rip his larynx through his throat. Instead, I adjust my cufflink. “No need to be so sensitive, Judas. I don’t want your whore.”

  My brother’s jaw ticks erratically. “No, I forgot, you want the angel.” He rolls his eyes.

  “I saved dear Delilah from prison. The debt for which you still wear.” With one finger, I shove his shirt to the side, revealing the neat tally of cuts that cover his chest. “Time to pay up.”

  On a deep breath, he tips his head back. “What do you want, Saint?”

  “I need you to…dispose of someone.”

  “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” A frustrated growl slips past his lips, and I walk past him, heading for the door. “Be at the penthouse tomorrow at ten.”

  I leave his apartment, knowing my brother won’t like what’s to come, but murder is very much on his resume, and he can’t pick and choose victims.

  I sit at the breakfast bar, tapping my finger over the edge of my whiskey glass. For a moment, all I see is a similar glass buried in Ashton’s throat. The red-hot heat of bloodlust creeps over me, and I close my eyes, forcing it back down where it belongs, with the monster.

  The elevator pings, breaking me free of my thoughts. Jase walks in with his usual confident swagger. He rounds the bar, pouring himself a drink and hopping up on the bar stool beside me.

  “Alright, Thomas is in place. You going to tell me why you’re antagonising Judas?”

  “I’m calling in a sin, and I have a feeling he may resist.”

  “You realise Judas has fuck all morals, right?” I look at him and his eyes narrow. “It must be bad.”

  “It’s time,” I say.

  My words sink in, and I spot the moment realisation dawns on him. “I thought you were going to send him home.” Oh, and how I wish that I could.

  “He knows too much.” It’s not a lie. Otto knows far too much. He knows that I knew about Ash. He knows that I obsessively question him about his sister. He knows that he’s been in my penthouse for two weeks, and he’ll tell his sister that little fact. No, he knows far too much, which is…unfortunate.

  “Can’t you just threaten him?” I stare at Jase, and he sighs, swiping a hand down his face. “Shit. He’s just a kid.”

  “Capable of causing us untold damage. We thrive and survive because we take no risks. This entire situation should have been handled from day one. Do not let his age weaken you.”

  “And Eden?” My chest tightens, but I force a mask of indifference on my face.

  “She knows nothing. In all the time Otto has been gone, no one has come after her. She’s not a risk.”

  Jase smirks, cocking a brow. “Hmmm. Of course, the fact that you look at her like she’s your next meal wouldn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “My decision is purely objective.”

  He shakes his head, just as the elevator pings again. Judas steps out, instantly scowling at Jase as though offended by his presence. A complete stranger would only need to take one look to know they hate each other. Judas is Father’s favourite. Jase is the child my father couldn’t be bothered to look for — for fourteen years.

  Jase casually sips his drink, but I can sense his smugness without even looking at him.

  Judas folds his arms over his chest, eyes darting between the two of us. “Alright, what do you want?” he asks.

  Jase laughs. “Oh, so hostile.”

  Pure venom shines in Judas’ eyes. I lift a hand. “Enough. Jase, go and get the boy.”

  Jase saunters away and comes back a few minutes later with Otto. His blonde hair is all over the place as always, and a Star Wars t-shirt hangs from his skinny frame. Otto’s eyes meet mine, and that festering guilt churns once again. Jase moves away, once again coming to rest at my side, his elbows braced on the breakfast bar.

  “Otto, this is my brother, Judas. You’re going to go with him.” Otto looks from me to Judas and back again.

  “Is he going to take me to see Eden?”

  “Shit,” Jase mumbles under his breath.

  “Saint, a word,” Judas snaps out.

  I move from the kitchen into the lounge, and Judas following behind me. When I reach the far side of the room, I turn and face him. His jaw is gritted. His fists bunched tightly. Oh dear.

  “He’s just a kid.” Why is everyone hung up on that? Does a person’s age eliminate them from guilt? Judas and I were bad people at seventeen. Youth does not instantly equate to innocence.

  “Age does not negate a problem, Judas. If anything it exasperates it.” He turns and walks a few strides, dragging both hands through his hair before he returns.

  “Don’t ask me to do this, Saint.”

  “You owe me sins, Judas.”

  He stops pacing. “You think this somehow saves you?” He moves closer, lowering his voice to a muted hiss. “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re asking me to kill a kid. You don’t think that’s going to rack up on that black soul of ours?”

  “You cannot judge me, Judas. You are a sinner, and you will burn.” My brother kills and poisons people with his drugs. He cannot judge me!

  “And you’ll be right there with me. At least I accept what I am.” He laughs. “Get it through your crazy fucking head, you aren’t getting through those pearly gates. Directly to hell, do not pass go, do not collect one hundred pounds.”

  “Quiet!”

  “This will damn you, Saint.” I’m already damned because I killed. One more. Just one more sin, and I can save an angel, and in turn, she will save me. She will bring me back to God’s grace. We’re bonded. Soul mates.

  “No, this will save me. This is the sin I choose, Judas. Will you deny me?” He hesitates for several long moments, as I suspected he might. You see, my brother likes to pick and choose his morals. “Jase?”

  Jase saunters across the room, popping a handful of peanuts in his mouth and chewing on them. “Now?” He asks. I nod.

  Taking his phone from his pocket, Jase shows Judas the screen, eliciting a growl from him. “I’m going to kill you both,” he warns, and I’ll admit, the threat is very convincing.

  Jase looks at the screen. “She’s hot, Judas, I can almost see why you’d save her from Saint. Marrying her though…bit extreme.” He smirks, and Judas looks ready to rip his head from his shoulders.

  “Fucking leave Delilah out of your twisted little games.”

  “No harm will come to your whore, Judas. It’s simply a little…incentive. In case you think you can finally beat me.”

  Hatred burns in his eyes so brightly, and it settles me. There’s a rightness to it. Judas witnessed me at my weakest, and the notion troubles me immensely. This is how it should be: him and I loathing each other. Soon, I will be returned to my place of righteousness, and Judas will be nothing more than the false pretender he has always been. Balance. Control.

  “Will you deny me?” I ask again.

  He narrows his eyes. “Both sins. I want both of the sins I owe you erased.”

  I tilt my head. Should I show him some mercy? Is a life not a life? Or is Otto’s life worth more? God would tell us that all souls are equal. An angel’s brother though…

  “Fine. I need him to be found.”

  Judas swipes a hand over his face and nods once before walking away. Jase and I follow him back to the kitchen. Otto stands by the breakfast bar, shuffling from foot to foot as he knots the bottom of his t-shirt in his fingers.

  “Let’s go, kid,” Judas barks, making the boy flinch. Otto’s eyes flash to me as though I might save him, and that now familiar sensation of guilt that I get around him stabs at my gut.

  “Go. Judas will take care of you.” The words feel like acid on my tongue, and I find myself becoming annoyed with this newfound sense of moral compass. I’m not sinning. I’m not killing him, so why am I so troubled?

  Judas walks toward the elevator and Otto tentatively follows him, constantly glancing over his shoulder at me before the elevator doors finally slide shut like the falling of axe, or a gunshot on a silent night. Even Jase says nothing for long moments.

  “I need a drink,” he finally mumbles. He pours himself a whiskey and knocks it back before helping himself to another.

  “Don’t get drunk. You need to go to the club.”

  He slams the glass on the breakfast bar. “Jesus, don’t tell me that didn’t bother you even slightly. He’s been in your house for two weeks, Saint. He’s a good kid.”

  “Jase, don’t grow a conscience now. You’ll lose value.”

  “Killing a load of drug dealing gang members is a bit different to killing an innocent kid.”

  “He’s not innocent!” I snap before fighting to quell my rising temper. No, Otto isn’t innocent. He dealt drugs and was paid by criminals. No, he’s not innocent. I allow the single thought to take over my mind, to justify my actions. “He wouldn’t be here if he were, Jase. He became involved in our business, and this is the price. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.” The lies now spill from my lips so easily. Lying is a sin, but comparatively, what does it matter?

  None of it matters because once I have Eden…then they’ll all be washed away. I’ll be reborn, touched by her grace.

  26

  Eden

  Bang, bang bang.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  I groan, rising to consciousness. Checking the clock on my bedside table, I see that it’s only nine in the morning. I’ve been asleep for three hours.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  Who the hell is knocking on my door? Dragging myself from the bed, I throw on an over-sized hoody and a pair of leggings. When I reach the front door, I open it, leaving the chain on the latch. At first, I frown at the sight of the woman in a police uniform, but as my foggy brain catches up, my heart rate rises. Yanking the chain off the door, I throw it open.

  “Miss Harris?”

  “Have you found him?” I ask. Her lips turn down at the corners, sinking laughter lines into her cheeks, but she’s not laughing.

  “Can I come in?”

  I usher her inside, verging on tears by the time she’s standing in my living room. “Please, just tell me.” My voice cracks and my hands tremble.

  And I know, before she even says the words, I know. “I’m so sorry. Your brother’s body was found…” Her words are lost in a sea of white noise. My heart struggles to beat, and my lungs are incapable of drawing air.

  My knees hit the floor, and in my head, I’m screaming, crying, begging anyone who will listen to make this right. Outwardly I’m silent, imprisoned in pain so agonising I wish I was dead.

  My whole world implodes in a single moment, and nothing will ever be the same again.

  27

  Eden

  I thought I knew darkness.

  I thought I knew grief.

  I thought I knew how to survive. I knew nothing.

  I’m drowning. I want to drown. I want it to all end.

  28

  Saint

  News of Otto’s death has been all over the television. Magazines and newspapers feature stories on the new London gang war that’s killing teenagers. Kings College paid tribute to ‘a bright young man, loved by all’.

  I haven’t see Eden for two days. She didn’t turn up to work last night, and I planned to leave her, to give her time, but truth be told, I’m worried.

  I knock on the door of her flat and wait. No answer. Her car is in the car park, so she must be here. I knock again, and still there’s no answer. I start to get concerned about her. What if she’s done something stupid? No, she wouldn’t. Would she?

  I hammer on the door this time, and it wrenches open under my fist. Eden stands in the open doorway like a zombie. She looks awful. A huge hoody drowns her frame, blonde hair is tangled around her face in a wild mess, and her skin is washed-out, so pale it’s almost blue.

  “Eden. I heard about your brother. I’m so sorry.”

  She remains motionless, unresponsive, and then steadily, tears stream down her cheeks. “You were supposed to find him,” she whispers. “You were supposed to find him!” Soft tears turn to ugly sobs, and she charges me, hammering her fists over my chest. I let her, because she needs it, to purge herself of the darkness that infects her, and I’ll take it all from her willingly. Finally, her strikes get weak and her sobs grow louder. She’s broken. And I will be the one to fix her.

  Wrapping my arms around her, I tug her to my chest and practically pick her up, manoeuvring us inside her flat. I manage to drop the bag of food I brought her on the kitchen side before taking her to the couch. I sit there with her until her tears have soaked through my shirt, touching my skin. Blessed by an angel, baptised in her tears.

  We don’t talk, she just cries, her fingers clutching my shirt as though she’ll never let go. After long hours, sobs turn to hiccups and soft sniffs. She looks exhausted in every way.

  “When was the last time you ate?” She doesn’t answer me. “You need to eat something, angel.”

  “Why?” she whispers, her blank gaze fixed on the coffee table.

  “You aren’t giving up. Come on.” I shift her away from me and stand, going to her kitchen. I had my housekeeper make lasagne. I’ll admit, it’s been nice to have her back after her two-week hiatus. She was extremely grateful for two extra weeks of paid holiday. She’s discreet, but not I doubt discreet enough not to report the presence of a missing boy.

  I take the Tupperware tub of food from the bag and pop it in the microwave, watching in horror as the food circles around. I barely recognise myself anymore. I should be eating dinner at Bleu right now, and yet, here I am with lasagne in a plastic box, soaking up a woman’s tears. Judas would laugh if he could witness it, but I don’t care.

  When the microwave pings, I scoop the food into a bowl and take it to her on the sofa. Her distant gaze only shifts from the coffee table to the bowl. It’s as though nothing is registering. I watch her take a tentative bite, and then I leave in search of her bathroom. The tiny little room is abhorrently decorated with an avocado green bathroom suite. I shove the plug in the tub and turn on the taps, making the pipes groan and whine.

  Eden is back to blank staring, the food discarded on the coffee table with only a couple of bites missing.

  “Get up. Get in the bath, or I’ll put you in it.” That thousand-yard stare finally shifts to me and sharpens to a glare. Good, anger is better than this lack of anything. “You can hate me, angel, but you’re going in that bath. You look like shit.”