Page 4 of Born Sinner
I swallow my father’s warnings, liquid sloshing over the rim of my red cup as I jerk my hand away.If I don’t occupy my mouth, my true colors will fall out…Troy’s eyes follow every movement as I lift my drink, downing what’s left. Just as the corners of his mouth tip up, I step forward.
Rules were meant to be broken—especially unwritten ones.
“Trust is earned, Troy.” Flashing him a syrupy smile, I drop my half-smoked cigarette into his beer, accompanied by a chorus of horrified gasps.
My name is molded around multiple variations of “whore,” but I’m already halfway across the room by the time they catch up to me.
Perfect, Lola. That was the exact opposite of “blending in…”
I’m supposed to swoon and bat my eyes. Instead, I placed a tiara on my head and unloaded a gun into the wall.
Safely immersed within the bowels of a makeshift dance floor, I sneak a look back at my friends. Their mouths are still gaping in shock. I let out a rough sigh while pretending to dance to the irritating base rattling the windows.
There will be a slew of questions waiting for me tomorrow. Apologies will have to be made. Bombs will need to be diffused. Diversions will have to be crafted...
But tonight, instinct is pumping too hard through my veins to ignore.
You don’t grow up as the daughter of a kingpin without learning how to carve through bullshit to extract the truth. Troy Davis’s truth is what makes him so dangerous. He’s a viper hiding behind Polo shirts and boat shoes.
Luckily for me, I can read asshole frat boys.
As my gait slows, I glance to my right where a pair of midnight eyes are still watching me.
But not him.
I’d have better luck reading in the dark than reading Sam Colton.
* * *
I should be home.
I should be on the couch in my favorite pajamas watching Netflix, forgetting I ever agreed to come tonight.
But I’m not.
Twenty minutes after ditching everyone, I’m still leaning up against a wall at this party. At Sam’s piece of shit—gritting my teeth, I look around at the marble and crystaleverythingand sigh—at his infuriatingly beautiful apartment.
“Why the hell am I still here?” I grumble out loud—except what falls from my mouth sounds nothing like what was in my head. Instead, it sounds like one long word dipped in caramel.
My stomach sloshes around at the thought.
“This is why Santi told you not to drink, Yola.” I blink. “Loya.” I blink again, the weight on my neck causing my chin to fall forward. “Yoya…”
What the hell kind of rum is Sam serving?
My head flops back, slamming against the wall with a hard thud. “Ow…”That’s going to hurt tomorrow.I try to lift my hand to rub it, but the weight from my neck is now wrapped around my wrist. So I stand there, head back, knees bent, and arms heavy, swaying to a dancing orange light.
Up.
Down.
Left.
Right.
I blink again, the clouds in my eyes thinning enough for me to realize the light isn’t dancing—it’s moving.
And it’s not just a light.
