Page 2 of Born Sinner
Troy’s all up in Lola’s face now. His arm keeps slipping around her waist.
I’ve never wanted to spill blood so badly.
“Who ordered the jock entrées?” I hear Lucas say in disgust. “Want me to call security?”
“Security” is a light word for the two heavies my stepfather insists on me keeping around. Senator Sanders’s history of making enemies has created a claustrophobic existence for all his kids.
“Not yet.” I crack open another bottle of Bud—my fourth. My head is starting to buzz, but it’s doingjack shitfor the thing I want it to dull the most.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and starts chatting up some passing blonde. He knows there’s no point in arguing with me. Besides, Rutgers’s star quarterback is about to get his ass handed to him by yours truly, especially since I just watched him slip a tab of something extra special into Lola’s Bacardi and Coke.
I catch the smirks on his teammates’ mouths. I taste the acidity in Troy’s intentions. Lola Carrera’s precious V-card is about to be spanked and shredded all over my apartment, and she's not going to know a thing about it.
Unless...
The slow burn in my chest ignites, bursting into a dull red flame.
Obsession is a loaded gun, and tonight my patience is dead and bleeding.
No one, I repeatno one, gets to suck or fuck that body, other than me.
Chapter Two
Lola
Trust no one.Suspect everyone.
The last words my father said to me before I left Mexico ring in one ear as Troy Davis’s drunken shouts fill the other.
“María! Hey, María!”
Pinching the cigarette between my fingers, I lift it to my lips and inhale while pretending not to notice. The truth is, I’m still getting used to that name.
María.
I hate it, but it was a small price to pay in order to trade my sheltered existence for the American dream.American freedom.
My grip tightens, denting the filter. I don’t feel so free right now. In fact, I feel more suffocated standing inside this lavish New Jersey apartment than I did locked inside my gilded border cage.
Blend in, Lola…
I’ve barely thought the words when a rush of heat ignites, licking along the skin on my bare shoulders. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I track his movement.
Or lack thereof…
Sam Colton hasn’t moved in fifteen minutes. I know; I’ve counted every one of them. He’s still leaned against the far wall, his heel lazily braced against it as if daring it to crumble.
Daring it to deny his weight.
His hard, muscular, sinfully defined weight.
Exhaling a cloud of smoke, I glance down at my feet, ignoring the high-pitched chatter spreading like an infectious disease all around me.This was a bad idea.
I’m about to spout off a lame excuse and get the hell out of here when a figure appears behind me, and hot breath fans across my neck. “Damn, baby, look at you…”
Note to self: American men can’t take a hint.
Sighing, I take another long drag off my cigarette.Dios mío, these things are disgusting.
