Page 64 of Beautiful Sinners

I don’t think about what I’m doing, only that he promised to tell me the truth.

“Is everyone dead?”

He’s smart enough to read between the lines and know who I’m referring to.

“Aleksander, we’ve got to go,” his man urges.

Aleksander waves him off like a pesky fly, pivots toward me, and replies, “Of course not.”

“But you killed Eva Knight.”

“I did,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“Why?”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t waver or look away.

“Because her husband asked me to.”

Shocked at his bluntness, my hand involuntarily covers my mouth. Hendrix watched his mother die, and it was his father who ordered her death.

“Why would Patrick do that?”

“He said he would give me his vote if I did something for him. It was a business exchange. I didn’t question his reasons.”

The way he casually talks about killing Eva is cold and detached.A business exchange. How can someone’s life be worth so little?

Do I tell Hendrix? What if Aleksander is lying? I don’t think he is. For some insane, inexplicable reason—because surely, I have lost my fucking mind—I believe him.

“What about everyone else? Tristan’s parents? Constantine’s father? Where are they?”

Aleksander’s smile returns, as do those damnable dimples. “Oh, they’re still very much alive. I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun,” he replies enigmatically and disappears into the dusky evening.

A gust of wind from the alleyway slams the exit door shut, the crack of sound like that of a gunshot.

Something I’m all too familiar with.

CHAPTER 22

A swirling eddy of wind whips my hair all around, obscuring my view of the nighttime skyline. Everything looks so pretty from this perspective of forty stories up, the city like a forest of skyscraper-shaped Christmas trees decorated in a geometric pattern of white window lights. The synchronous flashes of the red aviation obstruction beacons that stick up from the tops of buildings look like fireflies hovering in the air.

“How could you let that motherfucker get near her? I thought you had men covering the bar.”

I blow out a weary breath when I hear Tristan’s furious voice through the French doors that lead out from the living room onto the balcony.

The guys are understandably upset, but I couldn’t take it anymore and came out here.

“You don’t get views like this in Ireland,” Evan says as he studies the stunning cityscape spanning as far as the eye can see.

My hair whips around my head in a frenzy when the wind picks up.

“It’s beautiful in a different way than the country, but I prefer rural life. Fresh air, zero light pollution, the sounds of insects and animals instead of cars and people,” I lament.

Unafraid of the height, I brace my hands on the thick metal balcony railing and lean over.

“You’re about to give me a heart attack. Could you, maybe, not do that, please?”

I glance over at Alana where she’s sitting on an oversized deck chair. She hasn’t spoken much, but then again, with Tristan and Hendrix yelling at everyone, no one’s had the chance to say much of anything.

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