Page 28 of Born Sinner
Our crash is inevitable.
“Want another drink, buddy?”
“Bourbon,” I tell the bartender, tossing a twenty down on the counter.I’m in league with the devil these days. I may as well start drinking like him.
Taking a swig, I watch as Lola leaves the dance floor, her silver dress catching in the club’s discoballs—reflecting the kind of sin I want to drown in.
She’s moving toward the bathroom stalls, ditching her idiot friends on the dance floor, and murmuring a “stay, boy,” at her discreet bodyguard.
Finishing up my drink, I follow ten steps behind, smiling to myself as she ducks out of the line by the ladies’ room and heads toward the fire exit at the end of the hallway.
She disappears into the night.
I go to follow when my phone starts chiming. Yanking the device out of my back pocket, I check the ID, and accept the call immediately.
“Troublemaking again, Sanders?” comes a familiar clipped drawl.
I bark out a rough laugh. There are few men I’d take orders from, never mind ridicule, but I respect the hell out of Edier Grayson. I’d even go so far as to call him a friend.
He’s five years older than me, but he’s not the kind of man who judges age over the ability to fire a gun.
His father is Dante Santiago’s second. As such, we grew up together. Stole cars and smoked weed together.Dared to share our dreams of another life together.
I stopped running from destiny long before he did.
At eighteen, he was all set to study fine arts at Goldsmiths in London. Then he switched from a kid to a killer overnight. Trading pencils for bullets, he’s spent the last couple of years in South America slaughtering the last of Santiago’s enemies and shoring up the distribution channels from Cartagena until a recent move to the East Coast brought his talents to the US.
He’s cool as fuck...
With a sting like a scorpion.
Andif the tone of his voice is anything to go by?He’s pissed as hell.
“Where are you?”
“New Brunswick.”
He blows out a breath. “I want you back in NYC within the hour. I need a closure and then a clean-up. You good for that?”
It's another test. One that requires a gun, two fists, and an absence of morality.
Check, check, and double check.The more I integrate myself in the organization, the more sway I’ll have over Lola Carrera’s fate.
“I’ll be there in fifty,” I tell him as silver swims with crimson. “Message me the address.”
Hanging up, I slip into the alley. She’s standing a couple of feet away in the moonlight with her back turned.Braced.A perfect silhouette that’s mine for the taking.
As I watch, she tips her head back and exhales, her long dark hair tumbling to her waist as tendrils of smoke coil around her like a dirty halo. She’s smoking to justify why she’s out here, but the time for pretense is over.
We both know what she’s waiting for.
Me.
This.
When she hears the soft click of the door closing behind me, her shoulders stiffen. The lit cigarette drops from her fingers, flaring orange as it hits the asphalt by her heels.
I move fast. Before she has a chance to speak, my hand is clamped across her mouth, and I’m spinning her face-first into the wall.
