Page 60 of SINS & Lies

I hang up before he can pester me for the millionth time about sending Kennedy back, like she’s some Amazon impulse buy I regret.

Kennedy’s no trinket. She’s a diamond. One I have claimed.

I run a hand over my face, unsettled. My uncle is many things—calculated and lazy tie for first—but benevolent? He’d no sooner gift me a woman for a week than spread his cheeks and have Rocco fuck him in the ass.

In our world, there are no gifts, only trades. We exchange threats veiled as pleasantries, manipulate people like pawns, and always, without fail, demand one thing in return: blood.

Eventually, Uncle Andre will come for my blood, looking to drain me like a goddamned vampire. But for now, he’s just buttering me up.

He thinks seven days with Kennedy will be a slow drip of opioids—mainlined, raw, and addictive. And so sweet, I’ll never be able to slice her from my veins.

I sip my scotch. Is he right?

I drop my head back to the seat and shut my eyes. The pain has started, radiating like shards of glass behind my eyes and down my neck. I swear, licking barbed wire would be less painful.

When I hear a skittered sound from behind me, my tired body reacts on instinct. I reach for my gun when two hands trail down my shoulders and arms. Instead of easing the tension, they manage to make it so much worse.

I think it’s her perfume. Savannah wears some god-awful stench she probably paid a thousand dollars a bottle for. Her frigid fingers begin working deep massages into my shoulders as I try not to gag.

“What’s the matter?” Savannah purrs. Her eyes linger on my slacks as she moistens her lips suggestively. “Feeling a bit...pent-up?”

As a matter of fact, yes. So much so that beneath my slacks, I’m in physical pain. Agony and desperate for a release.

But the thought of pressing into anyone but Bella stings like acid on bare skin. Clenching my jaw, I force out through gritted teeth, “I’m fine.”

“I’m very discrete,” she hushes, her invitation breathy against my neck. “Your little girlfriend will never know.” Savannah drops to her knees, her ample tits on full display. “You’re so tense,” she pouts, her hands sliding up my thighs to my belt and begins to unfasten it.

I lean in. “And you’re so close,” I whisper with a grin, “to having your hands ripped off and turned into chew toys if they don’t quit pawing at my fine Italian leather.”

A nervous giggle escapes her lips, her fingers retreating completely. She stands. “Well, if you need me for anything?—”

“Oh, make no mistake, Ms. Whitaker, I do need you,” I say even-toned. “I need you to take care of the dog. If that’s not your purpose here, then consider yourself excess baggage. Which I can easily dispose of to lighten the load.”

She scuttles back to her chair, a gust of anxiety and nerves as I watch her retreat.

Finally, some peace.

The sharp pain travels from the base of my spine to my temples like daggers scraping against bone. Even the two scotches I’ve had aren’t dulling it, and the conversation with Sin has only managed to make it ten times worse.

With a sigh, I toss my phone aside, sinking back into my chair and closing my eyes, desperate for relief.

Or, to black out.

A warm breath skates along my knee, eliciting a whole-body wince. I swear, this woman is inching closer to getting tossed out somewhere over the Atlantic.

Before I can utter another threat, a disgustingly wet sneeze shoots across my lap. My eyes snap wide open.

The dog’s brow quirks, accompanied by an ear twitch—just the one.

I blink. Gross.

I nudge him away with my foot. “Do not make me kill you,” I warn.

A pathetically small growl escapes him, followed by a bark that pierces my ear like a prison shank.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I don’t need this.

When he hops up and licks my hands, an unexpected warmth spreads through me like hot caramel over an apple.

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