Page 193 of Sinful Pleasure

If I had just let my father kill him, none of this would have happened, but I couldn’t.

Even now, if I had to go back, I’d make the same choice. I’d save him, suffer for it, rather than let him die.

Feelings were a weakness, and my feelings for Maddox?

They’re the biggest weakness of all.

And as I lost myself in thoughts of the devil himself, he suddenly appeared— as if my thoughts had summoned him.

His eyes locked on mine immediately.

I took a step back, my body hitting the edge of the bed. He studied me, and only then did I realize I was dressed in nothing but a white, long t-shirtthat barely covered anything.

For a brief second, his eyes softened when they met mine, but he quickly masked it, shifting his focus away from me to the door.

Then my attention snapped away from him as two men entered the room, dragging a body to the floor at Maddox’s feet.

I couldn’t make out much—except that the man’s hands and legs were bound with rope.

The pain was audible in his groans, echoing through the room, and when he shifted to his side, my eyes widened.

The man lying there, bound and helpless, was Angelo King.

Maddox spared him a brief glance, his eyes empty of emotion, before shifting his gaze to me.

His lips twisted into a wicked grin that made my stomach flip.

Only the devil could look so good right before stealing your soul.

“Time to play a little game, princess,” he murmured, his voice low and dark, sending shivers down my spine.

Then, he looked down at his brother.

“And Angelo will be our guest of honor.”

CHAPTER57

MADDOX

“You’re one dumb motherfucker, Maddox.”

Angelo tried to laugh, but it turned into a painful wince that made him hiss.

“Our father will never forgive you for betraying your fucking family.”

“Family?”

I couldn’t help but laugh.Did he seriously think he could earn my sympathy by pulling the family card?

That ship sailed long ago.

Family. The more I think about that word, the less I understand what it even means.

My father sent me away when I was just a kid—innocent and naïve. I was barely a teenager when my hands were stained with blood for the first time. My innocence was shattered the moment I pulled the trigger, taking lives just because my father ordered it. He made me a killer.

By nineteen, I was a loaded weapon—no emotions, no feelings, nothing. I never played with toys or had friends. I only played with knives and guns. He turned me into a pawn in his sick game.

“Family comes first,” he’d say every time he made me do something terrible. And somewhere along the way, I believed him—believed I had to do it to protect our family.

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