Page 87 of Sinful Lies

And who better to spill that truth than his mother? The woman who couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it. She was like a child with a candy bar—always ready to drop whatever juicy tidbit she thought was harmless.

His empire might crumble, but his soul?

That would shatter into a thousand pieces, and I’d be the one to grind them into dust.

No redemption. No fucking escape.

“I would love to, Monica.”

Chapter

Twenty-One

“You not only are hunted by others, you unknowingly hunt yourself.”

?Dejan Stojanovic

Angelo

I had known she was going to drive me insane on this trip.

Yet every damn time her pretty mouth had pouted, whatever fight I’d had left drained right out of me.

Every. Single. Time.

When she was near, all I could do was cling to the last threads of my control—fighting the demons clawing at me, barely resisting the urge to shut her up, to make her choke on every venom-soaked word… or shove her to her knees and fill that wicked mouth and see those sharp eyes soften, surrendering completely to me.

And now, the little devil had seen me naked.

When her eyes had locked on me—wide with admiration and fucking lust—I’d almost lost it.

I wasthisclose to letting go and taking her, after years of fighting it.

Maybe I should’ve taken her up on that ridiculous mile high club offer after all.

As much as it killed me to admit, she was the perfect distraction from the rage clawing at me, begging to tear Greg apart right here, right now.

I brought the cigar to my lips as we sat in his library, the black leather couch surrounded by shelves of books and trophies.

My father sat across from me, glaring.

He was pissed. He’d wanted me to deal with Greg yesterday.

But I was patient. My revenge was slow—something far more satisfying than just pulling a trigger.

Kilian Greg, Spencer’s husband, was slouched next to my father, still drunk from last night. The guy had probably skipped dinner to gamble away his money at the casino. Addict. I almost felt sorry for him—but some messes didn’t clean up easily.

“What about a hunt tonight?” Greg said, smoke curling from his cigar. “Perfect weather to track boars or bears. Something that might actually put up a fight.”

The words left his mouth, but all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears.

I knew he was talking about me. The bastard probably thought I’d given up on punishing him—not just for stealing from me, but for the trouble of having the actress’ blood on my hands.

Hunting didn’t sound good, especially with him.

My hands itched—not for a rifle, but for the look of terror in Greg’s eyes as I tore his life apart, piece by fucking piece.

“I’m down,” Lucius Harper said, stretching and leaving.

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