Page 82 of Beautiful Sinners

Hendrix goes into the kitchen, opening and shutting cabinets as he hunts through their contents.

“Bloody hell, all they stock is Irish whiskey,” he grouses and holds up a bottle.

It’s not even ten in the morning, but what the hell. I take the glass Hendrix pours. It burns like fire going down, leaving behind a smoky-sweet aftertaste.

“Since Dierdre is gone, there’s no reason to stay here any longer.”

I scowl at my friend. My sister was the only reason we came. I never got to talk to her. I barely got to look at her. I spent the last ten years mourning her death, only to find out she’s alive, and I still don’t know why.

“We need to find out where Cillian lives in Ireland.”

“Why don’t you ask Evan?”

I hit Hen with a withering glare.

“Besides,” he goes on, “you said we were off to New York. I’m not flying to fucking Ireland.”

I skim my hands through my hair and grip the ends. When did everything get so messed up?

“Syn wants to go back to Darlington. Wherever she is, is where I’ll be.” Con drops a phone in front of me and hands one to Hendrix. “They’re clean.”

Con’s voice has been getting stronger the more he uses it. He’ll probably never lose the gravelly, scratchy timbre, but I don’t care. It’s so good to hear him talk again.

“Are you sure?”

Taking affront that I would question his tech skills, he flips me off.

“I connected them to our network. Didn’t want to piggyback off their Wi-Fi.”

We have extra phones back at the house, but these will do for now. There are a multitude of things I need to do, including reaching out to the board members. My life might be in chaos and my parents might be dead, but that doesn’t stop the wheels of the business from turning.

Putting my phone on speaker, I dial Dad’s private number. When no one answers, I try Mom’s number. Nothing.

Aleksander, you lying son of a bitch.

“Try phoning Malin,” Hendrix suggests.

The mere mention of that scum sucker’s name sets me off. “Fuck no!”

Hen fires back, “Well, fuck you very much. It was just a suggestion.”

Thankfully, Con doesn’t say anything. I haven’t told Hendrix what Con figured out about Malin being the man who attacked Aoife and murdered her parents, or that my father is likely the one who ordered the hit. I want to hear my father confess it. Look him and Malin right in the eye, let them see their deaths coming, beg me on their knees to spare their lives, then do to them what they did to her. They deserve nothing less. But all of that hinges on Aleksander’s word that they’re still alive.

“I’ll reach out to some of my contacts and see what I can find out. Hen, can you try to get hold of Serena?”

I know better than to ask him to call his father, which would be a more logical choice.

He tosses the rest of his drink back. “Why in the hell would you want me to talk to her?”

“She’s Society and may have heard something.”

It frustrates me to be in this position, and I curse Dad for keeping me on such a tight leash. All our fathers, actually. It’s ironic that Hen, Con, and I were born around the same time. Three sons who became a threat to their fathers’ ambitions. They could have killed us when we were children. Hell, Gabriel almost did kill Con. Instead, they tried to control us through fear and abuse.

Maybe they sensed we would turn on them. Felt it as each day drew closer to the date when, according to bylaws, they would step down and relinquish their seats on the Council to their sons. We knew they weren’t going to do it and had been preparing to take it by force. But then fucking Aleksander and Aleksei had to mess up everything we had planned. And Hendrix—he never said a word that he wanted out until the other day.

Hendrix shakes his head. “Nope. You want to talk to Serena, you call her. Not touching that ever again. Syn would castrate me if she found out. She wouldn’t care about the reason.”

He has a point, especially after seeing what she did to Melissa just for flirting with him.

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