Page 52 of SINS & Temptation

The tension between us is an electric fence, ready to pump xxx watts of death with one wrong move.

“Your little bitch will pay for this,” he vows, stepping back slowly until he feels all snug and safe in his butt-ugly car. He rolls down the window. “Two days,” he spits. “And her ass is mine. And anyone else I care to rent her to.”

His wheels spin out, and he drives away.

Getting into my own car is automatic. I drive aimlessly through the narrow, winding streets, the shops and buildings passing by in a blur.

The car has a mind of its own, which is good, considering the pain in the base of my neck feels like a shank going from my spine and exiting out my eye.

I need to pull over and rest, but with the city crawling with Andre’s spies, there’s only one place I can go.

The brothel—the one the team and I rescued all those women from. And if I know my uncle, the fact that I sanitized it means it’s nuclear waste to him.

I park in a hidden carport and find my way in. I need to rest, to think, before I face Kennedy. She can’t see me like this—enraged. Broken.

I see a man—myself in the mirror. Between my pain, Andre’s threats, and my own fucking reflection, I do what I do best.

My fist flies into it, dead center. It shatters, shards raining down like tiny, glinting daggers, each piece reflecting me in my fractured fucking state.

“You’ll figure it out,” the ghost of Mullvain says. For a figment of my imagination, he’s strangely encouraging.

“I have two fucking days,” I argue with no one at all, dropping onto a bed that would under any normal circumstances make me cringe and want to dive straight into bleach. But right now, I just need to close my eyes and think.

Chapter Twenty

ENZO

As soon as I hear my uncle’s voice, I run.

“Why the fuck did you tell him Enzo was here?” From behind the thick velvet curtains, my Uncle Andre’s voice is a low growl, the kind of quiet threat that makes grown men tremble.

But not this man.

I peer out to find a giant of a figure, standing tall. “He deserves to know where his son is, boss. He’s the boy’s father. Yer brother. Family.”

His broad back faces me, but I’d know that voice anywhere—deep, brogue, and unwavering. It’s Mullvain, his prized fighter. Brute force personified, his presence is towering yet gentle, even from where I’m hiding.

“Family?” Uncle Andre’s laugh is sharp and bitter. “I don’t need a life coach, Mullvain. I need loyalty. Do you understand?”

Mullvain nods once, and my uncle stops pacing, turning to face him directly.

His eyes narrow into slits. “Someone’s been barking up to the Feds. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“No, sir,” he spits, clearly offended. “I handle me own battles. I’m no snitch.”

“Good to know.” Uncle Andre’s voice drops to a low, feral growl, almost predatory. “You got kids, Mullvain?”

There’s a heartbeat of silence. Then Mullvain shakes his head. “No,” he says, with a casual shrug.

“Liar,” I whisper before I can stop myself, panic flaring as the word slips out.

But no one notices.

I strain to hear, because I don’t know everything about Mullvain, but I know he’s lying. I once saw a picture on his phone—two girls, unmistakably his.

I hold my breath, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure they’ll hear it. My uncle is infamous for making examples of men who cross him, and lying ranks right up there with stealing and informing.

Through the crack in the drapes, I see Mullvain’s clenched fists and the tight line of his jaw. It’s the look he gets just before he turns someone into hamburger meat.

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