Page 34 of Sinners Atone
My gaze narrows on her with reluctant curiosity. She got her bag back, so why is she still standing there, laughing?
It sounds like sunshine and helium, light and loud enough to float over the lawn, penetrate the bulletproof window, and land on my sternum like a weak punch.
She’s laughing at Arben, of all fucking people. As if he’s even funny. As if he doesn’t have a Glock in his waistband, a taser in his pocket, and the strongest chokehold I’ve ever seen.
My temples throb, and an intrusive thought passes through me, burrowing deeper and worming its way back in time.
She touched me then too. It was soft. So was her voice. As was her breath when it grazed my top lip.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
Something in my sternum twists, and I pick up the whiskey glass and sink its contents in one gulp in an attempt untangle it.
The Good Samaritan and her little secret.
Running my tongue over my teeth, I glare at her and Arben over the rim of the glass. He’s laughing now too. Head tilted back, gummy smile on show, revealing the consequence of the last time he pissed me off.
There must have been something in that drink, because before common sense can stop me, I tap his channel on my watch and bring it to my mouth.
“Share the joke, Arben. I could use a good laugh today.”
He jolts and touches his earpiece as though it’s given him an electric shock. Probably because I switched to English. His sheepish gaze finds me instantly, but hers roves over the front of the house, trying to figure out what’s startled him.
When she spots me, she freezes. Realization washes all the light away, and black floods the blue.
Instead of glancing away like I expect her to, she doubles down and steels her chin. The longer she stares, the hotter her anger burns and the harder my heart beats. For a moment, I think she’s going to stick her tongue out at me again.
Adrenaline floods through me as the deep-rooted sickness in me hopes she does. There would be no bluffing this time; I’d carve it out slowly with a dessert spoon, then, depending on how much she fought, I’d shove it down her throat to muffle her screams.
She glares at me.
The glass cracks in my fist.
She turns away.
Though the last thing I have time for is paying her another visit, disappointment taints the faint satisfaction I feel. I’ve always enjoyed cutting out tongues. If you avoid the lingualartery and keep them in an upright position, it’ll take three-to-four days for them to bleed out.
She pulls something up on her phone and shows Arben, and my muscles twitch, preparing my body to do something it shouldn’t. Not to her, but to him. I don’t need to hear the girl running her mouth to know whatever she said isn’t the reason he’s tickled.
My men are as carefully curated as her sunny personality. They’re the best in the business, and I’ve trained, tortured, and traumatized them to be even better.
Unfortunately, they still have dicks and the animalistic urge to stick them into pretty things.
He didn’t laugh because he thought she was funny, no, he saw the blonde hair, the heart-shaped face, and the way her button nose scrunches when she smiles. He saw the wide eyes and wondered if he could corrupt the innocence within them. And when she touched him, he thought he stood a chance of finding out if what’s underneath that bright-pink raincoat is as tight as her silhouette would suggest.
He’ll lose the rest of his teeth tonight.
And I’ll lose my fucking mind over her secret.
The faint sound of footsteps tugs me back into the room. I cock my head, listening. Heavy strides, decisive steps. A slight lean on the left heel.
Even before the door flies open, I know it’s Angelo.
He’s agitated too.
“Listen and listen good because this is your one and only warning. No fighting, no fucking, no stepping out of line. Today is my wedding day, and if any of you idiots fuck it up, you’ll be dead before you can squeal out an apology. Got it? Good. Now get out.”
Amusement flutters through the room, peppered with a sarcastic “Yes, Boss” from Benny.
