Page 68 of SINS & Riley
The son of a bitch still lives here.
An eon later, we arrive at the great room.
He’s exactly where I expect him: by the fireplace, sipping some overpriced swill he probably thinks is good because he paid a small fortune for it.
He doesn’t look at me. “Instruct your men to wait outside.”
My men stiffen behind me.
But if I don’t give Uncle Andre what he wants, trust is off the table. And I need the fucker to trust me.
At least enough to get what I came for.
One flick of my hand and my men are gone. No hesitation.
Once the door shuts, Andre gestures to the chair across from him.
His gaze skims my mask for half a second before he snaps his fingers.
A girl drifts in from another room. Scant scraps of fabric, skin gone sallow. Starved down to nothing.
“Can I offer you a drink, sir?” she whispers, eyes glued to the floor.
My stomach turns, twisting tight. It takes everything not to end Andre right here and now.
Then I catch the holes in the wall. Three separate rifles trained on me.
Because one won’t do the job? Pussy.
I want to promise her freedom. But, I can’t. Not yet.
I also want to grind Andre’s face into the table for parading her in front of me like this.
But I breathe through it.
Instead, I smile. Cold. Hollow. And put on my real mask.
“What’s your name?” I ask, pretending to be interested.
Her voice trembles. “Elena.”
Unlike Riley’s, this girl’s necklace is green. A contract piece. Ninety days for more money than she and her family will see in a lifetime.
On paper, it looks irresistible.
The catch? Most don’t survive the first month.
The girl is bone-thin. Bruises stain her arms, welts from fists or a belt. Cigar burns scar her thigh, vanishing beneath her skirt.
My fists knot, bones straining against skin.
Fuck.
Rage floods every vein like molten steel. My pulse hammers so hard, it feels like it’s two seconds from splitting a rib.
It’s a trap.
He’s baiting you.
