Page 74 of Sinful Sacrifice

Damien tips his head toward Detective Kinney. “How’s it going, Brock?”

“It’s hot as hell out here,” Brock, the traitorous detective, says. He tugs at his shirt collar as sweat builds along his hairline.

I’d be nervous, too, if I were an undercover agent working against alleged Mafia murderers.

Antonio’s gaze is heavy on me. “Brock, this is Pippa.”

Brock’s jaw tenses as his attention swings to me. “Hi, Pippa. It’s nice to meet you.” A knowing, forced smile spreads across his face—a silent plea not to rat him out.

I nod, unscrew my water, and chug half of it.

This is further proof why I’ll never go undercover. I don’t care if it’s going against killers or finding out who killed Bambi’s mom; I’d give myself away in seconds. I wouldn’t be sweating bullets like Brock. I’d be sweating beach balls.

They make small talk, but I hardly digest their conversation. All I’m listening for is the word rat or cop. Neither is said.

“Where’s Vincent?” Brock asks. “I have a great story to tell him.” He clasps Antonio’s shoulder, who then immediately steps away and delivers a death stare.

Brock winces, and it takes him a moment to realize his accident. He holds up his hands in an I’m innocent, man signal.

Liar.

Antonio will have much bigger problems than a pat on the back if Brock slips deep enough inside their organization to take them down.

I rub my palm against my shorts as Brock and Antonio walk toward the crowded table, where Vincent sits with a group of men.

If I tell Damien about Brock, he’ll know I spoke to a detective and kept that information from him for a month.

Will he trust me after that?

I could keep it to myself, but I’d feel worse.

That’d put him, Amara, Clara, all of them in harm’s way.

I won’t take Amara’s father away from her. She already lost her mother.

I swallow and grab Damien’s arm. “Can we talk privately?”

24

Pippa looks like she’s seen a ghost when we enter the pool house.

Her breathing is a ragged mess.

If I pressed my hand to her chest, I’m positive her heart would be a wild animal inside.

“Pippa?” I ask, my voice turning gravelly. “What’s wrong?”

She raises her hands in a similar gesture to how Brock did when he touched Antonio. “I need to tell you something, but you have to swear you won’t hurt me.”

If there’s ever been a sentence that provokes madness inside me, it’s that.

I’d never violently hurt Pippa.

I might fuck her hard.

Play a few mind games with her.

But hurt her in a way we’d never come back from?

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