Page 15 of Beautiful Sinners

As I hurriedly don the clothes that are way too big because they’re men’s sizes, Hendrix gets off the bed and takes over rolling the waistband of the sweats down low on my hips, so they won’t fall off.

“A few days. Con figured it out before that, but the fucker didn’t say anything.”

If they’ve known that long, then…

The note.He knows. Trust no one.

Oh, my god.

Alana.

I run out of the room at a dead sprint as if the hounds of hell are nipping at my heels.

CHAPTER 5

Cillian McCarthy’s compound is a maze of corridors and rooms, the place more securely guarded than Fort Knox. I’d heard of him but had never met the man before. The Society keeps tabs on all the big global players. People of power. People with wealth. People of influence.

As one of the heads of the Irish mafia, Cillian spends most of his time in Ireland, and after what happened this morning, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he’s here in the States. But for what purpose? I’m grateful he saved our asses, but until I know his true agenda, I don’t exactly trust him, and I absolutely don’t fucking trust Evan. He goes to Darlington Founders and is in Aoife’s biology lab. Con had mentioned him the other day. Said he got weird vibes off him when he went to pick Aoife up from class.

But Evan will have to wait at the back of the line because finding out exactly what happened this morning takes precedence. Eva is dead, and we don’t know anything about Patrick or my dad and mom. Malin didn’t answer the one time I tried to call him before my phone up and died, and there’s been no word from Con’s father, Gabriel, which makes me think the Stepanoffs took out the entire fucking Council.

I catch up to Con as he’s descending the grand staircase. Something transpired between him and Aoife in the bathroom, and the fact that he wouldn’t say anything in front of her has me worried.

“Will you slow down and tell me what’s going on? Is Aoife okay?”

He doesn’t stop. “Syn.”

“What?”

“She doesn’t want to be called Aoife.” His voice cracks at the end, butchering her name.

I’ll see if they have any chamomile or peppermint tea for his throat. Other than some minor scrapes and contusions, Hen and I didn’t sustain any injuries when the side of the house blew, but Con is another story. Aleksei and his men beat the shit out of him. He wouldn’t let Cotton look at him, but I can tell by his movements that he might have a cracked rib or two.

The stairs curve to the foyer, and I jump the final four steps in order to grab Con’s arm to make him stop. I’m taken by surprise when he turns around, fists my shirt, and shoves me back against the stair balusters with a snarl.

“Did you know?”

My hand circles his wrist and pulls, but his grip is too tight, his anger too substantial. Even injured, he’d kick my ass without blinking.

“If I knew what you were talking about,” I calmly reply.

His dark eyes assess me for a few seconds before he lets go of my shirt with a not-so-gentle shove. “I need a computer with a secure line.”

Not letting him storm off again, I grab the back of his neck and hold him in place as chaos emanates from every pore of his body. My best friend and my woman almost died today. And it would’ve been my fault. This damn rivalry between me and Aleksander needs to end, one way or the other. I can’t lose someone else I love… and losing Aoife again right after we found her would end me.

“What the fuck is going on inside your head? Talk to me.”

His teeth grind together, his muscles so tight, his entire body quakes with barely restrained rage.

“Your father!” he bellows in my face, his accusation drawing me back.

My brows push together in confusion. Not quite understanding, all I can manage is, “I tried to get hold of Malin. I don’t—”

“It was your fucking father!”

Everything stops for a fraction of a second as I look at him, trying to comprehend what he’s implying. I barely have a chance to process any of it before he slams his fist against the baluster beside my head. The vibrations from the impact of flesh on wrought iron create a ringing sound near my ear much like tuning forks.

I meet Con’s enraged gaze with an unwavering one of my own as something ugly and ominous slithers up my spine.

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