Page 53 of Beautiful Sinners

“They’ll be okay,” Andie assures me. “And it gives us some time to get to know one another better. I’m Andie, by the way,” she says to Hendrix’s back.

He lifts a casual hand hello, not quite being welcoming and not quite being outright rude.

“That’s Hendrix.”

Needing to do something to help ease the pent-up nervous energy I’m suddenly feeling, I go to the fridge and grab whatever fruit is available: Honeycrisp apples, navel oranges, and red seedless grapes. Perfect for a simple fruit salad. Not wanting to waste time searching the kitchen for a cutting board, I lay out multiple sheets of paper towel across the countertop. As Hendrix spoons circles of batter onto a hot griddle, he reaches behind him with his free hand and casually cups my ass when I try to grab a cutting knife from the block next to the gas hob.

I never liked being touched, but I’ve come to crave all the casual touches from the guys—the way Tristan constantly plays with my hair, or the possessive way Constantine holds me, or the deliberate sexual come-ons from Hendrix. It feels good to have someone touch me because they want to, not because they’re curious about what my scars feel like.

I kiss Hendrix’s shoulder blade and turn back around to Andie.

“I didn’t know I had any other relatives until Cillian told me.”

The string of falsehoods I’ve been force-fed since I was born turns my stomach. It also makes me wary of the woman sitting in front of me. How can I trust what she, Cillian, and Evan say when my own damn parents and the woman I loved as a mother all lied to me?

She chuckles like she’s recalling an inside joke. “I hope he didn’t mess things up too badly. He’s a good man, just rough around the edges.”

I wash my hands, then rinse the apple with tap water before cutting off the outer skin and dicing it into cubes.

“He was the one who saved me.” I’m still reeling over that revelation.

Her lilac gaze drops to my scarred arm. “I didn’t want to pry.”

I temper my reply with a fake smile. “That’s good because I don’t want to talk about it.”

Hendrix twists slightly to look over his shoulder at me before returning to flipping the pancakes.

“Cillian kind of saved me, too. Not in the same way, but it’s a long story that will require bottles of tequila. When he called and asked if Dierdre could stay for a while, I didn’t ask any questions. He protected Declan after—” She pauses. Taps a nail to the granite counter. Shakes her head. “Rafe told me what happened last night with Dierdre, and I feel like I can’tnotask now. Are the two of you in danger?”

Her worry sounds sincere, and I’m not sure how to answer her question because Aleksander is the one who should be worried. The things he set in motion won’t end well for him. I’ll make sure of it.

“Not if I can help it,” I eventually reply.

I lift the orange up to my nose for a sniff, then start peeling it. Vibrant pops of citrus fragrance the air and mix with the buttery aroma of pancakes.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks.

I find her offer both sweet and suspicious. Would it come with strings attached or future favors owed to the mob? That seems to be the way of things with her and Cillian.

Setting the orange down, I brace my hands on the lip of the cool granite. “Actually, there is. You can tell me how Cillian knew what Aleksander and his brother had planned and why he didn’t warn us.”

I hear the barely audible whoosh of the gas turning off, then Hendrix is at my back. He’s a good half foot taller than me, which puts the top of my head at his clavicle. I get distracted when his long fingers curl into my hip, sending tingles scurrying across my skin.

Andie summons a placid poker face, much like the one Constantine wears when he doesn’t want you to see that he knows something you don’t.

“Answer her.”

Andie’s shrewd, violet eyes darken ominously at Hendrix’s gruff command.

“I’m going to let that slide… this time. Next time, I’ll kick your ass if you ever talk to me in that tone of voice again.”

Hearing her threaten Hendrix triggers old, buried wounds. There was nothing I could do when I was a kid to protect him from the horrors his father inflicted upon him. But I’m no longer a kid.

“You won’t ever get that chance,cousin,” I enunciate with a deadly calm.

Hendrix hardens his grip on my hip while another, lower, part of him hardens against my backside.

Andie’s brown-blonde hair sweeps her shoulders when she sits back, tilts her head. “I apologize. I tend to react badly to male authority.” Something vibrates, and she stands up and takes a cell phone out of the back pocket of her jean shorts. “Sorry. I need to take this.”

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