Sinners Anonymous (Sinners Anonymous, #1)

by Somme Sketcher

“And, why do you go to church?” “Uh, to pray?” “To confess.

“No, I’m just sick of you. All of you.” “All of us?” “Men.

“Aurora. Stand up.”

“Perfect. Now, take three steps to the left.”

There’s a glint in his right hand. Then the bang is too loud. The smell of gunpowder too strong, and the taste of blood splatter on my lips too tangy. The bullet enters Max right between the eyes and exits out the back of his skull, taking half his brain with it. His head hits the table with a heavy thud, his blood turning the lace tablecloth crimson.

“What does that mean?” With a sigh, he tears his attention away from his phone and looks at me. “The Dip brothers have this hotline. Anyone can dial it and confess their secrets. Max probably called it. Snakes like him usually have a guilty conscience.” No. No, no, no. “A hotline?” I croak. “Yeah, you’ve probably seen the cards around.” Please god, no. “It’s called Sinners Anonymous.” Not for the first time today, my world goes black.

My eyes fall back to Rafe. “I won’t lie to you.” I just won’t tell you the truth. “I know.” “So I won’t say anything at all.”

“I’m not a whore.” “You’re not unattractive, either.”

“Did you know, there’s thirteen pairs of American Bald Eagles in that park? It’s more than just a few shitty trees and a swamp.” “What do you care?” His eyes thin. “You sound like that bitch Aurora.” Bitch. An unnecessary amount of fury threads through my veins. I wash it down with a gulp of whiskey. “I care about the environment.”

“Vicious Visconti is back,” he murmurs in my ear. I stare straight ahead, spine steeled, until he lets me go and moves off into the crowds. Maybe Vicious never really left.