Page 97 of Beautiful Sinners

Hendrix walks into the room with a sinful swagger. He doesn’t do it on purpose; it’s who he is. He exudes natural masculine sex appeal. His stunning face, his body, his larger-than-life arrogance. The way he talks and the things he says. He’s the forbidden bad boy every father warns his daughter about.

“And that’s why you sent her to Ireland with Cillian,” he finishes for me. “You did the right thing. You were protecting her. T will understand.”

My eyebrows raise incredulously.

“Okay, yes, he’ll bitch and complain, but he’ll understand.”

He lifts my left arm, resting my hand on his shoulder, then clasps my left hand, holding it out to the side. Curving his other hand around my waist, he steps forward.

“See if you can keep up, Trouble.”

I look up at him curiously, then fly into a fit of giggles when he starts dancing me around the room in a simplified waltz—another thing we were forced to learn as children, but I loved to dance, so it didn’t bother me. My first dance instructor was a mean bitch who loved smacking me with her cane whenever I made a mistake. I broke both of her hands. Her replacement was much nicer.

It’s been forever since I waltzed. I keep count of the triple beats in my head, trying valiantly not to step on his feet as he twirls me around and around. My hair flies out in a pinwheel the faster we go, and then he finishes by dipping me low to the floor.

“Not too shabby, Mister Knight.” My cheeks hurt from smiling.

Gently raising me up, he takes a step back, brings my hand to his lips, and bows low at the waist.

“Soon we’re going to take a trip to Hawaii, and I’m going to dance with you on a black sand beach.”

Astonished, I can only splutter, “You remember that?”

Dancing on the beach and going to Hawaii were two of the things on a silly list I created when I was eight. I think I called it, “Stuff I Want to Do by the Time I’m Twenty-Five.” To an eight-year-old, twenty-five was very grown up and ancient.

“I remember everything,” he says with such gravitas, my heart squeezes inside my chest. “I’m not good at relationships, and I know I’m going to fuck up often because I can’t help being an asshole, but I want this. Us. You and me.”

Not knowing why he suddenly became sentimental, I cup his clean-shaven jaw and kiss him.

“You have me, Hendrix.”

“Then please don’t leave like that again. You left before, and it fucking broke us when we thought you were…” He drops his gaze and lets the rest of what’s unsaid hang between us. “Just remember that you’re not alone anymore, okay?”

He’s right. It’s not only me now. It’s me and them. We stand together, fight together, and love together.

I slip my hand into his. “You think you’re no good at this relationship stuff, but I think you’re pretty darn perfect.”

“I’m far from perfect. Except my cock. And the way I fuck.”

Lord, save me from men with big dick energy.

“How about we go downstairs and tell him together?” He gives my hand a yank and leads me to the door, but I pull him back.

“Tristan isn’t the only one I need to talk to. There’s something I need to tell you about Eva. Something Aleksander said.”

Hendrix covers my mouth. “I don’t want to know.”

With his hand muffling my speech, my “but” comes out as “woof.”

With a grave seriousness he rarely shows, he says, “I really don’t want to know, especially if it came from that motherfucker. There’s a lot of shit that went down when you were gone. Stuff I may not be able to ever talk about. I’m glad she’s dead. I know that sounds horrible, but I don’t feel sorry about the way I feel. They all deserve to rot in hell.”

I bury myself deep into his solid warmth. “I hope one day you’ll tell me what happened.”

Laying his chin to the top of my head, he replies, “If there’s anyone I would trust enough to tell, it would be you, love.”

Hendrix has nightmares and sleeps on the floor. If Eva’s death helps him find any semblance of peace, then I’m not sorry Aleksander killed her.

I wanted to kill Gabriel. It was a week after he attacked Constantine and choked him. Papa caught me sneaking out one night with the sniper rifle hard case I stole from his private armory. The thing was as big as me and heavy as shit. When I told Papa what I intended to do, he promised that he would take care of it. Just another lie I was force-fed.

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