Page 50 of Beautiful Sinners

“FYI. Tessa is not going to do your dirty work for you. Don’t call her again or ask her for any favors. I don’t want her dragged back into this life. She’s off limits. Understood?”

Nonplussed, Tristan says, “Understood.”

Well, I don’t understand. Whatdirty workdid Tristan ask this girl Tessa to do for him?

Keane jerks his chin at Tristan. “Since you’re here, let’s get that meeting over with. Come with me. You, too.” He aims a finger at Constantine.

My gaze pings between the guys. “What’s going on?”

Tristan kisses me lightly on the lips. “We’ll be back soon. Stay here with Hen.”

“Now wait a damn minute,” I protest, which only gets Sarah going again.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she sings as she draws.

Keane tickles Sarah around her ribs until she’s a bundle of shrieking giggles and drops her crayon. “Time to go squirt. Declan’s going to take you to the park before it gets too late.”

Artwork forgotten in lieu of a promise to the park, she swiftly pecks a kiss to Andie’s cheek and hurriedly jumps down off the stool, running her little legs as fast as they can toward the elevator.

I hold my hands out in front me in a what-the-fuck gesture. Hendrix shrugs as he mixes ingredients in a large glass bowl, but he won’t meet my eyes.

CHAPTER 17

Almost as soon as we get into the elevator, the doors open again to what looks like a gym. There are distinctive grunts of exertion and fists slamming against flesh. Jax and another man are sparring in a boxing square in the center of the room while Rafe leans against the ropes, giving them feedback on their technique.

Keane lifts Sarah onto his shoulders when she tries to make a break for it. “I’ll be right back after I drop her off.”

So, basically, get the fuck off the elevator.

“But I want to play with…” Sarah’s high-pitched whine of protestation is cut off when the doors close.

“I don’t want to be here longer than necessary. Once I talk with Keane and see my sister, I propose we get the hell out of Dodge.”

See my sister, not get my sister. But I don’t question him about it. I don’t trust Dierdre. Not after all the shit that has gone down. Everybody is the enemy as far as I’m concerned.

“Ask him if he can spare a few burner phones and a laptop,” I tell him.

And I need to figure out where we can go and lay low for a while until we plan out our next move. Somewhere off grid that Aleksander doesn’t know exists.

Tristan and I slowly make our way over to the square. The moves Jax and the other guy are doing look like a mix of fighting techniques—Krav Maga, jiu jitsu, boxing—much like an MMA fighter.

“You just get up?” Rafe asks.

“Woken up by a hyperactive four-year-old is more like it,” Tristan replies.

From his side profile, Rafe’s cheek creases with a grin. “Mariposacan be a handful. Jax! Stop dropping your damn shoulder,” he shouts when the other guy gets in a left hook to the face.

A sweaty Jax holds up a middle finger, then promptly lifts his shoulder and blocks the guy’s next punch. They’re not wearing gloves, only hand wraps that cover the bottom knuckles and wrists. This isn’t just two men play-fighting. This is street fighting. Raw, aggressive, underhanded, and dirty.

“Fuck me. That’s Liam Connelly,” Tristan side-whispers.

Liam’s reputation is as bad as Jaxson West’s. He’s Declan Levine’s enforcer. I study the gray-eyed behemoth, looking for weaknesses in the way he fights and finding none.

Liam fakes an uppercut and drops down, sweeping Jax’s feet out from under him. The floor vibrates at the impact of Jax’s big body hitting the mat. Liam takes advantage and grapples him in a chokehold.

“Get off me, fucker.”

“Then tap out, asshole.”

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