Page 13 of SINS & Lies

Mateo’s eyes narrow as he reads me like a book. “You”—he jabs a finger at my chest—“have a girlfriend?”

“I do not have a girlfriend.”

“Are you sure?” Dillon asks, just to rile me up. “Because if your girl’s worth going to war over, we have to meet her,” he says with a suggestive smirk.

“She’s not my girl,” I lie, hoping to shut down this conversation from hell.

But who am I kidding? I fingered her, ate her out, and mounted a half-million dollar search mission just to get her back. I also got my hands dirty and rescued her myself rather than waiting twenty minutes for professional reinforcements.

So, yeah, of course, she’s mine.

Plus, nothing says possession like shooting an asshole for touching her.

I just don’t want any of these dickheads sniffing around her and forcing me to kill them.

“So, she’s up for grabs?” Dante adds with a smirk.

“Well, she would be, if you had the inclination to grab anything other than your own dick.”

Smoke rubs his temple, his eyes piercing into mine. “Are we seriously going to war over this girl?”

Are we?

My jaw tightens, and a tight knot forms in my throat. Debating the issue is pointless. I simply say, “No.”

“Then fix it,” Smoke commands, nodding toward the door. “Before I start handing out combat gear at the wedding reception.”

I glance at my brothers. Their loyalty and readiness to fight for me evident in each of their faces.

It doesn’t matter how deeply Bella slips under my skin, my family comes first—now and always. The thought of losing any of them over—what? An infatuation?—is unbearable.

With a firm nod, I steel myself and head purposefully towards the door. “Fine. I’ll fix it.”

* * *

From a weathered bench nestled within the tranquil embrace of the church grounds, I set out to “fix it.” What better way than by killing two birds with one stone?

The first bird: Uncle Andre.

The scent of age-old stone mixes with the faint aroma of incense, accompanied by the soft rustle of leaves dancing in the breeze. And for one brief moment, I almost forget how much I want to carve out his spleen.

As soon as he speaks, my fists involuntarily clench, a reflex to his words. “I’ll give you the girl,” Andre says.

My gaze falls to his impeccable Armani suit, destroyed by a garish bright red shirt and puke-green suspenders. It’s as if his sense of style came straight out of a bad mafia film.

Either that, or he’s actually color-blind.

I gesture toward his attire. “Just because you dress the part doesn’t make you Santa Claus. What do you really want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” My stare goes blank. He adds, “I want you back.”

“Back?” The word comes out stilted and stunned, though I quickly regain my composure. “I think instead of back, you meant to say dead. You want me dead.”

He shakes his head, chuckling in that way he always does when he thinks he’s in control. “No matter how much you betrayed me, I still see you as a son.”

His words grate on me like jagged glass against bare skin. Betrayed him?

The lowlife is responsible for my father’s disappearance and my sister’s attack. I just have to prove it.

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