Page 17 of Corrupted Sinner

“Great place,” I said, though, after growing up in L.A., I had to admit I missed the warmer weather sometimes.

She shrugged. “It has its perks.”

“All the traffic, smog, and snow you could ever want,si?”

She almost laughed. Almost.

“I love the ink,” I said, pointing to the symbols down the outside of her left arm. “What does it mean, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She looked down at her arm and smiled, running her fingers over the tats. “They're sixteenth century Dalecarlian runes. In English, it sounds out the word ‘Brute’.”

Fuck.

Coincidence? I think not.

“A girl with brute force strength? I like that,” I said, hiding everything else.

Because what were the chances that Brute Hastings had sent us straight into the path of someone with his name tattooed down her arm, and he had no clue? Was she family? An old lover? Did he think she was in danger, somehow? I had no answers at the moment.

But I was damn sure going to get them soon.

***

It was a twenty-five-minute drive back to the villa where we were staying. Twenty-five minutes to imagine just how to go about wringing Brute Hasting’s big neck. Or sewing his lying mouth shut.

Or maybe I’d carve my own runic message into his arm. What were the Dalecarlian runic symbols for “liar”? I’d have to look that up.

“He’s giving us a good price,” Deo said, cutting into my vengeance-planning. “But he wants something in return. He needs a shipment of guns run up the U.S. east coast. It arrives in New York in two days. His last shipment was intercepted; whoever it was stole the whole lot.”

Vito nodded. “He’s feeling pretty damn jumpy about this one. Doesn’t trust his courier.”

“Have Brute run the guns,” I muttered. I hadnoproblem with putting some of the burden on him at the moment. None at all.

The car came to a stop in front of the villa, and I shot out, heading for the door and a certain big-ass biker beyond it.

Inside, Gabe was talking on the phone in the parlor beyond the foyer, but there was no sign of Brute. A man that big? He couldn’t hide for long.

I stormed across the main floor and headed up the stairs in record time. Outside Brute’s door, I didn’t bother taking the time to knock. I opened the door and strode in.

Brute was standing at the window, looking out at the villa’s yard. Damn it, he looked good, wearing jeans that hugged his ass just right and a plain white T-shirt that was fitted just enough to show off his sculpted frame. “Jacked” didn’t even begin to describe him.

Jacked or not, I was still going to kill him.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” I snapped as he turned around.

“Tell you what, darling?” he asked in that lazy drawl that usually did all kinds of crazy, wonderful things to my insides.

Right now, I wasn’t in the mood for crazy, wonderful things. Crazy things, maybe. Would it be considered crazy to fly at the massive man with my claws out?

“Valeria,” I said, spitting out the name like a curse.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to; the lack of surprise on his face confirmed my suspicions.

“Let me guess,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, “the girl with the name ‘Brute’ tattooed down her arm in weird-ass letters is just a coincidence?”

“You saw her?” he asked. As if that was in any way the point of the conversation here.

“Yeah, I did. Walked through ten fucking miles of gardens with her. Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

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