Page 47 of Beautiful Sinners

Fuck you, Hendrix signs instead of saying it, and I burst out laughing.

The girl wiggles out of Tristan’s grip and plops right down onto Constantine’s chest. She gives him the biggest, dimpled smile.

“You have pwetty pictures, too, like my Unkie Jax,” she happily says as she touches each tattoo along his collarbone, one by one.

Hendrix’s brows are practically at his hairline.Who the fuck is this?he mouths. Picking up a shirt from the floor, he quickly dons it.

I shrug, but I can only assume the girl is Sarah.

Kids, in general, are curious and love to ask a million questions, but she doesn’t seem bothered by, or even notice, the bruises and swelling on our faces. It makes me wonder how much ugliness she’s seen in her short life.

Constantine grunts when Sarah starts bouncing in place, using him as her own inflatable jumping pillow. Rescuing him, I drag her off his chest and sit her in front of me. Thank God, I’m still in the clothes I was wearing yesterday and the guys are wearing pants, otherwise this entire situation would be very,veryembarrassing, to say the least.

I clap my hands on my knees, then together, before holding them out for her to give me a double high-five. Sarah eagerly mimics me, repeating the pattern. Alana used to play hand-clapping games like Miss Mary Mack with me. Anything to beat the boredom of being stuck in a hospital bed.

“My name is Aoife. What’s yours?”

“Sarah,” she replies, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she concentrates on keeping up with the pace of my movements, so our hands touch together at the same time.

Tristan gets up and beats Hendrix to the bathroom.

“Asshole.”

I distract Sarah from demanding more money for his bad word by speeding up our hand claps.

“Nice to meet you, Sarah. Where’s your Mom?”

Not missing a beat, she chirps like it’s no big thing, “She’s dead—”

Oh, fuck me. Foot meet mouth.

“—but my Auntie Andie is my mommy now. My daddy is dead, too. My unkies are my new daddies. I have four of them.” She stops and holds up six fingers again.

I think I just lost my heart.

Like most children who don’t understand personal boundaries, Sarah crawls into my lap and grabs fistfuls of my hair.

“Your hair is pwetty.”

I’m pretty sure my hair looks like a bird nest after a wild rave. Bed hair does not look good on me.

I brush a curl off her forehead. “Thank you. So is yours.”

“Sarah!” a woman’s voice rings from somewhere outside the bedroom. And she does not sound happy.

“Uh oh,” Sarah whispers, but she’s grinning impishly.

The “expect chaos” Rafe mentioned last night is making sense now.

I edge to the side of the bed and pat my back. “Hop on and I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”

With a squeal, Sarah crashes into me and wraps her arms and legs around me like a koala.

“I’ll start coffee,” I tell the guys as I carry an exuberant, wiggly, giggling girl out of the room.

As soon as we get to the end of the hallway, we’re met by a gorgeous, exasperated woman. Light brown hair that looks blonde at the roots frames a heart-shaped face. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her bare foot taps a fast beat on the hardwood floor. Seeing her, Sarah ducks her head behind mine and almost strangles me doing it.

“You’re not fooling anyone. I see you, young lady. I told you to leave them alone and not wake them.”

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