Page 71 of Cruel Lies

But I was well-acquainted with his particular sins.

Child abandonment. Assault and battery. Breaking and entering. Domestic violence. Drug dealing and possessions, a string of them. Petit larceny, the times he got caught boosting others’ possessions for drug money when my mother cut him off.

He was a piece of work, and karma did a good job of catching up to him.

"I thought I told you fuckers I didn’t want room service?—"

Angel didn’t wait for him to continue his little spat. His huge hand planted itself in the center of my father’s chest and shovedhim backward into his room, making way for us to follow behind.

He was quick to slam the door behind us and bathe the whole room in darkness.

Curtains were drawn, no lights were on—it was safe to say the man currently whining from the floor was hiding. But from who? Or what?

"Okay, you sleazeball, get up. I’ve got some questions, and you’re going to answer them so I don’t have to spend any more time than necessary in this roach motel."

Angel kicked his feet up on the table as he settled into a chair that barely contained his long, lean frame. He made himself at home, but it felt like watching someone slum it. Though designed to look distressed and worn, his clothes were clearly brand new and designer. The way his jeans hugged his legs like they were painted on his skin with precision and crafted to fit him and only him?—

Thatwouldbe what he spent his money on.Vain man.

But I wasn’t eyeing the clothes.

No, far from it.

My brain was stuck on how well it fit his frame. He looked confident sitting there, that knife in his hand, twisting it back and forth as if inspecting it and not making a not-so-idle threat.

"I’m not a patient man. You really ought to get up and do as I ask. This will be easier on all of us if you are cooperative." He flipped up his sunglasses and eyed the man disrespectfully, letting him see every ounce of disdain he carried for the man who’d sired me.

I should be focusing on anything but the way his shirt gaped open at the top, revealing the thin silver chain he wore underneath.

But I was more mesmerized by the expanse of skin on display making my throat close up, my heart beat faster, and making methink of all the things I shouldn’t want to do to his chest with my hands.

I shouldn’t be thinking of jumping his bones, standing here in this squalid mess that reeked of stale piss and rotting food. And yet I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t focus enough to spot the fucking attack coming from a mile away.

My father rose to his feet and pulled a gun out of thin air in the span of a second, his whining, pleading demeanor gone, all an act to protect himself.

And now, he had a gun to my head, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t the only thing around here that was loaded and unstable.

Fucking peachy.

"You try to hurt me and I’ll pull the trigger, man. I don’t want no trouble. You just tell Hector I’ll have his money soon, but he can’t bleed a dry rock, or a dead one. He wants paid, he’ll have to trust me."

Angel rolled his eyes and pretended he hadn’t been given an ultimatum. "A man who trusts a piece of dirt like you is a stupid one." He picked at his nails absently, sucking his teeth for emphasis as his steely violet eyes cut to my father’s wild stare. "Let her go, Dante."

Dante. Dante Riviera. An Italian/Spanish immigrant who’d swept my mother off her feet with promises of grandeur and travels beyond her wildest dreams. All because someone he knew told him that American heiresses were suckers for an accent and a pretty face. An easy target.

And he left her pregnant and bruised, beaten to within an inch of her life by the loan sharks he’d promised money to, in order to save his own fucking hide.

She almost lost me before I even took my first breath.

Something inside me snapped, and I had a moment of clarity, a momentary glimpse into why the guys could kill so indiscriminately. How they could live with themselves for taking out the scum of the earth with their own hands.

If all men were like this one, worthy of nothing more than a hole in the ground and not even a stone to mark their passing, then I could appreciate their dedication to eliminating them from the world.

I recalled my self-defense training and went over every step in my head twice as that steel barrel pressed against my temple, the coldness sending a chill through my bones. I could, and would, disarm him and save myself if I had to. Angel seemed to be in no hurry to keep him from blowing my brains out, but hey, maybe it was his tactic. Maybe it worked.

Trust no one but yourself.My cardinal rule for surviving these past seven years.

No one.

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