Page 34 of SINS & Lies

“The hood ornament off the car.” His voice is low, dangerous.

Shit.

My horrified eyes meet his, and I can sense the impending eruption. I step between him and the girls. “I’ll pay for it.”

“With what, Bella? Monopoly money?” My breath catches as both his hands grip my waist. He lifts me up like a rag doll and sets me aside with unsettling ease.

Then his heated gaze locks on the girls as their guilty glances morph into puppy dog eyes. Oh, they’re good.

The ringleader, Lola, steps forward. “Sorry, Zo,” she says, her voice dripping with the saccharine sweetness of a seasoned pro. “We won’t do it again.”

“You better not,” he warns.

“It’s just that it looks like a castle,” she says dreamily.

Unimpressed, he raises a brow. “Yes, and in the real world, castles don’t come cheap. And climbing on them is a one-way ticket to broken bones.”

I gasp, stunned. He wouldn’t really hurt them, would he? I shoot him a panicked look as he reaches for a twig on the ground.

To my surprise, he lowers to a knee, addressing them all, face to face. “When my sister was younger, she thought our father’s car was the world’s greatest trampoline. Want to know what happened to her?”

Wide-eyed, they listen attentively. I’m on edge, unsure of where this is going.

I can’t help but interrupt Story Time with Enzo. The last thing they need is some terrifying tale that keeps them up at night. “Um, Enzo, can I have a word?”

He continues, his voice ominous. “She broke her leg. Crack!” He breaks the stick in two for effect. They all jolt, and he goes all in, full storyteller mode. “And do you know what happens when little girls break their legs?”

On the edge of their seat, they all look back at him. “What?” one of them asks.

He leans in dramatically as he enunciates every word. “They. Can’t. Dance.”

With that, he stands back up and points a stern finger at each of their noses. “No more jumping on cars.” He huffs, agitated.

They giggle.

“Besides, what if you fell into traffic? You’d be squashed.” He makes a sound effect and bulges his eyes.

They laugh louder, their cherubic faces beaming. “Okay, Zo!” The man oozes so much natural born parent, it’s all I can do not to swoon.

He reaches into his pocket, and with a click, the car’s lights flash. “You want to play? Do it on the inside.”

They cheer wildly as if they’ve just been let loose in a candy store as Enzo takes a seat on the steps, pulls out a cigar, and lights it.

“What are you doing?” I ask, because he has no idea how much peanut butter and jelly might still be under their fingernails.

He looks up at me through a veil of smoke, his expression deadpan. “Slowly descending into the depths of hell. What does it look like?”

“You can’t just let them play in your car.” I stare as six little hands smudge fingerprints all over every inch of glass.

“Well, it’s either that or shoot them, and you seem to be attached,” he quips, the corners of his lips quirking up in amusement. Taking a slow drag from his cigar, he shoots me a sidelong glance, his eyes smiling for the first time since he arrived. “Sit down, Kennedy.”

It’s the way he says my name. Like I’m some sort of challenge he’s trying to overcome. “Polite pass.”

He clears his throat, the sound deep and rich. “I wasn’t asking.”

When my feet still won’t budge, his irritation melts. “Sit down, Bella.”

I hate how much I love when he calls me that.

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