Page 42 of Make Me A Sinner
"Don't want to hear the spicy details of how I got the intel?" Whiro asks, preparing himself to drag us into one of his probably very fucked up sexual fantasies.
"No thanks. I've heard that story once, and it will last me for a few centuries," Set mutters, grabbing a glass of whiskey, probably just to survive the next few minutes.
"That was back in fucking Sodome. And anyway—you didn’t hear it from me. A gentleman never tells. It was the girls who couldn't keep their mouths shut." Whiro arched an eyebrow, smug satisfaction gleaming on his face.
"Can I be excused? I really don't think I want to hear this," I ask, more than just slightly repulsed by the potential damage hearing the end of this conversation might have on me. Set's madness is one thing, but having to deal with his brother as well is draining the life out of me.
"You don't want to hear what my brother has to say?" Set asks.
Is that even a question? "No, not really," I shrug.
"What he has to say is about Chen, Serena. You know... the man who has put a hit on you? The man I’m going to destroy piece by piece, and feed to the fucking desert vultures."
"I'll handle the chopping," Whiro offers, way too eager to take on the role, and I get the feeling this isn’t his first time volunteering—or disposing of a body.
"I just wish you two were normal," I let out an exhausted sigh as one of Set’s arms wraps around my waist.
"No, you don’t," he counters, nudging me toward the couch before pulling me into his lap.
My internal temperature quickly rises, still very worked up from earlier and his damn chest muscles pressed against the side of my breasts doesn't make things easier for me.
He doesn't usually show this much affection, or even closeness when we are out—especially not in front of other people. It’s about control. Letting his emotions show means exposing weakness. And that could put me in danger.
I guess he feels safe now, or maybe Whiro’s presence is triggering his territorial side. Because nothing’s stopping Set from sliding his fingers up and down my thighs while staring his brother down—who still hasn’t said why he’s here.
"Okay, let's start this because I can see you still haven't finished yourbusiness, and as much as I’d love to sit andwatch, I think you’ve got problems of your own to deal with first," Whiro shrugs, scooping up Eight-Ball who just came next to him to cuddle on his lap.
"Did your parents drop him on his head as a kid?" The question slips my lips, seriously hoping he was kidding about the watching part.
"I've heard that," Whiro interjects. "Our father did a lot more than just drop me on my head. Maybe my dear brother will tell you one day."
"Whiro..." Set warns, his voice drops into that lethal tone that only manages to pique my curiosity. I’ll have to learn about his past soon—before the questions eat me alive. I know he's not ready to talk about his past. Claims I'm not ready to listen either,but judging by our recent closeness, the time will come sooner than I was expecting.
Closeness, the word daunts me and makes me think of how I no longer hate Set. Sure, I hate the way he edges me and makes me surrender part of myself every day to him, but I no longer hate him for what he did to Nick—or my team. I'm starting to see that as being part of a lesson. One taken to the very extreme, but still one as brutal and valuable as everything he has to offer. Not that I’ll admit it to him anytime soon. He'd probably go on a killing spree, just to watch megraduatefrom his essential training for life.
At least he has an excuse, judging by the fact that his brother is much more deranged than he is. I wonder what kind of hellhole they were raised in. It can’t be too good since he keeps delaying talking about it. And look how Whiro turned out.
Right on cue, the bastard gives Eight-Ball a kiss on the head, then grins at me and Set. "If you ever separate, I’ve decided, I'm getting the cat. Make an assassin out of him."
"We're never going to separate," Set snarls, then flashes an evil grin. He truly believes we’ll be together for eternity. Or probably he just says it because he'll kill me if I try to leave him again. "Whiro... Chen, remember?" Set has to remind his brother why he came here, though I doubt he forgot. He’s just like playing with us.
"Chen, right. So ever heard of Black Medusa?"
"Yeah, that's some hotshot strip club. Not open yet, far as I know," Set says, moving his hand higher on my waist. "What’s that got to do with Chen? He's not the owner of it."
"Not officially," Whiro answers. "It's a front for money laundering. A lot of it. Chen’s name isn’t anywhere on it, but he’s behind the whole thing. He’ll funnel in cash from illegal gambling and whatever else he runs through his casinos—and come out squeaky clean."
"And he chose a fucking strip club to do it?" Set asks, baffled since he probably can think of a hundred better ways to launder money.
"This is Vegas. There are strippers out there making more money than you do, bro. No one tracks the tips, especially when the girls split them with the club. It's the easiest setup around here. Sure, he’ll pay some taxes, but with inflated expense reports and the right accountant, he comes out clean. Easy money."
"I know how these things work, Whiro. But they also draw a lot of heat. Like the feds. That’s the last thing I need on my ass right now,” Set dismisses the thought.
It’s Whiro who seems keen on the subject. "Hey, if you want a strip joint, just say the word. It can be my name out there. I don’t give a fuck about the feds."
I scoff at Whiro's words. Something doesn't sit right with me knowing that Set even visited a strip joint, let alone the thought of him owning one.
However, Whiro seems much more pleased with the idea, "I'll take a week off and take care of the hiring myself. Have the girls try out first. Or is it auditioning? I'm not sure which term is more suited."
