Page 86 of Sinners Atone
“Good.” His shoulders drop with the release of a breath, and relief softens the hard lines of his face. “Can I drive you home?”
“No, thank you,” I whisper.
He nods. “Stay safe, Wren.”
I stand there, paralyzed, tracking his every step toward the exit. I find a voice when he reaches for the door, though I’m not entirely sure it belongs to me.
“I thought he wasn’t as scary as he looks?”
Angelo pauses, then turns his head just enough to reveal the hard set of his jaw.
“He’s worse.”
The door swings shut just as another raindrop plops into the bucket.
The sun rose too early. The sky’s the color of bruised fruit, and beneath it, the birds circle low, eerily quiet. No cawing or squawking, just the soft hiss of their feathers ruffling as they glide over the ocean.
It’s the type of morning that doesn’t belong to a mid-December day. There’s no bite. No sharp air or stiff joints. No sting of salt in the wind.
I lean against the helm of the speedboat and crack my neck.
“You ever get the feeling something bad’s gonna happen?”
No reply.
I glance down at the man staring up at me and let out a breath of amusement. “Stupid question.”
Stooping to zip up the body bag, I wince at the tenderness flaring between my ribs. Then I limp down to the stern and start the engine.
Even the fucking water is out of sorts today. The surface is calm, as though the entire Pacific Ocean is holding its breath.The waves feel sluggish and dense, sloshing against the hull as I make a beeline for the gaudy boat in the distance.
Irritation fissures through me at the sight of Rafe’s yacht. It’s as flashy and as obnoxious as he is, bobbing against the horizon like a twenty-million-dollar iceberg. I hate the fucking thing and hate myself too for not beating the stupid idea of opening a floating casino a mile from the shoreline out of him before he’d dropped the anchor.
Not only is it a disgusting show of wealth, it’s also a floating target. Even counting Dante out, simply being a Visconti has put a bullseye on my brother’s back, and now every man he’s ever pissed off knows where to aim. The fact he has his own security doesn’t put me at ease either, because they’re just a bunch of pussies in suits. They’d probably jump overboard at the first sign of a threat.
As I line up the tender with the back platform, Rory comes into view. She’s standing with her arms crossed on the swim deck, scowling at me. Her gaze grows hotter the closer I get, and it burns like the look of a girl who found out I tied her up her bikini-clad friend and got trigger happy.
Gritting my teeth, I kill the engine half a second too late and throw my weight behind the wheel, just to make sure I put a noticeable dent in the paintwork.
“I have a question.”
I glance up at her, stone-faced.Here we fucking go.
“Can you beat Rafe up for me?”
Relief marred with amusement touches my chest. “You lose at Blackjack again?”
“No. Well, yes, but I’m working on that.” She throws her hands out dramatically, like Jesus on the cross. “Anyway, look at the size of this thing! Did you know that running a yacht for just a week emits more carbon than most people do all year?”
I rake an eye over her flight suit. “How much carbon does flying emit?”
She frowns at me, confused. “I don’t know. Why?”
Shaking my head, I secure the tender instead of pointing out that you can’t be an eco-warrior and take flying lessons three times a week in a bid to get your pilot’s license. She steps aside as I climb the ladder and follows me across the decking.
“What’ve I missed?”
“Hmm, let’s see. Well, I’ve put the Christmas decor up, but I’m going to need your help with the roof lights.”
