Page 35 of Taste of Sin

“Callie stop.” The beer cans piled in my arms crash to the floor under the weight of my father’s hand. “He could have any woman he wants. There’s a reason he needed you to secure his legacy and it has nothing to do with having children.”

His words are a hammer to my heart. All this time I thought it was my dad with ulterior motives. “Then why? Why me?”

“Because sweetheart. Marrying you means he controls Hawk Transport International.”

I shake my head, “You gave him Pop-Pops company? Why?”

“I gave him you. You gave him the company.” There’s a long pause while we both try to form the words we need to say. “It became yours when you got married. The ownership transfer paper was slipped in the paperwork for your marriage license. I wanted to protect you from Xander, that's true, but you only needed protection because he’s after the same thing Dominic wanted. It’s what they all want.”

My stomach drops and I curl my arms around my body, the feeling of betrayal hitting me with the force of a thousand blows. It can’t be true. If he’s finally telling me the truth, that means everything I thought Dominic and I have become is a lie. “You’re lying.”

“I’m sorry Sweetheart. I made a mistake but there was no other way.” The sincerity in his voice almost sounds convincing but after what he did, I can’t trust anything out of his mouth. I never even knew about the company being left to me. How many other things has he lied about?

Tears sting my eyes. The house I used to call home suddenly feels like it's collapsing on top of me. If this is true, his ‘mistake’ just cost me everything. I storm to the front door, passing one last look around at my childhood home and my father. Taking it all in one last time.

“Where are you going?” The concern in his voice offers me no comfort. He can spin it anyway he wants, he’s as complicit in my heartbreak as Dominic is. As I am.

“To confront the lying bastard.” I swing the door open, “I’ll deal with your part in this later.”

Chapter 22

Dominic

“Stick to the plan.” I wince through clenched teeth as we drop Manny and Dixon off at their vehicles. Quickly exciting, they’re none the wiser to my current predicament. I need their heads in the game, not fussing over my injury. Dixon is heading back to Kayden’s concrete bunker to wait for my call and Manny is securing our alibis for the day.

“We need to do something about that wound, Boss.” Franco side-eyes me as he pulls away from the curb. My head is swimming in a sea of pain and the setting sun is blinding as it ricochets off passing cars. He pulls onto the I-283 as I check my phone again. The GPS on Callie’s car shows she’s still in Jersey. Having her so far out of my reach is crippling me even worse than the pain tearing at my side. I let her down yesterday and made myself a vow that it would never happen again. She’s far too important to put in harm's way. It’s no longer about the transportation business, it’s something deeper. Something more valuable and I’m struggling with how to right the wrong I’ve done to her and keep her close. I close my eyes and growl out the wave of pain that hits me when I shift in my seat. I need to feel her, and I need to tend to the wound that's oozing way too much blood to keep my head from spinning. Checking my phone for the hundredth time, Victor still has not made contact and I dread what that means. His time is almost running out. Either he’s dead or he’s betrayed our arrangement. I’m growing antsy waiting for his proof that Don Marco is dead. He has to come through.While I’m not in the habit of murdering women,I’m also not the kind of man thatreneges on his word. His sister's fate lies in his hands.

“Take the next exit.’ I order, getting a glimpse of a blue road marker.

“The hospital?’ Franco questions, while swerving across two lanes of traffic to make the fast-approaching right turn. “The emergency room will call the police and that just makes this shit even more complicated.”

He’s right but the pain is fucking blinding. I brush my fingers along my side again, my fingers are drenched in red.

It’s worse than I thought.

“No doctors, just supplies.” Tearing the sleeve off my shirt, I ball it up and press it against the wound. The pressure sends a shooting pain through my side causing me to mutter a long, drawn-out series of curse words under my breath.

The SUV skids into a parking spot and I hoist myself out. The pain steals the air from my lungs. Grimacing like a bitch, I lean forward to rest against the side of the SUV.

“Let me help you.” Franco rounds the front and shifts my weight onto his shoulders.

The air filters back into my lungs and I take a few steps across the parking lot before pushing him off. “Don’t want to raise suspicion.”

I’m still formulating a plan in my head when fate hands me the perfect opportunity. Inhaling a sharp breath, I pull Franco back a step when two ambulances appear at the Emergency Room entrance. The blazing blue lights and jagged wail of the sirens draws out the hospital staff to aid the rescue. When the chaos unfolding is swallowed up by the closing doors, I limp toward the unattended ambulance.

“Hurry,” I stand guard as Franco climbs inside, stuffing his pockets and shirt with supplies.

He slips out of the back, and we reach the side hospital entrance seconds before they return. My heart rate is pounding in rhythm with our steps, each one sending flares of pain through my body. By the time we reach Lanah’s room on the eighth floor, Franco is holding me upright. Lanah’s eyes flicker open when we step inside, pushing the open door closed behind us. A flash of concern floods her eyes and she’s pushing herself off the bed.

“Don’t get up.” I shoot her a reassuring look that pins her back into bed, drawing her legs up and under the covers.

Once inside the bathroom, Franco dumps the supplies he managed to collect into the sink. “I’ve got this. Watch the door.”

The heavy door slows to a close and I inch my shirt up over my chest. Studying my reflection in the mirror, a shimmer catches my sight.

Son of a bitch.

The only way to lessen the pain is to remove the debris burrowed inside my split flesh. Fumbling through the contents in the sink, I growl out a curse when I don’t find tweezers. All that is available is a dirty knife. Freeing my knife from its leather casing, I toss it aside and flip open the blade, dousing it in saline solution. It’s as sterile as I’m going to get.

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