Page 1 of Lust
1
This was goingto be torture.
Liza Lazarus stood outside Ringo’s Bar, hugging her brown leather jacket against the cold Cardinal City afternoon, wishing she could just go home.
This will be fun, they’d said.
You work too much, they’d said.
“They can all shove it up their wazoos,” Liza mumbled to herself. This was not her idea of fun, but to admit it would be to admit weakness. Admitting weakness of any kind, anywhere, made her vulnerable. In this case, it was the threat of a crowd of drunken fools, which sounded innocent enough, but being distracted by a pretty man could get her killed. She had to put on an impenetrable front. Never show weakness. Somehow, Liza didn’t think theonna-bugeishawho’d trained her in the Art of War had this sweaty bar in mind when dispensing that piece of advice.
Condensation trickled down the glass door in rivulets. A knot formed in Liza’s lower belly, signaling the sin of lust emanating from slobbering and desperate patrons as they prowled for potential sexual partners.
“Let’s get this over with,” she growled and yanked open the door.
The bell dinged overhead, announcing her entry. Conversation, heat, and the sour smell of spilled beer assaulted her senses. She forced a breath. To anyone else, she took stock of the room, maybe searched for friends, but her gut roiled in turmoil. The closer she was to lust, the stronger the pain and sickness. The deadlier the lust, the more pain.
Sin.
Everywhere.
Oozing from that jock-type as he took a swig of beer and leered at the strawberry blond with big tits at the end of the long wooden bar. Lust hemorrhaging from the beefcake as he rubbed against a curvy woman whilst on his way to the bar. Lust bouncing off three businessmen, ties loosened, Rolex watches glistening, as they ogled Liza with predatory intent.
She casually opened her jacket and placed her hand on the CCPD badge still clipped to her belt. It glinted under the halogen lights. The same lights revealed sweat-stained armpits on one man, shiny scalp showing through the balding hair on the second, and remarkable cheekbones on the third. The businessmen resumed their conversation, avoiding Liza’s direction. She relaxed. Being a detective had its perks.
She stroked her badge fondly and shouldered her way through the eddying crowd, at least a hundred thick. It didn’t seem like the kind of place her family would gather for drinks, so she assumed a less claustrophobic area was somewhere. True to her assumption, she found a beer garden where the crowd had thinned dramatically. Gas patio heaters kept the area warm. Less crowd meant less sin to sense.
Decades of combat training snapped to attention when she spotted the most dangerous people in the room—her siblings.
Dark and foreboding, Wyatt, Tony, and Griffin crowded into a booth near the entrance. A burst of feminine laughter drew Liza’s attention to where her brothers’ life-mates sat in a booth at the back of the room near the jukebox. She shifted her attention to the brooding men. All three were tall, built, and held a grace that may have seemed casual, but sent alarm licking up her spine. They weren’t three men lounging in a booth, they were three panthers lying in wait for the next poor unsuspecting buffoon to make a wrong move. Wyatt glared at anything coming through the door. Griffin sat tall and alert, watching the rear exit. Tony hid behind a baseball cap, but already noticed Liza’s entrance and tipped his chiseled jaw her way.
She approached and raised a brow.
“You all in the doghouse again?” She smirked, knowing full well why they were separated from their women.
Wyatt’s jaw flexed stubbornly. He glanced in the direction of the women, and then took another sip of his artisan draft. Right.He’s being an overprotective dickwad, then. His mate was heavily pregnant, and they were all understandably nervous. Misha had lost her mother during childbirth, and if the Syndicate ever discovered the bun in her oven, they’d do everything in their power to get their hands on the genetically special baby. As reformed lab-rats themselves, each Lazarus sibling would give their life before allowing that.
But Misha couldn’t live cooped up. She was an independent woman.
Liza turned her gaze to Tony. His baseball cap was a disguise to hide his celebrity, but his handsome mug was still well known. She would bet he’d already been approached for selfies with fans. Good thing his mate was ex-CIA. Bailey obsessively watched him from the back booth as much as he watched her.
The only one with any restraint was Griffin, who adjusted the fake black-rimmed spectacles on his nose and nodded in greeting.
“They’re a few booths that way.” He pointed to where Liza had already seen them. “And we’re not in the doghouse. We’re just giving them some space. They want a girl’s night.”
“Right,” Liza scoffed. “So where’s the rest of the Scooby gang?”
Tony flashed his Hollywood smile. “I’m Fred in this analogy.”
“I got dibs on Daphne.” She waved down her toned and curvy body.
“Ew,” Tony grimaced. “But we’re siblings. Everyone knows Daphne has the hots for Fred.”
“No, Fred has the hots for Daphne. So that’s you being gross.”
Wyatt sighed heavily. “You’re both dickheads.”
He flagged down a server and ordered a double serving of fries.
