Page 89 of Sinners Atone
“Then I’m staying.”
“No,” Rafe snaps. “It’s just a quick catch up. No reason for you to stay and scowl in the corner.”
Unease tightens its grip on me. Rafe co-owns a few establishments in Vegas with Kelly, and I’ve never fucking liked it. Never liked him either, and not just because he’s Irish. The man’s unpredictable, always jacked up on pills that his doctor stopped prescribing him years ago. All it’d take is an ill-timed joke from my brother, and shit would hit the fan.
Sensing my hesitation, Angelo’s gaze lifts to mine. “I’ve got it covered. I’m packed and loaded, and I haven’t missed a shot since ninety-two.”
I let out a wry breath. “Yeah. I’m more concerned that Rafe hasn’t shot a gun since ninety-two, though.”
But Angelo’s words are reassuring. He’s right, he never misses, and with the temper of a toddler, he never pauses before he shoots either. Besides, I’ve got bodies to dump and lackeys to torture.
“Fine. Call me if shit turns south.” I glare at Rafe. “Not Griffin.Me.”
I move to leave, but Angelo’s question stops me. “Gabe. Why have you got Gio stalking my wife?”
I run my tongue over my teeth and consider letting a lie filter through the gaps. The truth’s complicated, and is less about my sister-in-law’s protection, and more about who she’s always hanging out with.
I settle on no answer at all.
I leave them bickering over who technically won at Mario Kart before I put an end to their game and slide open the external doors.
I have every intention of turning left toward the tender. Every intention, until the sea breeze drifts up over the railing and brings that fairylike laugh with it.
The sound knots my shoulder blades.
Between my brothers acting like they’re on vacation and Rafe’s self-pitying monologue, I’d almost forgotten she was here.
With a sudden weight in my jaw and a thump in my chest, I grip the railing and glare out to sea.
Turn left.
Turn. Left.
Then another laugh rises from the deck below and blisters my skin, igniting a violent spark beneath my ribs—who thefuckhas her laughing like that?
I turn right without thinking, then stomp down the stairs and through every room.
I pause in the entryway of the downstairs lounge.
Rory’s perched on one end of the bar. She gives a lazy wave before turning back to her deck of cards and a calculator. And on the other end isHer.
Head back, eyes closed, her hand resting on her chest. My next breath catches when I suddenly realize why the sun is shining on a cold mid-December day. It’s shining for her. Like a personal spotlight, it pours through the window and surfs down her golden waves, catching the sparkle of her lip gloss and the shimmer of her eye shadow.
The light loves her.
And clearly, so does the cunt standing in front of her.
She has her other hand on his chest,touching him, while he stares at her like she put the fucking sun in the sky herself.
I know how her hand feels. I know the exact number of seconds it takes for her heat to bleed through my shirt and warm my skin. I could pick out her fingerprint on its texture alone because it’s etched onto my bicep, the hollows of my cheeks, the scar on my face.
Jealousy swells into impulse in my stomach. It twitches my muscles and makes my vision hazy. I’m all too aware of the gun in my waistband and the knife strapped to my ankle, and now I’m wondering how I can use both at the same time to do as much damage as possible.
A soft sigh slips through her parted lips and pulls me off the edge. She opens her eyes and slides her hand off his chest.
“I was right, I’m afraid. We’re totally out of sync.”
Her gaze shifts to the right and lands on mine. His follows, and when the realization hits, he jumps back like he’s been shocked.
