Page 2 of SINS & Lies

Ugh. I’m so totally led by my dick. But what does he expect? He’s been starved for months, and Kennedy’s cunt tastes like heaven. “You saw the footage,” I remind him.

“I saw a black BMW 4-series. Lots of people drive them. And?” he asks.

“And?” My jaw clenches hard. I can’t believe I have to connect the dots for him. “Uncle Andre and his band of dickless thugs all drive them. Because the cheap bastard won’t spring for the 8-series.” I scoff. “He snatched her, Dante. Right from under our noses in your own goddamned club.”

“It might’ve been one of his men.”

“Him. His men. Whoever it was is about to learn that no one steals from me.”

“So now this is a cautionary tale about stealing?”

“It’s about war. Thermonuclear fucking war.”

My heart thuds loudly in my ears. Is it one man? More than one? Are they forcing themselves on her? Taking turns with her body as she screams? Or all at once...

“Enzo?” His voice is like a pesky gnat in my ear now, barely registering over the roar of my own rage. “Listen to me. Wait for us!”

“If I need you, I’ll call.” With a quick flick of my finger, I end the call. My focus lasers in on just one thing: getting Kennedy Luciano back.

The road narrows tight against a thick band of trees. So much so that my foot eases up on the gas.

Hundreds of secluded acres, a maze of dense woods and ravines. As a child, these woods were my schoolyard. My wonderland. When my father and Uncle Andre were at least on speaking terms.

I think back, fondly recalling the mangled remains of a man, eyes bulged and neck broken. The sharp bone of his shin protruded through his flesh. His left hand gnawed away.

Uncle Andre dismissed it as just some hiker bad on his luck. Quite the coincidence, considering that the trident tattoo sported by that hiker happened to match the ones inked on the necks of all his capos.

I go with my gut and kill the lights. A flash of red darts out from the shadows of thick woods—brake lights—a crimson pixie leading me to Bella’s precise location.

And by pixie, I mean evil little bitch.

Between Kennedy and me lies another unforgiving ravine. Bella stands on one side, I on the other.

With a step forward, I instantly lose my footing, slipping on damp, moss-covered stones. I latch onto the nearest branch, legs dangling.

It takes me a minute to hoist myself back up, catch my breath, and steady my stance. When the pucker of my ass manages to unclench, I take three large steps away from el capo’s welcome mat, return to my car, and call for reinforcements.

“Hello?” he answers like an idiot. “Does someone need me?”

I quell the beast that wants to lash out with a fuck off and breathe through it. “Yes,” I growl.

I don’t need Dante’s help as much as the guy with him. Striker. Technically, my bodyguard.

But since my brothers assigned him to me, I do what I always do when I suspect someone’s allegiance is divided. I cut them like bait.

Which is why, with the threat of my brothers likely hanging over his balls like a guillotine if he loses me again, he’s with Dante. And armed with his night vision goggles, because, let’s face it, the freak’s never without them.

“Well, cell reception is shit out here and we can’t get a lock on your location. Where are you?”

I’m two seconds from firing off a flare when I make that evil little pixie my bitch. I slide behind the wheel and pump the brakes.

For what feels like forever, I stand there and wait. By the time the roar of Dante’s engine closes in, I’ve flipped through every image of torture I’ve ever seen in my life.

My fingers curl into fists, adrenaline coursing through my veins, fueled by pure primal rage.

Whoever’s on the other side of the ravine is about to be skinned and made into a motorcycle jacket.

CHAPTER 2

---