Page 43 of SINS & Lies

I set him down. “Everything’s fine.”

Fine, except for the pain radiating from the base of my head to the back of my eyes. Scanning my choices—the lumpy bed or the cushionless sofa—I opt for the bed, collapsing onto it with a heavy exhale.

I take a deep swig from my flask, hoping the Macallan will offer an ounce of relief.

A second later, the mutt hops onto the bed and makes his way to my chest, resting his face against it. His presence is oddly comforting. With my eyes firmly shut, I mutter, “Do not piss me off.”

He responds with a sleepy yawn, and surprisingly, the urge to wring his neck never surfaces.

Instead, I find myself absentmindedly stroking his fur. The ball of fluff and his annoying snores settle against me tighter as my mind wanders aimlessly.

Maybe there’s a dog pound between here and the airport.

Or, a taxidermist.

CHAPTER 16

Kennedy

Inhale.

Exhale.

Don’t puke.

Here I am, sitting in a car probably worth more than my entire existence—Andre D’Angelo estimated my worth at a hundred grand—feeling like I’m about to lose my lunch. Truffles, my impromptu emotional support dog, is nestled sweetly on my lap as Enzo, my kingpin sex god, holds my hand.

I steal a glance at his ruggedly handsome face, all calm and broody, with chiseled cheeks and dark stubble. His golden eyes are glued to the road, probably imagining all the things he’ll want me to do—anything he wants, any way he wants it.

Meanwhile, I’m here, feeling like I’m on a rollercoaster ride from hell, with my stomach doing somersaults and my lunch threatening to reappear.

It’s not even the idea of going to Italy that has me unsettled, though it’s not helping. Planes have never been my thing. Keep your flying superheroes: I’m Team Shifters. All day. Everyday.

No. What’s got my nerves twisted like Christmas tree lights in a storage box is the fact that I’m flying halfway around the world, and for what?

To see Riley. But that’s only for three hours a day.

The rest of the time, I’ll be at the beck and call of big, bad Enzo D’Angelo. And why? So he can keep me naked and chained to a bed post, ravaging my body any way he wants?

And why does it feel like the heat kicked on?

My father’s advice swims laps through my mind. When life throws you curveballs, ya catch, darlin’.

How the hell do I catch a curveball like Enzo D’Angelo? It’s like trying to snag a shooting star—fast and fiery. He’s uncatchable.

Absently, I scratch behind Truffles’s velvety ear, seeking solace in his calm presence.

“What’s wrong?” Enzo asks, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. He’s been deep in thought the entire time, and neither of us has said a word. How he knows something is wrong is beyond me.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“Because if you rub that dog’s ear any more, the damned thing will catch fire.” His eyes flick to mine. “What?”

I let go of Truffles’s soft ear and clasp my hands together, trying to sound composed despite the whirlwind of nerves inside me. “It’s just that I—I’ve never left the country before. Don’t I need a passport or something?”

“It’s been taken care of,” he says with that sense of authority that normally makes him totally hot. In this moment, hearing those words come out of his mouth is just...terrifying.

When I frown, he notices. How he notices, I have no idea since he hasn’t bothered looking my way since we got in the car. “What?” he prods.

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