Page 8 of Sinful Chains

But that’s not entirely true, at least it wasn’t for me last night. I laid in bed, tossing and turning, missing thefuckout of something I’d never had.

Technically.

I’d had Santari. I’d had her spectacularly, in fact, and in ways that made me smile at the mere thought of them. But I hadn’t had her tomyselfyet, something I imagined would be even more amazing.

I had my chance last night, and I fumbled.

It’s not that I didn’t want to. I got hard as hell feeding her, watching her lick sauce off her lips, giving me that look that said she knew exactly the effect she was having on me. It was a go.

But I couldn’t. My head still wasn’t clear.

After she brought him up, it was like the ghost of Revere himself was sitting in between us, cockblocking, as if he didn’t do enough of that when he was alive.

Santari was always off-limits. A beautiful, innocent princess among a feral pack of wolves. We kept our distance out of respect for Rev, because that's man code. We all know and understand it. But now, we’d defiled her, and the specter of him was a weight pressing down on my ribs, making it hard to breathe.

But my hesitation wasn’t completely related to defiling his little sister.

It was something else.

Something I'd done.

I fucked up.

I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know where, but I knew I did something wrong the night he was killed. It was my job to cover him. That was how we alwayshandled our shit. I did everything right, there, I think. But we got sloppy somewhere, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was on me. The thought gnawed at me, keeping me awake last night, long after I'd gotten home, showered, and laid in bed staring at the ceiling.

I needed clarity. I needed answers. And as much as I was craving another dose of Santari, I had to turn her down and forfeit a solo round with those soft, pouty lips. Her smooth brown skin. Her big brown eyes staring into my fucking soul.

Her perfect pussy.

Santari was a goddess. She deserved better than divided attention. She deserved me whole.

After I got dressed, the bright morning sun followed me down the spiral staircase and into the billiards room, where my brothers had gathered, waiting for Santari to leave before we got down to business.

Cruz leaned back in his chair, boots kicked up on the pool table, eating an apple like we weren’t about to sit here and plan a murder. Titan sat on the other side of the table, flicking his lighter open and shut, the rhythm steady and sharp.

“Good of you to show up, Professor,” Cruz quipped without looking up.

Titan smirked. “We thought you might have been otherwise occupied.”

“Nah.” I dropped into a chair, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Had too much on my mind last night. Had to let her go after we went out to dinner.”

They exchanged glances, which I ignored to ask, “What we got?”

Cruz tossed a manila folder onto the pool table. I snatched it and flipped it open, finding a grainy photo inside. Older gentleman. Gray hair, slight paunch, very expensive suit and shoes. Nothing remarkable, though.

No name.

No details.

Just a target.

I glanced up. “What he do?”

Cruz shrugged. “Does it matter?”

It didn’t. It never did, and that’s why we didn’t ask. If they were on the list, they had it coming.

But for some reason, I was curious. The only way I could explain that was that I was still a little off my game. Even sitting here in this room with my brothers felt off. Like I didn't fit. Like I wouldn't fit until I figured out what was eating at me.

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