Page 12 of SINS & Lies

In my head, I’m thanking him profusely for helping with Kennedy’s rescue. Outwardly, I’m shooting a death-glare at him and mentally plotting a dozen ways to kill him in his sleep.

“So, there we were,” he begins, recounting last night’s chaos. “Striker had just emerged from Uncle Andre’s ‘Hiker’s Trail’”—he air quotes—“NVGs and all. We’re all out of the woods, safe and ready to go, and this dipshit decides to head back in.”

“Why?” Dillon asks, perplexed. His confusion mirrors the question on everyone’s mind.

All eyes pivot to me.

I glance at my watch. Ten in the morning. With zero sleep and a near-blinding headache, I’m in desperate need of booze.

I make my way to the Macallan 25 because it’s the only scotch that matters, pour myself two fingers, and sip. I blow out a breath. “I had something to take care of.”

“More like you had a death wish,” Mateo says.

With Smoke, Mateo, and Dante present, it means Dillon drew the short straw. Mateo holds up his phone, letting Dillon chime in via the FaceTime peanut gallery.

“And you shot someone?” Smoke asks, his eyes darting between Dante and me. “Who?”

Dante jumps in before I get a word out. “The one person Uncle Andre will definitely miss,” he says bluntly, then adds, “Rocco.”

Mateo shakes his head, his expression grave. “You realize you might have just single-handedly declared war.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t kill him,” I retort. “Sadly, he’s still breathing.”

“I don’t believe this.” Smoke’s jaw tightens, his fingers forming a steeple. “One minute, you’ve got two half-naked women on your arms, enjoying your birthday party. The next, you’re racing to Uncle Andre’s, armed to the hilt.” He points at my chest. “When’s the last time you slept? Or ate?”

I’m about to answer when Dante interjects, “Pussy doesn’t count.”

“I’m fine” I say, with enough conviction that I almost buy it myself.

“You’re spiraling out of control,” Smoke fires back.

I toss back the rest of my drink. “You know who can’t believe this? Me. Standing here, being lectured like a teenager caught swiping a credit card to buy a room full of hookers.”

Dante smirks. “You got more than a lecture for swiping dad’s credit card.”

Dillon’s face fills the screen, shaking his head in clear disappointment. “You seriously shot Rocco,” he says, disbelief evident in his voice as he pauses for effect before adding, “Without us?”

We all snicker as frustration deepens Smoke’s brows into a tight knot.

Hmm. I probably shouldn’t spill the beans about what I did to Rocco’s brother, Rot. Especially since Rot’s beaten beyond recognition—comatose and barely clinging to life.

Smoke’s already edgy as hell, with the wedding barreling towards him like a freight train. Judging by his wary glances darting in my direction and the fact that he’s always packing heat, it’s best I keep Rot’s condition close to the vest.

Besides, I’ve got him stashed away in a makeshift underground medical facility that’s way too good for his sorry ass. For now, he lives.

But once he wakes up, I’ll wring that fucker dry of every bit of information he has on our sister. No matter how much he begs for the sweet release of death, he doesn’t die until I say he dies.

Especially since he holds the key to finding out who targeted Trinity all those years ago, before her attack.

I glance around the room, briefly debating whether to spill the beans to my brothers.

But what if I’m wrong? It’s entirely possible that Rot’s as clueless as he looks.

Or what if he dies?

Until I have more to go on, I’ll keep it to myself. Let them think I’ve done an epic swan dive off the deep end.

Better they believe that than raise their hopes again, only to have them crushed.

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