Page 101 of Sinners Atone
I hadn’t even moored the tender when I got the call asking if I could return to the yacht and clean up the blood before it seeped too deep into the teak.
Bringing my watch to my mouth, I grind out a command over the radio in tonight’s language: German.
I need more eyes on Vicious, because I learned a long time ago that his sulking usually leads to shooting.
A crackling confirmation comes through my earpiece, but I’m not done with my sweep. I skip over Nico at the craps table—he just comes to these parties to pick up chicks and watcheveryone else embarrass themselves—and find his older brother, Cas.
Cas. Christ, I can’t remember the last time he ranked so high on my fire-starting dickhead list, or even when he last broke the top five. He’s usually too busy lubing up his fist to fuck investors, or bidding on junk found in a dead grandma’s attic, to cause me any problems.
But then again, he doesn’t usually let his fiancée, Alyona, out of the house. So, instead of working the room, he’s propping himself up against the bar, five drinks down and antsy. He’d surgically detach his last name from his first, if he thought it’d get him out of marrying the Russian vodka distillery heiress, but that hasn’t stopped him from glaring at Alyona’s hand resting on Rafe’s business partner’s thigh.
Knowing where everyone is and who they’re glaring at marginally softens the tension in my jaw. Everything’s under control, for now.
I grab my beer and go back to watching Rory’s attempt at card counting.
A bastardized rendition of a Marvin Gaye love song fissures through the club, drowning out her math-related mutterings Behind me, California Tech Bro is trying to convince his buddy that the third time is always the luckiest, and to my right, Cas rips out a booming laugh, too loud and forced to be real.
I gulp my beer. Glance at the vein ticking in Rafe’s temple. Hell, I even smirk when Rory drops her cards and declares another victory.
But the thing about my thoughts is that they’re just like my fucking family. Never quiet for long.
The next swig of beer burns as it passes through my throat. The base of my skull throbs, and I squeeze my eyes shut so hard I see flashes of pink.
When I open them again, I’m glaring in the same direction as Rafe.
“Who else is coming tonight?”
“Tayce,” he grunts back.
“And?”
“Whoever she’s currently fucking, probably.”
“Mm.” I cut a knuckle through my beard. “Who else?”
“Not Tor, that’s for sure,” he says bitterly, checking his watch.
Irritation squeezes my chest like a cramp. “Anyone else?”
Still staring at the elevator, Rafe lets out a hard puff of air. “A big spender from Vegas is supposed to be flying in. He better not bail—I could use the cash injection.” He flicks a distracted glance to the pile of cards. “Deal.”
I slam down a card so hard the table shakes. Rory yelps, someone in my peripheral vision flinches, and Rafe stops spinning his poker chip.
His gaze locks on mine, bloodshot and suspicious.
I clench my jaw. “Who. Else?”
“You and your circus freaks have vetted everyone I even considered inviting,” he murmurs. “So why are you asking?”
Rafe isn’t expecting an answer, and even if he was, he couldn’t waterboard one out of me.
My gaze shifts to the rock wall behind his head. I clench my jaw to an even beat, as if it’ll pump the pink out of my brain.
Shesaid she was coming, and yet she isn’t here. She doesn’t strike me as the type to show up late, so I guess she’s not coming after all.
Good.
Good.
