There Is No Devil Sinners Duet Book 2 By Sophie Lark-pdfread

I watch her squirm and buck, her face the color of brick, her hands twisting
into claws as she grasps at her chest.
Her mouth moves silently, her lips trying to form the word antidote.
I look down at her, pitiless.
“There is no antidote,” I say. “There never was. Nothing can save you. Just
like nothing can change you. You are what you are … dead to me.”
I leave her lying there, twisting and croaking out her last breaths. I won’t
even give her the comfort of my company. She can die alone, like she was
always going to.
Instead, I carry both glasses of wine back to the kitchen and dump them down
the sink. I wash the glasses and return them to the dishwasher, wiping my
fingerprints off every surface I touched: the Dawn bottle, the faucet, the
handle of the dishwasher, the interior handle of the front door … Every place
I touched while inside the house.
By the time I’m finished, my mother has stopped moving.
I don’t bother to clean up the wine, but I remove my prints from the bottle,
laying it back down on its side.
I put the drops directly into her glass. There won’t be any trace in the bottle.
I doubt they’ll even autopsy her body. The effects of pseudoephedrine are
similar to a heart attack. Even if they run a full-panel blood test, the
cornucopia of drugs in the house will muddy the waters. She was trying to
kill herself long before I helped her along.
Leaving the house feels much better than entering.
The warm sun bathes my face, the fresh breeze reviving my lungs after the
stale fug of the house.
A handful of cherry blossoms float across the lawn, blown from the trees in
the neighbor’s yard. A single petal lands on my palm, before fluttering away
again.
I feel as light as those petals, alive on the air.